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     The last thing I remember was his scream.

     That sickening, horrid, voice scratching scream. It varied; wretched and stressed to soft and barely there.

     It tore me apart.

     I watched him as he fell to his knees, tears running from his eyes like a waterfall to a river. One fist pounding the door he leaned against, the other clutching the phone, cracking it's screen. The crack grew with the pressure, eventually snapping in his hand.

     Throwing his head backward to the ceiling he opened his eyes just enough to see past the water he'd shed. He heaved and swallowed, his stomach quivering under the pressure of his gasps. Finally, he doubled forward again, hands catching his fall as his stomach rejected all the bile it had.

     Shaking, he wiped acidic saliva from his lip. He clawed at the wooded floor, scratching the gloss.

     Anyone would in his place. His wife and only child had just been killed in a crash, their car sabotaged. They were all he had. They were his life. His pride and joy.

     God what I'd give to be able to hold him to my chest and comfort him; stroke his hair and hum to him softly. It broke my heart.

     I could do nothing. I couldn't touch him. I could only stand and watch, my breath choked as he suffered. He didn't deserve this.

     "God, you bastard, what did he do for this" I remember thinking. Of all people he really didn't deserve it. This suffering had no cause and no reason. I was angry with 'God'. He fucked over my love for no reason at all. He gained some sick sort of pleasure from it. I know he did.

     God is a sadist. He's the reason we're all in pain. He knows who really deserves this shit and yet they're running free in the streets. Everything I was taught as a child is a complete lie.

  "God is fair", "God will forgive", "God will make the world great again". All utter bullshit. The people who thought that shit up were sick masochistic assholes with power complexes. They had to rule. They needed to control people for their own enjoyment.

     And through all of this I could do nothing! God KNEW I couldn't! He fucking knew I couldn't do a damn thing to help him at all! I couldn't even join him his pain. No, I was too selfish for that. God knew it. This sick sort of love would never fly with society. The one I love would be accused of it anyway, I couldn't give them another reason to believe he did it. Someone would definitely think we were having some sort of illicit relationship, simply because of my one sided feelings. My love for him was unrequited. Unseen and unknown by everyone but me. Everyone but me...and God.

     He was punishing me for it.

     I trusted god with all of this. I thought he would accept me, and let me go on living with this twisted love with no trouble. I lived with this for years, day in and day out, holding myself back for my love's happiness. For his mental safety. My feelings are sick and twisted, unacceptable in every way.

    God should have helped me. But no, he had other plans. He made me his tool, another way of getting that sick pleasure in a bastard society. I was lied to. I was used. And by one of the two things I thought were true in this world. "God" and my love.

    I couldn't do anything. He knew it. I knew it. God knew it.

     And all I remember is his godforsaken scream.

Description
     The last thing I remember was his scream.

     That sickening, horrid, voice scratching scream. It varied; wretched and stressed to soft and barely there.

     It tore me apart.

     I watched him as he fell to his knees, tears running from his eyes like a waterfall to a river. One fist pounding the door he leaned against, the other clutching the phone, cracking it's screen. The crack grew with the pressure, eventually snapping in his hand.

     Throwing his head backward to the ceiling he opened his eyes just enough to see past the water he'd shed. He heaved and swallowed, his stomach quivering under the pressure of his gasps. Finally, he doubled forward again, hands catching his fall as his stomach rejected all the bile it had.

     Shaking, he wiped acidic saliva from his lip. He clawed at the wooded floor, scratching the gloss.

     Anyone would in his place. His wife and only child had just been killed in a crash, their car sabotaged. They were all he had. They were his life. His pride and joy.

     God what I'd give to be able to hold him to my chest and comfort him; stroke his hair and hum to him softly. It broke my heart.

     I could do nothing. I couldn't touch him. I could only stand and watch, my breath choked as he suffered. He didn't deserve this.

     "God, you bastard, what did he do for this" I remember thinking. Of all people he really didn't deserve it. This suffering had no cause and no reason. I was angry with 'God'. He fucked over my love for no reason at all. He gained some sick sort of pleasure from it. I know he did.

     God is a sadist. He's the reason we're all in pain. He knows who really deserves this shit and yet they're running free in the streets. Everything I was taught as a child is a complete lie.

  "God is fair", "God will forgive", "God will make the world great again". All utter bullshit. The people who thought that shit up were sick masochistic assholes with power complexes. They had to rule. They needed to control people for their own enjoyment.

     And through all of this I could do nothing! God KNEW I couldn't! He fucking knew I couldn't do a damn thing to help him at all! I couldn't even join him his pain. No, I was too selfish for that. God knew it. This sick sort of love would never fly with society. The one I love would be accused of it anyway, I couldn't give them another reason to believe he did it. Someone would definitely think we were having some sort of illicit relationship, simply because of my one sided feelings. My love for him was unrequited. Unseen and unknown by everyone but me. Everyone but me...and God.

     He was punishing me for it.

     I trusted god with all of this. I thought he would accept me, and let me go on living with this twisted love with no trouble. I lived with this for years, day in and day out, holding myself back for my love's happiness. For his mental safety. My feelings are sick and twisted, unacceptable in every way.

    God should have helped me. But no, he had other plans. He made me his tool, another way of getting that sick pleasure in a bastard society. I was lied to. I was used. And by one of the two things I thought were true in this world. "God" and my love.

    I couldn't do anything. He knew it. I knew it. God knew it.

     And all I remember is his godforsaken scream.