I wrote this last year during a time when I was kinda angry with religion.
I handed it in to my english teacher (i go to a catholic school, but my english is pretty open, and i think my art teacher is agnostic or atheist) for an assignment and he thought it was really good and told my art teacher about it who thought it was really good, which kinda makes me feel good, but I havent really showed it to anyone else.. Let me know what you think, if i should move it to the art section, or anything else in general.. thanks.

Seven to Twelve

He had left the computer outside his door so it wouldn’t keep him from working. It was a distraction he had recently become aware of.

To think all these years I haven’t been able to get my work done and it’s been the computer’s fault. Huh.

But he knew he wanted an escape. Seven-hour days at school were enough, how could they expect him to do forty minutes of homework for each class?

Religion was the worst. He could never sit through an assignment. Cleaning the pantry was always more appealing than writing “Ten proofs of God’s existence.” After two years of this class, he turned into quite the philosopher. The reasons he came up with for disproving God during his assignments constantly made him feel superior to his teacher. The comical look on his face and lack of interest or participation during his fifth period “spirit journey” caught Mr. McClafferty’s attention today. Something for which he had been planning.

Well Mr. McClafferty, I just don’t believe in God. I mean if there is a God why is there suffering? Why are wars fought in his name? He gave us free will? If he gave us free will, and he is omniscient, doesn’t that take all the fun out of it? He knows what we are gonna do, so why give us free will? That’s like me buying you a car, under the one condition that you can only use it when this list of predetermined dates and time I wrote states you can use it.

He had it all ready, an answer for any question that he could possibly ask or use to try and prove that there was some sort of “all-powerful” being. Waiting to show he wasn’t afraid to think outside the boundaries the “other” students couldn’t possibly comprehend. He wasn’t arrogant, he didn’t think he was right, he just found it difficult to believe in a God. He was a moral kid, but had a hard time doing something because someone said it was “right,” even if he also believed that it was the “right” thing to do. So saying he did what Jesus would have done was something he had trouble acknowledging.

Shit, it’s eight, shit.

Looking down at page one hundred seventy-two in The Catholic Church: Journey, Wisdom, and Mission he noticed a reference to Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologie.

Just a coincidence, hmm, maybe I should read it.

Thought had taken over. Trying to do work put him in a trance like state of thought. He cleverly called it “Inner Thinking.” He stared at his wall with no movement, transfixed by the inner workings of his mind. When he fell into his inner thought, he became more creative, more perceptive to reason and logic. It was in this state where he came up with his philosophic rebuttals.

When I help someone, I do it because they need help. Not because Jesus would have done it. Not because I thought it was the right thing to do, but for the sole reason that at that time that person needed assistance and I was there to give it. Besides, there is really no such thing as right and wrong. These terms are subjective, most commonly among societies or culture. At one point a human believed that an act a fellow human performed was not beneficial to one or both of them. Therefore that particular act became looked down upon. It was agreed by the community that the act was not to be performed. Therefore it was “wrong.” This is, of course, assuming there is no God. (If there is a God, and He does stand for all that we know now as righteous and just, then there would have already been a universal definition of right and wrong. This wouldn’t have had to be discovered by a human, but told by God. i.e. the story of Adam and Eve). So after many years of experience the first of the humans would have been able to recognize their own definition of right and wrong, spanning to our time where we hold these ideals very high.

His only problem was it was difficult for him to remember these thoughts after he came back.

Nine? I’ll do it first period.

He turned to his door to bring his computer back inside. He placed it on his desk. AIM, the greatest invention of his generation, was his biggest distraction. Finding someone to talk to was easy. He was always there to give advice or to “just talk,” and it was easy to comfort himself about not doing his work.

My friends need me

Girls with guy troubles, guys with girl troubles, friends with drinking problems, friends with no problems, friends who just got a new whatever. He was always there to comfort, give advice (when asked), talk, and humor; a trait that couldn’t be taught in school.




He felt a familiar sensation, one his paranoia caused him to be aware of.

No, engines too big.

The subtle vibration rose and fell, as a black Chevy Suburban, which belonged to his neighbor, passed his house. He peaked out his window to check.

Not home yet.

Years of “doing homework” while his parents were on the way home forced him to learn how to recognize the vibration and engine tone of his father’s and mother’s cars. He could pretty much determine the size of any car (small or big) and could feel one coming from the street adjacent to his. If the vibration was coming from the south and it dimmed, it was most likely slowing down to make the turn onto his street. If it stopped completely two or three seconds after turning, it was almost certainly turning into his driveway. This gave him enough time to turn off his computer, move it off his desk, open the nearest textbook, and jot down some information before his father or mother knocked on the door to his room.

He felt it. The car turned left and stopped. He checked and sure enough his fathers (small) sedan was sitting next to his mailbox. A hand protruded from the window and grabbed today’s bills and advertisements.

I never get any good mail

The door to the garage slammed shut forcing air out of the small vestibule that was his laundry room. This swoosh of air always caused the aluminum flap on the laundry shoot to clank, reminding him his room was a mess.

“Hey.” He heard faintly through his closed door.

“Hey, I’m up here,” he said in a calm voice.

He had also learned to feel where his father was at all times. From the kitchen he moved to the living room. Sure enough the familiar voice of the eleven o’clock newscaster abruptly started speaking.

Such monotony he thought, self-satisfied by his use of such an uncommon word.

At times like this he felt detached from the world. He felt he knew something, something important, dangerous, different. He felt he knew that there was no meaning to life, that humans just evolved. That a higher brain function was the result of natural selection and that eventually we would evolve. He felt he knew that there was no God, that there was no heaven, no hell, no purgatory, no angels, no Jesus, nothing. He felt he knew that when he died, he died. That’s it, just matter, part of the universe. But this didn’t sadden him, he wasn’t upset that he felt this way, he liked it. He liked his illusion of superior knowledge. He didn’t want to believe in God or heaven or hell. He didn’t need these “crutches.” After all he did what he wanted to do because of the meaning he gave it. He didn’t need to model Jesus’ life.

From the living room to the staircase, his dad faded. He counted each of the twelve-foot impressions on the rug as his dad moved to the second floor. He made a right, the vibrations became clearer. There was a knock on the door.

“You in there?”

Hmm. No.

“Yes, dad.”