I know that it has been a while since I posted. The writer’s block comes and goes. Anyway, here is a tiny bit of fiction meant to show the destructive nature of idolatry in one of its many forms.
If you like poetry and short stories feel free to check out more of my creative writing here.
A Graven Image
With a blush of fluorescence, the digital numbers on the clock illuminated the dark corners of his face. It was a solemn, neon reminder of the hours that awaited her ahead. She knew what she had to look forward to, hours, days…months of time where he would turn his back on her. His silence was a famine: devastating, empty, and harsh. And his eyes, they were like cinders. They looked at her now and became the darkest of valleys.
“Ok just stop. Let’s drop it. I’m sorry,” she pleaded.
They had been arguing over matters of science and religion. This always escalated.
“Quit groveling. I’m not your God,” he scoffed.
Her bottom lip quivered. She fought back tears. It had been so long since she had actually focused on God. Her attention had been diverted to this man, Lucas. She had been with him for three years. Her anger towards him began as only an ember and slowly grew over the years. Now his mocking words about God became like a bellows, stoking a wrathful fire in her heart. Disdain began to pour out of her mouth like smoke from a flue.
“You’re right, Lucas, you are not my God. You know what? I am eternally thankful that you aren’t. What a terrible, merciless, miserable God you would be. You make me sick,” she hissed in rage.
She clenched her fists and breathed heavily in rasps. She desperately pulled back at her fury, pleading with it to stay still.
“You want to hit me don’t you?” Lucas snarled, “Do it,” he pointed at his cheek, “Right here. Do it!”
She did it. Her hand met his cheek with a sickening crack. Her palm stung. His cheek was suddenly flushed.
“Pathetic. You are pathetic. Do it again,” he sneered, pointing angrily at his other cheek.
No matter how hateful he seemed, in the end, she knew the crimes she committed. Idolatry. Her sins were her own. Lucas was only human, just like her. They were both lost. They were both in need of God. Yes, Lucas was just a man. A man that under-cooks the noodles when he makes macaroni and cheese. A man who puts too much salt on his French fries. A man that enjoys Bruce Lee movies and comics. Sadly, he was also a man with no faith.
Looking into his angry face, one of his cheeks red, and his nostrils flaring, she began to realize. She had set so much in front of this idol, this person. The desire within the human heart can be such a priestess of lies and error. Indeed, she had served a mere man and left her life on a marble altar at his feet.
Her palm was still in the air, poised for another slap. She lowered it and recoiled. She felt nothing but disgust.
“No. I won’t hit you again,” she began to cry, “I’m sorry for everything. Goodbye.”
There would be no closure. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is the right thing to do. She just left. She laid in bed that night. The digital numbers on her alarm clock illuminated her tiny bedroom. She closed her eyes and prayed.