Writing and Stuff

Tried my hand at a bit of writing. It's abit hodge-podge, but that's me, I guess.

Hands Clasped Together (Praying for the World to End)

They said that prayers don't work, and I couldn't help but believe that. I look around me and see the world crashing down. Prayers are wasted thoughts directed at vast nothingness. I mean, people are always wishing for good things to happen yet the ratio of good things to bad things is about fifty-fifty.

Actually, more bad things happen. It's not a choice between half empty, or half full, because the truth is, the glass is mostly empty.

Maybe life's supposed to suck.

-

I met the devil in the park one Sunday afternoon. I thought it was a strange place to meet him, or her, or whatever. It was my weekly long run. About 20km, give or take, running through the park by myself. The peace running gives me is amazing, I swear. Anyway, there he was, just sitting on the bench. He was beside a dustbin, for some reason, wearing a red cloak. His, or her, or whatever's face was hidden and the voice was like no voice I've heard before.

It was the voice of everyone, yet no one at the same time. There was suffering in that voice.

"I'm tired, man," he said.

I'm running 20km. I don't think he knows what he's talking about.

The park was strangely deserted. So it was just me, and him. The rest of the scenery faded into nothingness.

"From now on, I'm handing all my powers to you. There is no God, there's only me. And like I said, I'm tired,"

Wait, what?

"You can have it. All my powers. If you want, you can destroy the world. I don't know, after a while, you just get sick of everything. "

I thought I sensed a tears beneath the hood, but like I said, his face was shrouded in darkness and it was impossible to tell. "My powers can't just disappear, so I'm handing them over to you."

He disappeared, and I was alone in the park again, in the middle of my run. I suddenly feel my exhaustion catch up to me. The walk home was long and lonely.

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