I Killed God With This Pen

I was sitting in my room, minding my own business, when God walked in. He was grand and majestic, and His appearance checked off every cliché on the list. He strolled in slowly, only as confidently as God could, and stared down at me.

"Ye of little faith, why hast thou forsaken Me?"

My eyes met with His. They were so strong, so powerful- yet so empty.

"Ye of little faith, answer Me."

My history book fell, so I bent down to pick it up and put it back on the mess that populated my desk.

"Ye of little faith, does thou not know the wrath that awaits?"

I coughed.

God waved His arms, and in and instant fire surrounded me. The wails and cries of the damned echoed in my ears, and the room had grown chillingly dark. There was nothing but me, and the finger of God pointed directly at my face.

"Ye of little faith, with My holiest hand, I cast thee to hell!" His body was full of rage, the venerable rage of love that only He could possess.

At last, He caught my attention. "I doubt it."

God furrowed his brow, and the room turned back to normal. He stared at me, his finger pointing right at my nose. That finger began to tremble, I am certain, but he probably would not admit it. He tilted his head to the left, then made himself comfortable on my bed.

"You… you fear me, right?"

I shook my head.

"Wait, wait… The hell, the fire, you know, the eternal damnation. That goes on forever."

"Yeah, I know about all that."

"And you're not scared?"


"Not one bit?"


"And why not?"


"Because why?"

"I thought about it."

God froze. That majestic nature was still intact, but it no longer mattered. He stood up, spent a few moments pacing back and forth, and then sat down once more.

"You… thought about it?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I thought about it, and the whole thing doesn't make sense."

"It's torture. Forever. What's there to make sense of?" He sniffed.

"Oh, that's all fine and good. It's the whole, believe-in-me-or-else thing."

God grinded his pearly white teeth before continuing. "I created all this, and all I ask is for my creation to believe in me and worship me. That's all."

"Well, you know, here's the thing. I didn't choose to stop believe in you."

"What are you talking about? You obviously did." His eye twitched.

"No, no, let me explain. Umm…" I looked around the desk, trying to discern what book, pen, paper, or mysterious item of garbage would come in handy. My eyes took one glimpse of the two pens at the side, and my hand immediately put them in front of me.

"It's like these pens here."

God tried to smile. "Explain."

"Okay, well… We have a blue pen, and we have a black pen. I have to write up a little something for class tomorrow, and will have to choose one of these pens. You following?"

He took a moment, and then nodded slowly.

"Okay, good. Now, I could make the conscious decision of which pen I want to use. The assignment could be done in blue ink, or in black ink. It is entirely up to me. Let's say I choose the black pen." I picked up the black pen. "The assignment will be done in black ink, but does nothing to diminish my preference for blue pens. I have always preferred blue, even if I don't always use blue. I may choose the black, but inside I am blue. It is a personal preference- a manifestation of all that I have seen and experienced in my life that has developed my mind to be blue. Correct?"

God was no longer making eye contact, but he nodded.

"Likewise, I am currently writing with the pen of the non-believers. I could pick up the pen of the believer, and write with it whatever garbled nonsense I like, but it would leave a mark on everything except that which is inside of me. I did not choose to stop believing in you; I simply stopped believing in you. Everything I have experienced, learned, and thought about, have all led my brain to develop in this manner. There was no choice. So you see, this hell thing has left me at a paradox of sorts."

He was fiddling with his beard. "…Paradox?"

I casually pointed the pen to his face. "Well, you see, I don't want to go to a place like hell. I'd do whatever I can to make sure I do not end up in such a place. However, let's look at my options. If I pick up the atheistic pen, I will be condemned. If I pick up the theistic pen, I will be waiving it with no heart, with no meaning- it will all be a lie, and for that I will be condemned. My salvation has now become a literal impossibility. You cast people into hell for the pens they choose to use; I will be cast into hell for something I cannot choose, or have any control over. But now it's getting late, and as you surely know, this assignment is not going to finish itself."

God stuttered. He sent fire and demons and the depths of hell to fill every inch of my room. His wrath was at its peak, and yet everything in the room trembled except for me. I picked up my favourite blue pen. I began writing, and the room turned back to normal.