Jesus

A casual figure sitting in the corner of a dusty room. Women kneel at his feet and wash them with their hair. A touching ritual, showing obedience and subservience.

Heavy breathing indicates something else is happening. A sick masochistic pleasure. I feel like a traitor because I'm tired of living.

He stands and holds his arms apart, proclaiming he is God's ONLY son and that he is sacrificial. I'm snickering in the corner, he turns and glares at me.

He asks if I'd like proof and I say no thank you. I've got my own faith. I find myself three beers later attempting to explain it to him.

It's all going well, I've got him all but convinced, but all of a sudden a loud voice from out of nowhere says, "my son, do not doubt me, for I am real."

I sigh, put down the brew and walk out of the bar. No use trying to convince people who can throw their voice.