The Angelic Conflict (Extended Published Version)

Untitled Part 20

THE BOY empties his cup; remnants of coffee have lingered in the bottom. "Golden streets. Pearly gates. No more tears, no more sadness, no more death. I don't know. I'm yet to get there."

"See? It sounds so boring."

"How can having the unrestrained ability to roam and study the whole conceivable universe, and if there are any other universes, without the concept of sin, without the concept of evil, be boring? Eternity's great!"

"And you say that all it takes is faith."

"Yes."

"Cheap. And too easy."

"What? How is putting your faith in a man who lived two thousand years ago easy?"

The girl squints and mutters, "Faith."

"Yes. Faith. The assurance of things expected, the evidence of things unseen. Come faith. All good things happen after that."

"Bullshit." The girl sets her fork on her plate on which crumbs of cake and smears of black icing scatter about. "I rarely meet a Christian who's not in trouble."

"Well, I doubt that Christians are properly studying His Word and faith."

"Excuses."

"I'm not making up excuses."

"You are. And just so you know, the Christians in my life all have done some pretty lovely shit in my life."

"Yeah, I can sense that," he says. Molly's face flashes in his mind. He blinks twice to dismiss it. "Most Christians have done a lot of mean things in my life, too. And I, as a Christian, have done some mean things myself."

"Christianity is fucked up."

"No. Christians are. Religion, too, is screwed up. You have to have that personal relationship with Him, you know. Christianity is not a religion— okay, maybe it is somewhat, but it's just not that; and if you looked at Jesus, at God, at His Word, nothing else, you will find a unique hope and joy that you will never find in anything, anyone, anywhere, anytime."

The girl's eyes remain as slits. "How can you say that?"

"How can I say what?"

"That there is unique joy in Jesus."

"There just is."

"You've felt it, I presume?"

"I have it."

The girl almost spits. "That's fucked up thinking, brother."

"No, it's not." He feels his chest fire up; his breathing races. A feeling too familiar, yet he still could not control. He babbles: "I've observed it on other people."

"And observing it on other people makes it valid?"

"If it's consistent, why not?"

"Okay. Let's hear your example."

The boy takes one more breath before speaking, "My sister. She was pursuing music. She appeared to be doing well. Invited to perform even abroad. Winning awards left and right as a songwriter. She was the one who provided for us when our father went MIA. She was well on her way to fame and legendry." It took a moment before he continued, "But she was not happy."

"And how could you tell?" the girl hisses.

The boy stares at her. "My sister... five months after her beloved boyfriend lost to cancer, she murdered her handler while spending a night at his condo." The boy can feel the sting in his eyes. "After the crime, she jumped off from the unit's balcony, to her death." His voice falls into a whisper, "The police said she slit the throat of the man, from which she most likely drew the blood, using it to write on the wall the lyrics of one of her songs."

I'll spare my mother and my brother
But let me kill my father's daughter

"She almost had everything. But was she even happy? No."

The heavens died long ago
The way to paradise is to end it all

"You think—" The girl puts on her impassive face; but her tone is of one of incredulity, and the boy knows she has peeved the girl again. "You think it's because she left her religion?"

"I think it's because she lost her faith. When she lost her faith, she also lost her joy—"

"Or she could have been mentally ill." The girl sneers. "This really is bullshit."

The boy utters nothing.

"And me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm pursuing my dreams. Won't I find joy, too?"

The boy purses his lips. "Well..." He could be certain now that she is mad. Her nostrils are flaring every few seconds.

He swallows before saying, "You can dream. You may know what you want in life, what and who would make you happy. But once you get there, whatever you want to get at, sane or not, you'll realize that what you've done isn't enough. Nothing's enough. That every good thing we get in this world has its end, whether it be money or fame or a faithful lover. And at some point of your life, like everybody else, you'll reach a breaking point, and on your deathbed, you'll understand that nothing in this world will ever satisfy, because nothing lasts forever—"

"Thank DMT then."

"—there will always be something missing."

"And that would be?" the girl fumes.

The boy lets his gaze fall.

The girl leans back on her chair, and whispers, "God. You said I was on the right track." She hugs herself, clearly disappointed at where the conversation has gone to.

"I did?" He does not remember.

"Hypocrite!" She points at him. "You've lured me into a meal, taking advantage of the fact I was tired! You tell me how 'nice' it is that I'm pursuing my dreams, but really, all you had in mind was for me to believe in your bullshit! And now that you're not getting me anywhere with your Jesus crap, you're attacking me with things to fear of! You're a fucking hypocrite! You fucking all are!"

"I'm sorry," the boy said. That is all that he could say. He does not know what else to. He feels his nose warm up.

His apology binds the girl in silence. She looks stunned. Perhaps she anticipated a verbal rebuttal. He could not guess. He does not know anymore, especially when she speaks once more.