I’d done it.

I still couldn’t believe it really happened. It was better than what I’d imagined, far simpler and easier to just let go and enjoy the sensations than I’d been hesitant to allow myself to experience. Why was I so stubbornly clinging to some old world philosophy, when what awaited me on the other side was far more satisfying? Why deprive myself entirely of comforts that make life worthwhile? All that awaits me on the other side, after all, is darkness.

Well, maybe not. As far as I know, I didn’t actually die. It was nothing more than the inner workings of my mind during delusions. It could be far different. My faith was me counting on that being so. I had no proof, either way, just faith. That was the point. God kept all proof deliberately out of reach. Otherwise it wouldn’t be faith. We were meant to trust and uphold his commandments and be virtuous, only delighting in those actions and words God approved of, or ones that praise God.

What would he say in this case?

I had fallen for someone. Would that make her inherently wicked? A temptress, some evil seductress shaking my foundational faith? Was this a test from God? Perhaps I deserved to be tested. Maybe it was God, angry with me for murdering that man, allowing me a chance to prove to him once more there was a shred of decency in me, yet. A chance my soul could be saved. One last try, before deemed I’m not worth it, and judging me to be wicked. Forever damned. Damned like the rest of this world. If Hell was somehow worse than the reality of this world now…we really are all in trouble.

This world the way it is, that’s what finally broke me. I’d stand no chance in Hell.

If Savannah truly was this evil succubus that God tempted me with…why not Tina? Why not do this far earlier on? Why with someone, that by all respects to my tastes, I guess, didn’t tempt me as strongly and test my resolve to my faith, as she did? It didn’t make sense. I’d think over times of repeated failure, God would up the challenge, not lower it.

I didn’t understand this, nor could I make sense of it. I’m not one to whimsically act or think. My brain gets untethered, my thoughts flow freely down waterfalls into deep chasms if allowed, but that’s me weighing the pros and cons of everything, and determining what God wants of me. I guess I’m not nearly as virtuous as I aspired towards.

My dad would beat me. He’d throw the Catachism at me, bellow that I’m not worthy of being baptized, and it was his place to punish me, in God’s name. The bruises would last for a week or so, I’d hope for no broken bones. My wrist and elbow still hurt during winters, thanks to him. The retched sound of my mom wailing, being beaten also while trying to pry herself in between he and I to “protect” me, compounded the agony suffered. The infraction that time was for not getting a higher grade on my homework.

This went on for years. Days into weeks, into months, into years. Decades. It was all a blur of atrocities survived. I’d shied away from multiple avenues to rid myself of his brutality, and to that end, I was at fault. I chose to instead be the dutiful, religious son. Honor thy father and mother. That was all the enabling he needed, and he took full advantage.

My dad had gotten frail. Weak. Pathetic. No longer this imposing, dangerous person who passed along his same psychological repertoire and rationale as a plague unto humanity. As I saw him wheezing, begging for easier effort to fill his lungs and avoid the scary end of everything, I looked him right in his eyes, and stared at him. As rage fueled me and my hands raised up into his view, reaching for his throat to squeeze out every last bit of life he had left, and finally rid the world of this monster, his expression shone the most terrified look I’ve ever seen. He knew. He finally knew. I could retaliate. I could get him back for his brutality. I could end him on a whim, and there was nothing he could do to stop me, but I’d delight in hearing him beg, anyway. Like I did. Like he delighted in doing.

But I stopped. I didn’t. I realized the monster I was becoming, and I refused to carry on his legacy. I’d hold true to my word, and steadfastly to God’s virtues imparted into me. And by doing so, I gave the whip back to him. The religion he beat into me, saved him in the end. It was all by his design, his security blanket when he was physically unable to control me with fear. He’d then control me with guilt.

If I’d known nothing mattered, there was nothing waiting at the end, I’d have killed him. I’d have killed him back in high school. If I’d had the physical means to, even younger.

Instead, I’d held onto my faith. And now I’d let it go, seemingly. And for what? For love? I guess so. That meant the power of love was stronger than the power of hate. Love could overcome the dark. Love made it worth it. Love was worth fighting for. Worth dying for. Worth risking everything for. Worth damnation, even? Perhaps I’d made that choice, too.

Funny, the thoughts coursing my mind now, and not being directly related to Savannah. As I observed her, she was much prettier than I’d given her credit for at first. I really found her intoxicating. As she had gotten up to report in for a bit, she’d be back, she said, I was left drifting in these thoughts, as Savannah had gotten her gear back in place and played the “nothing is going on” game with the rest of the ranks on the other side of that door.

Left with these lingering thoughts, my mind started immediately seeking a way to incorporate what happened into some philosophical realm and lay the pieces in place. I’d thumbed my nose at my faith, which was the main reason I was clinging to this belief in fighting the Hive. I had murdered this man, en route to bringing this information here, which was a strike against that. I’d probably been more virtuous had I just incorporated into the Hive. My relationship with Savannah was going against my faith also. I deemed, seeing this mission all the way through, ending the Hive, was my only salvation, and restitution for murder. Now, I’d further compounded that.

What was I doing?

I kept waffling back and forth with who I am and what virtues to cling to and aim for. If I’m wicked, why not just save myself the hassle and absorb into this Hive? Rid myself of all the hardship, give up, and just become one? I’d already murdered someone while trying to remain virtuous. Now I’d mocked God’s sanctity, perverting something reserved for marriage. I may as well stop fighting it and just accept it: I’m wicked. I may as well just take the full plunge at this point and just join. I was becoming worse as a person the more I fought against it. There wasn’t much left of my soul worth saving, anyway.

If I’m virtuous, I need to cling to my fight. If I’m looking for redemption, fighting for my very soul, what am I doing losing myself to some girl who doesn’t even say my name? Why am I still laying here, in a bed, not getting better and focusing on the wrong things, instead of regaining my strength and continuing the fight? I’m wasting away, here. This bond with Savannah, an Earthly pleasure, surely pales in comparison to the importance of this mission. I’d allowed myself to get carried away. Whether I could be saved or not, that wasn’t for me to decide. That was in God’s hands. He’d decide. And my story wasn’t done yet.

I didn’t know what to cling to at this juncture. I could understand and see myself going both ways, just as easily. Yet again, another interval I could practically hear Lloyd guffaw at my torturous efforts of tap-dancing my way out of this trap I’d stepped in. It would infuriate me, if it wasn’t so infectious when he did so. I couldn’t help but be warmed by his response. In some ways, it seemed he wasn’t entertained by my foolish conclusions, perhaps rather, he fondly appreciated my efforts, like a proud dad saying to himself ‘You’re getting there…you’re doing good, keep going!’ or something. It could have been entirely imaginary, what I projected in that instance, but it did nothing to diminish the feeling of hope I had, that it was correct. I wanted his approval. I wanted his respect. I wanted him to be the father I’d always wanted, instead of the shitty one I was given.

Laying there, I suddenly caught a scent. Familiar to me and intoxicating, it soothed me and made me feel at ease.

Until I realized, it was the same scent I smelled during my delusion…and it snapped me back there, once more.

(excerpt from Lies Beyond the Horizon by J.M. Macchiavelli)