The Path of God

All of those in the cult known as Purgatory, know the tale by heart. Although the exact details can be missed or misplaced, the general concensus is as follows. And as the day draws nearer that we take to the public and purify the planet, it is only fitting that the world knows why we do what we do. We do it because we love you, and the Lord knoweth them that are His.

All his life, Reverend Aaron had turned to God for guidance in questions we as mere people could never answer. All his life God had been there to guide Aaron, and when his family hit hardships, God would always answer. Therefore the Preacher only wished to repay a God so generous to him, and Aaron dedicated all his life to studying religious scriptures, and took it upon himself to fill the shoes left by his father in his local community's church.

The Preacher's devotion wasn't soley fueled by his feeling of debt however, but also a nagging desire for enlightenment and a wish to understand God's mission, and plan for his people on Earth; a desire to know the unknowable. This desire was what dedicated the Reverend all the more firm to his zealous lifestyle.

His desires and dedication, had an unfortunate price.

It was a normal morning, Aaron sipped the last drops in his mug of coffee as he read the daily news when his daughter Margaret interrupted, about to head off to school. At twelve years old she was still the sunshine of his life and a blessing from God, a child born from an infertile mother. Wishing her good tidings, he watched as she reached the door and turned to wave an excited goodbye. Her curly black hair and rich green eyes were such a breathtaking sight, the Preacher couldn't help but grin and praise God.

As Reverend Aaron prepared to tend to his church duties his wife Samantha passed through the house with a polite goodbye and went off to run the shop. Reaching down to take his mug to the kitchen, the Preacher was startled by a scream, of which he could only describe as one of hopeless agony, and despair. Samantha was rushing out the door towards something, in obvious desperation.

Finding his way to the front door, Reverend Aaron saw exactly what it was that had made his wife scream, and why she was now struggling to stand in the arms of a police officer at the edge of a crime scene. Lying in the center of three squad cars and a large perimeter of police tape, lay the ravaged and crippled body of a young twelve year old girl with curly black hair and deep green eyes. Near her lay a streak of blood across meters of ground as if she'd been scraped like gum off of a boot in her terrible final moments.

"Drug dealer," the police officer explained,"evading arrest, he didn't see her crossing the street or didn't care. We've caught him, and I'm sorry for your loss sir, but we need this scene closed. My superiors will see you shortly."

Aaron remained numb most of that day, as Samantha wept in his arms. The small mercy didn't last long though, as the Preacher soon found himself mourning with an entire community. He had a hard time turning to God with this tragedy, the Reverend felt forsaken. Yet he was a Minister, and as such, he had a responsibility to guide his community, even if he himself was not satisfied with the words he spoke.

"God works in mysterious ways my brothers and sisters, and when God has chosen to take one of our children from us we often can only ask ourselves; why? But embrace not the cold hands of misery, but embrace God's warmth; for it is not our place to ask questions of our Lord, as we are servants and he will judge actions necessary as he sees fit, and we will have faith that he will continue to provide us what we need to live and love in the light even during these darkest of times. Because our Lord loves us, and we love him, and he has loved our dear Margaret so greatly, that he has delivered her into the hands of eternal peace directly. So let us all remember that death is not a time of mourning, but as solemn a joy it is, death is a celebration! A celebration at our chance to live, and the transcendence of our children-of His children-into the divine beyond!"

"Amen!" the crowds would scream, standing and raising arms, turning tearfilled eyes to the ceiling, sky, and beyond; all of them inspired by the Preacher's apparently unshakable faith and resolve.

Reverend Aaron however, always sought more from God than guidance, but answers. He could not heal without enlightenment for his daughter's death only fueled his anxiety and desperation to find God's plan. For the incident had not only shaken Aaron's spirit, but his belief that there even was a God. His words, his very own words had said to have faith, but how could God take so much and be so inhuman, when we ourselves are created in God's holy image. The Pastor knew as powerful as his own words were, as good as they were to healing those around him, they did not fit his own soul as he did not believe them; they were hollow.

His words were hollow because Reverend Aaron knew there was something wrong with them, something that was missing that generations had simply created excuses and placeholding information for. Something that no one dared speak in the time that it was remembered and feared, and in this lack of speech everyone failed to remember, eventually prompting excuse after excuse of God's "mysterious ways".

We as a people were striving to treat each other better and put an end to suffering by eliminating intolerance. However God did not make room in Heaven for those who sinned, no, he did not tolerate sin; and so neither could we.

"In this day and age of tolerance and of acceptance, of many shades of gray; we, God's children, have forgotten something. There is a clear white, and a clear black. For too long we've been writhing in the filth of our own sins, excusing them as things God will tolerate and forgive in his children, just as we do to our own. But God is not tolerant annd only those righteous will make it to a righteous place. Sin is a matter of black and white, and the gray in between is merely a reminder of the overbearing presence of Purgatory."

Understanding this and teaching it to his followers was simple, the community knew their place to God. However, it was not over. The Preacher, although now with a deeper understanding of God's judgement, still could not understand how God could be so inhuman. To kill such innocents so often while the evil roam the streets merely confined by bars of iron and granted life seemed such an insult, an injustice. But then the Reverend thought back to his own words.

"The transcendence of His children into the divine beyond."

Death, was a blessing. Reverend Aaron had prayed all his life for answers from God, as to his mission on Earth. And God killed his father, a man of God. The Reverend lived a loyal servant all his life, and God killed his daughter. God was killing the Reverend's loved ones to reward him, and although it seems wrong, Aaron remembered again; inhuman. God isn't human, he is beyond the petty fears and emotions of mortals, the sinful desires and preferences of a physical body, and that is why no one dares speak the truth.

How ignorant, Reverend Aaron thought, that we for nearly a thousand years have been so afraid of our inner God. That we tried to separate ouselves from the truth in fear of what we'd unleash. That so-called evil nature inside of us that beckons us to kill, the inhuman drive to kill and dominate one another is exactly that; inhuman, because God himself is inhuman. It was the reason that drug dealer was allowed to live for his so-called crime. He didn't care for life, because Heaven was what awaits beyond murder. God hadn't given up on the Preacher, killing his holy father and innocent daughter, and finally, Reverend Aaron had found God's purpose not only for him, but for life; to end each others' suffering and kill.

Reverend Aaron was excited, his heart pounded and adrenaline pulsed through his veins. Never before did he feel so alive. Of course, God's most holy of tasks required only the holiest of equipment, and although looking back the Reverend's first kill was sloppy, it was fittingly symbolic. As well, it founded the tradition and motto for him and his followers, who had taken to calling him, The Saint.

Spending weeks in his basement, the Preacher crafted dozens of decorative wooden crosses each more intricate than the last. All with the same unique feature, a pointed end he was learning specifically to craft rigid enough to shatter through bone, skin, and meat. Samantha would often try to get him to reveal what he was working on, but he'd only chase her away, pushing her further and further away both physically and emotionally. It was for both of their own good.

Finally the night came, where Aaron knew he'd crafted the perfect cross. Setting fire to the pile of rejected designs he let it ravage downstairs as he crept into his room where his wife rest peacefully on the farside of their bed. She'd always been a wonderful companion to the Preacher, and more importantly a pure one. Yet the journey he was about to undertake was one that had to be started alone. As he pulled her to lay facing the ceiling, Samantha was roused awake.

Still groggy she asked,"Aaron...sweetheart what are you doing?"

Aaron drove the staked end of his cross deep into the chest of his shocked wife. As she looked into his eyes with disbelief, the fire from the hallway lit the room like a scene straight out of hell, realizing far too late the man in front of her was not her husband, but an inhuman monster, twisted by tragedy. He leaned in closely giving her one final kiss, and whispered,"I only do it, because I love you. The Lord knoweth them that are His."

Stepping back, Aaron watched the light fade from her eyes as he released her soul into Heaven.