Stygiophobia

Old wounds

Today, George and Dream were back in the loving room as always. However, old wounds that never truly healed were starting to ruthlessly ripped open for the devil himself.

"Dream, I really don't understand why you hate Catholics so much. I mean, I can understand not liking it, but hating it? I don't know, it seems a bit unfair, doesn't it? I mean, they're just people who believe in our lord." George couldn't understand what it was that Dream disliked so much, however, he had never actually heard a reason from Dream before.

"George, it's not the Catholics; it's Catholicism. I do not hate people who choose to believe in such petty lies, but the book they've created to spread hate." Dream, for once in his cold life, actually put it into words as to why Christianity bothered him so deeply. "I know it means something to you, and it means a lot to a lot of people, but I just can't see it your way.
The bible itself is not a book of faith, it's a book of hatred, written by men who wished to hate with no repercussions.
George, you were cast out of heaven for loving men, and so many brainwashed Catholics can't see anything wrong with that. There's a difference between the people who believe, and the people who hate.
George, I've seen people die over this. I've seen friends, family, victims, living people who have been killed over a book written by men.
And your God, your precious lord, gets to choose right and wrong all to himself, and we both know he isn't the true creator of men. I've seen good people fall down here, good people who deserved to go to heaven, all because he decided they weren't good enough.
It's deluded, George." So many thoughts that had cursed Dreams childhood, and entire existence; finally someone who cared enough to listen actually heard him out, and yet he still had so much to say.

"Dream, I didn't know it bothered you so much." George seemed to actually listen, and actually think about the things he said.

"It does, and it always has. I was raised Catholic, angel. I was like you once. Now look at me; a gay, serial killer demon who turned out to be an antichrist." Dream made direct eye contact with George. "It's scary how people just blindly believe. No proof, no explanation. Nothing.
I've seen people die, George. It haunts me how they went, it keeps me up at night."

"Dream, if you were a serial killer, why does it bother you that some people have died?" A genuine question, one with a deep-rooted and haunting answer.

"Because these people didn't deserve to die. They were little catholic boys, like you. They believed with their whole hearts, followed all of the rules, had no fun.
George, their belief killed them. They questioned the bible, the priests and nuns. They sent them to a camp, and they never returned."

"What do you mean, they never returned?" George immediately thought back to his friend that was so silently scared of the camp he was sent to. George wasn't alive to see if he returned or not.

"They died, George. No, they didn't die, they were killed. I killed every single camp leader that led that camp, and that's where I began. A crazed killer."

"Dream, I didn't know." George didn't know how to respond, or what to say; but he knew deep down that he could not deny that Dream was right about all of it.

"And not only that, George, there's still so much more! Like, the denial of other Gods! We both know that we're only here because we were raised catholic. We're bound to the Christian lord, but millions of people are not.
I've seen Catholics beat the shit out of any other religion they can find. Screaming about how they'll pray for them, and that they should convert.
What sick fuck taught them that it was okay to harm those of other Gods!?" Dream found it hard to even fathom the hatred these people were taught to feel.

"And above all, George, why is it wrong to be gay?" Dream seemed defeated by the same question he's asked his whole life. "I've been beat, I've been sent away to camps, I've been screamed and yelled at, I've had people say they'll pray for me. George, not one person ever had a real reason to give me as to why my love is wrong!"

"You're right. I don't know why they believe it's so wrong, because it's so very clearly not my choice. I've spent my whole life begging for these thoughts to go away, and still I got sent here." George seemed just as confused and hurt as Dream.

"George, I've seen things I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. All because of sickening Catholicism." Dream laid his head back on the couch, reliving past memories he's tired to shut out for years.

"Like... what kind of things?" George seemed nervous to even ask.

"Don't you know? Priests love to have their way with unknowing catholic boys." George's heart sunk. He always heard his friend talk about these kinds of things, and deep down he always knew that he was probably right. But having your fears confirmed to you is always jarring at first.

"I always knew something was wrong. Like, when I wasn't allowed to eat, or socialize. It's like they wanted me to be a robot. Someone who wouldn't speak up, or talk back, no questions asked." George admitted, laying his head against Dreams shoulder. "I just didn't want to admit it, I guess it was out of fear."

"You know, George. I love you so dearly, you mean the whole damned world to me. It's sad that because of something I can't even control is part of the reason I would never be let into heaven. Love is beautiful, and Catholicism makes it ugly." Dream spoke from his heart, knowing that people who were willing to listen knew that he was right.

Love is love, no matter who denies it. Gay, straight, anything in between, anything on the outside, it's all uncontrollable, and all so beautiful.

There is nothing wrong with eating a bit of meat from time to time. There is nothing wrong with a curse here or there. There is nothing wrong with indulging in alcohol or drugs if you feel inclined to it. There is nothing wrong with human emotions. There is nothing wrong with not believing. There is nothing wrong with having a mind of your own. There's nothing wrong with things you like, and yet millions of people would disagree because of a book written by men. It's disgusting.

"I'm glad I'm not tied to the heavens anymore. Hell is not a place that they make you believe it is, because almost no one makes it to heaven. No ones getting beat here, no ones being hurt here. I'm free to do things I like here, I'm free to love who I want here. I'm happier down here.
And you were right, heaven is what you make of it, it's more of a feeling. I think I finally found my heaven, here with you." George poured his heart out, feeling like a life time of weight was lifted off of his chest.

"George, that is the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Dream sat up and actually smiled. "You already know I love you." Dream gave George a small peck on the cheek, before standing up from his spot on the couch.

"Thank you, you know I love you too." George wanted to stand up with Dream, but already knew he couldn't. It was starting to become a huge issue for George, as he constantly felt weak.

"Alright, alright. I already know we both feel a bit better after that. I'm gonna go fetch us some food, and then when I get back we can try and help you walk again, okay? I know you haven't been the most thrilled about your inability to stand." Dream promised, turning to put his coat on.

"Okay, thanks Dream!" George smiled, sitting back against the couch, silently realizing that his back was feeling a lot better these days.

"Don't even worry about it, angel. I'll be back soon. Love you!" Dream called, leaving the house and shutting the door behind him.

For the first time in George's entire life, he did not feel so pressured by the catholic belief. He felt free of the chains of hatred that clung to him since birth. There's beauty in freedom that you've found for yourself.

The devil and the angel could now see eye to eye.