" We pray god will give guidance to our fallen brethren. Praise lord, will you wrap your wisened hands towards, Micheal? Please lord, usher him into paradise. "
It is all bullshit, all of it. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, no ever-looming judgement day. Your life slips away and they scramble to find a place for you among the sea of dead, six feet underground. They get rid of you as fucking fast as they can; so consumed with their need to live that they forget that not long ago you did too. Life isn't long enough to waste time with religon and dreams. Life is choices and hardship and mistakes. Religion is just a pimp and in a way, we are the metaphorical bitches, just a leash wrapped around us that anyone can yank when we need to tow the line. Guilt becomes us, consumes.
My family was your stereotypical catholic hispanic family. My dad left us right after I was born. Us, in this case, was my mom and five fucking kids. It was me and my brother's Antonio and Pauly and my older sister Gina. Mama was heartbroken, to say the least and she clung to religon as if it were the only thing that could save her from such cruel heart break. So, naturally all of us children had it shoved down our throats as well. And then, ten years later, when Mama met a recently divorced Italian man by the name of Boscorelli, she clung to him for dear life and our family grew. We moved into a house on the outskirts of Brooklyn with my new step-father and his two kids. Both little italian boys, with bad attitudes and a taste for mischeif. Maurice and Micheal Boscorelli. Maurice was nine and Micheal was only six.
The year I met my step-brother, Bosco, was the same year I met Roberto Caffey. They were our neighbors and Pauly and Bobby hit it off immediatley. I was a year younger than both Pauly and Bobby respectivley and often made attempts to tag along with them when they would venture outside. I, like many young girls do, hadtaken a liking to my older brother's best friend. And when Bobby took a liking to my sister, Gina, I was considerably despondant. But we grew up.Gina and Bobby were nothing but a teenage fling. Gina married and had three kids,Bobby trained to become a paramedic, and, well.. we all know what I've become.Bobby was avidly religous and we all know how his story ends.
But then, there are those un-lucky few who learn this knowledge of mine and either become my co-workers or my responsibility, my priority. Well, fuck. It's true, isn't it? Not many criminals are consumed with guilt, praying to god while they blow their wife's brains out or beat their children with electrical cords. Do you think that the jag-off I arrested in my first year as a cop who had been raping his girlfriends four kids while she, locked in a cage, watched in horror was praying for forgiveness? No. He knew the truth and he gave into his sick little needs without a second fucking thought.
Or like the asshole who decided to park his car in a funereal home. I turn to escape outside for a smoke and have a thousand pounds of metal and glass ram into me, throwing me sky high as the heat of the explosion rages beneath me. I come down and I come down hard, as the world fades away. An all consuming inky blackness fades my vision and I think,
" Fuck god, where were you on that one? "