MIND-RAPING, BODY-VIOLATING, SPIRIT-SODOMIZING SADIST! How much longer must I turn on Lucifer's spit; for surely this is the Devil's doing? Sight, smell, taste, and hearing were mere preludes compared to what I'm feeling, which is gutted, racked, and cremated all combined. The tug-of-war over my body parts, my unspeakable disembowelment, and the sun's half-days of cooking my corpse to a crisp are ongoing agonies—and an absolutely atrocious miscarriage of justice, indicting whomever is responsible as a bona fide NAZI! I wasn't such a bad person. Egocentric, maybe. Cranky, for sure, in my later years. Bitter, I suppose. But, hey, this nonstop misery is overdoing it. Okay, so I never worshipped anything. Not even fame or fortune—which might explain why neither came my way. I praised no false gods, is what I’m saying. Am I to blame because the “True God”—who's still playing hide-and-seek with my resurrected senses—failed to prove that He, She, It exists? Since when is doubt a crime to be punished by untold torments? Not that I’m convinced some Supreme Being is now orchestrating my pathetic hoots and hollers.
    Too little tolerance; that was my complaint about organized religions. And no sense of humor. Did Moses ever tell a joke, Jesus guffaw, or Muhammad so much as titter? The prophets, to a man, were a somber lot.
     I wasn't an ax murderer, for crying out loud. The only sin of which I was guilty irredeemably was Failure-To-Believe. I genuflected to none and nothing; so denounce me. Torture me for a while, if you must, but NOT FOR ETERNITY!
    I realize it's unseemly for a man of my maturity to beg and whine and whimper, but I’m at wit's end. How bones stripped meatless and bleached by rays of a Northern Arizona heat wave can throb like a tip-to-toe toothache, I can't explain. I want to die. I want to wither away in some eco-friendly fashion—no Limbo, Purgatory, Heaven, or Hell—just over and done with it.
    I hurt. I hurt all over. What else can I say?


There really was...