“God is Dead,” August Menshevik’s Last Words

“Do you choose to believe the dead man more than me?” A criminal on the run from the authorities of their time, and their last written message before their supposed death has managed to find itself in your mailbox. It’s all up to you to decide who to trust.

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Austyn Mizgorski, Author

“God is Dead,”

You received the following letter in the mail, sender anonymous. It details itself as the last words of a wanted criminal, dubbed “August Menshevik” who, according to the sender, “disrupted the space-time continuum to their own volition.”

 

“I’d long since forgotten the days of my youth, all the way back in- Dear God, I’ve forgotten the year. It’s been forever, things have gone by so fast. Where to start, I wonder… I shouldn’t ponder too deeply about this, I don’t have much time, they’re after me. Why am I even writing this in the first place? You don’t understand, no, you can’t understand. The buzzing is getting louder, dear God, I hate that buzzing. It pierces my eardrums like bee stings, and thank God for making me allergic. I don’t have much time, they’re going to find me, I need to hurry. Consider this my will.

My parents are long dead. Don’t pity me, no, I hate that. I hate when people pity you for the tiniest things, I absolutely hate it. I never got to know them, so why should I feel bad? I never knew all the people that died, so I have no right to care. I don’t feel bad, actually, I really don’t. Far from it, in fact. I’ve never really cared too much. All I had was that blasted old church. Dear God, I hated that too. They see a child, all sick and hungry and cold and all that sad stuff and decide to take it in and corrupt it, as if that was God’s will. I couldn’t understand back then, but I understand now, unlike you. I know things you don’t. You hide behind your screens and fancy devices because you’ve lost the ability to see. Your eyes are dead. Long dead. The apocalypse has arisen. This is my final warning, I’m tired of this. I don’t have time to explain.

The church, dear God, I hated that church. I wish I could’ve understood, but alas, I was like you at one point. Blind, feeble, so reliant on some external power that doesn’t even matter. I may not have those fancy devices or screens like you, but unlike you, I can at least see. The church couldn’t see either, I’m pretty sure they still can’t. Nobody can, not you, not them; you are the sightless. Unlike you, I stole back my eyes. They took them from you, so dear God tell me, why can’t you steal them back? Why? Are you afraid? Fear is dead, God is dead, dear God help me. Don’t ask for help from a dead man, please, trust in me. They might have taken your eyes, but they couldn’t possibly have taken your ability to believe me. They might have, actually, knowing them and what they do to people like you. I have no faith in them. I have no faith in you.

Disagreement is the worst sin I have committed in this mortal world of yours. I care not for thievery, for murder, as greed is the vice that makes you all human. I, on the other hand, am not of you. I refuse, dear God I refuse to take part in this tragedy you all are staging, as it’s going to end the same way, no matter how you play your cards; you’re all going to die. I care not for death, as I said before, this is your fault. I know what you did. I know how this game will end, and no matter what you do, nothing will change. Dear God, this is all your fault. I had nothing to do with this, and yet, knowing you, you’d blame me. You always blame someone else. It’s human nature.

Am I afraid? No. They’re coming for me, dear God, they’re coming. I hear them, I can smell the iron and rust. That musk of yearning superiority, the power you’ll never get because you don’t deserve it. You think you deserve the world? Why? Why do you feel that way? What could you have possibly done to make you the rulers of the world, when all you’ve done is hurt it? I’m not stupid, I’m not like you. I’m not of you. I know what you’ve done. I gave up on you a long time ago. You corrupt the world with each breath, each movement, each toxic word coming from your lying mouth. Dear God, God is dead, my friend. I think it’s about time you grow to understand that.

You. Dear god, I hate you. I haven’t met you, but I know you. You don’t know me, and I think it’s best that we keep things that way. You don’t know me, but I know you. You’re human. Blind and helpless and crying to your savior, but God is dead! Dear God, God is dead! He’s dead! Go on, place your faith in the dead man! Share your fate with him, dear God, he’s dead, God is dead! I know he’s dead! Do you choose to believe the dead man more than me? Go on, praise be to the dead man! I’m the martyr here, and I’m taking you all with me. I have no faith in you. Neither does the dead man. Dear God, the dead man, he has no faith in you.

They’re coming for me.

Please, dear God, please don’t believe them.

It’s about time you learn the truth. I’m not of you. I’d never be caught dead being one of you. I am-”

 

 

 

..Huh, that’s weird. There’s no more writing. Let’s just..read the note that was attached to it.

 

“To whom this may concern: Hold no faith in the dead one, they were diagnosed mentally ill. Don’t believe them. Dear God, don’t. Don’t. Have faith in us instead. We are God’s messiahs, we know what’s best.

From: XXXX.”