I Believe in God by Ishbel Craig '23
adores so much. Why wouldn’t he lie?
Once upon a time - because this is a Story, and must start as such - there was a sea. The sea itself is not important to this story and accordingly will not be named.
They repeat the same lies: I love you. I die for you every day. I will be with you always. Your love kills me.
Unimportant things have no use for names. In this sea travels a ship, it too will remain nameless. The only reason one could consider it to be important would be the fact that it belongs to its Captain. The Story would like to note that such a connection is not strong enough for a name. On this ship remains the aforementioned Captain. They sit slumped over a table. They have sat here for a millennium and - if given the chance - would sit there for many more. The Captain does have a name, however, this Story does not want you to know it and luckily living memory does not extend far enough back to recall a time when throats gave it sound. The Story would like you to know that it does not count as it is a Story, and thus exists without life. The Captain’s name is too dangerous to hold in something as unholy as a mouth.
This Story would like to note that of the three in question, only one is actually dead - and everyone knows that dead men can not lie. All three are gone now, of course. Tossed into the storms of memory, bleeding out against the sands of time. Two perished instantly. The Captain, to moral wounds - unfortunately not even a former God such as themselves could fight the inevitability of the abyss. And the Statue, for all his human characteristics, was still just porcelain. Eager to shatter when sufficient force is applied. The God lived on for a time - as much as an entity of mass imagination “lived”. Until the children born lost His name. Until mouths that should’ve molded comfortably around Him began to stutter over His love. Eventually - like all things - He faded away, without belief, without love or the companions killed by His own hands. Alone.
The Captain writes letters, hundreds of them. Tiny birds folded carefully, containing words of worship never to be read by their muse. They read, with frantic energy:
My dear M-Do You receive these? I love You, my star (do You get the joke?). I saw You last night, shining in all Your blinding glory, so close I felt as if I could just reach out and pluck You from the sky. I know I would just be burnt, but it is nice to entertain impossible thoughts once in a while. Wouldn’t it be nice to hold a God in my hands? Do You receive these? The Statue says You do (and has yet to lie), so You must. He says You read these and watch me and love me and die for me every day, as the sun rises and You can’t see me anymore. He has yet to lie. Statues can not lie, not ones as beautiful as him, not ones crafted by You - by a God. With as much love as I have life, Captain H-The Story would like to clarify two things. One, that the Captain held nothing resembling life (not that they knew it). And Two, the Statue can - and did - lie. He was crafted in the likeness of the God our Captain
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