Modern Anxiety, Round 2 - JED

A continuation of this month's pitch, a second round of horror stories, each rooted in a modern anxiety. 

 "God hates you", she says, and her teeth are perfect.

Its the new catch phrase, so its the new truth. The preachers are shouting it from the silk and taffeta pulpits, with the halo light shining off their spit-polished foreheads. The tweens throwing rocks through my neighbor's windows are wearing it on puffy letterd t-shirts. The soccer mom down the street has it pasted to the bumper of her Expedition. I can see it when she drives past. I hide in the dark, in my closet, and cry myself to sleep.

I wake up with stains on my hands. They've been there for days now and I'm afraid to go outside. I'm marked of the beast, that's what the man on Fox news says, and he's always right, he told me so. He's righteous. He told me that too. Everything in my refrigerator has gone bad, and that proves that Jesus doesn't love me. The eggs stink like brimstone, and I think Satan is coming through my vegetable crisper.

All the wise, the Chosen, they say it's the end of time, and the rest of us are at fault. Atheists, gays, earth-lovers, abortionists, faithless, and damned. We're going to be punished now, they're screaming it as us, those women with the caked on make-up and the little golden crosses, glowing like hall passes to heaven. The seas have turned to blood they say. The end of days and Jesus is going to come soon, and the dead are going to come soon, and they're not happy with us. Their tongues are swords and their judgement is final.

The televangelists are screaming hallelujah and vindication, and the crazy street preachers are spitting on me while I stumble to my mailbox. One of them says he can feel the fires burning me already, and he's laughing, holding out his hands in the cold. He says I deserve it. I believe him. My tears are blood.

I hate them all and I can't stop. Even when God is knocking down my door, I can't stop. I am so sorry. I am so afraid.