Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1506110-GOD
Rated: 18+ · Script/Play · Emotional · #1506110
Just live your life. Life will find you when IT IS TIME.

[GOD how i hate HIM. he doesn’t understand me. he cannot understand me. he is impossible. I HATE HIM.]

[he thinks he is GOD. that’s the problem. he thinks. he should stop there.]
me: Excuse me?
HIM: What?
me: May I have a pencil?
HIM: Why do you not have your own pencil, Ms. Mather?
me [Cuz I don’t wanna have my own goddamn pencil.]: I forgot it.
HIM [grunts]: The extra pencils are in the cup- like always.
[I forgot my pencil- like always.
GOD i hate HIM.]

[He has this nose, it curves downward at me. He has these eyes- dark and at the end of a black tunnel. He has this hair, awful and greasy and BLACK. He has these ears- pinned close to his body, pointed like two horns.

He stares down at me.]
HIM: Tryphena, you really need to bring your own pencil. This is math class. You always need pencils in math class.
me [always this shit about MATH class. Like it’s the only thing that matters in this WORLD. grumble]: I’ll bring one tomorrow.
[i’ll bring one NEVER. i don’t bring my own damn pencil for a reason. Bugging HIM, pissing off GOD. GOD I HATE HIM.]

HIM: Tryphena, do you even listen? I tell you everyday to bring a pencil, and what do you do? Not bring a pencil.
me [Maybe i’d remember if i didn’t have lard butt for a teacher. IF GOD WASN’T MY TEACHER.]: I’ll bring one tomorrow.
HIM [nodding, satisfacted, content.]: Good. Now do this problem on the board.
me [i hate geometry almost as much as i hate HIM.]: Which problem?
[He shows me a problem out of HIS book- like mine isn’t good enough. He smiles, leering down his tunnel eyes at me. He cannot wait until this class is over, this day is over, this LIFE is over. HE IS GOD. HE MAKES THE RULES.

I look at his book. The charged space between us is repulsive. He leans in too much, I pull away. I walk up to the board and do his problem. I smear the marker with my sleeve, rub it in rub it in make him EAT it.]
HIM: Well done, Tryphena. Thanks for the demonstration.
[i bet he watched my BUTT the whole time. uh? do you like it, GOD? hhm? i work out just for you? uh?]
me [eyes down]: Thank you. [a compliment? A COMPLIMENT? WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?! GOD!?]

[It was a year ago. When I first started geometry. I had him. Back before he was HIM- before he was GOD. He thought he was great, GREAT, but not GOD. He was still okay.

He had these stone cut muscles, like one of those vampires. He had this smile, dazzling, charming, INVITING.
He had his LUCK and his WAY and his CHARM. He was OK.]
HIM: Tryphena, may I see you after class?
[That’s how it started.]
me [eyes down, pleading uselessly]: Yes, sir.
HIM [smiling, like HE KNOWS something, like HE’S SMART.]
me [shuffle back to seat, sit down, don’t look up- no NEVER look up, never meet those tunnel eyes, never smile at that carved face. NEVER AGAIN.]

[It wasn’t even my fault. I was having trouble with ge-ya-me-tree. Like I’m the dumbass. Check again GOD.

He was all smiley and nice and helpful. He helped me and I learned. Then I was supposed to go home. No ride, no ride, no ride, wait, wait, wait. GOD to the rescue. Except he wasn’t GOD yet. He was still OK.

He said he could give me a ride. I said to myself why not? Then we were in his car- an AUDI, a fucking TT. He’s got money, he’s got fancypants. Ain’t he LUCKY.

Then we were talking- how I am parentless, living with an older stepsister. She’s always passed out drunk when I get home. Sad story? Cry me a river.

Then we were parking. It wasn’t my house. It wasn’t my neighborhood. It wasn’t anything MINE. It was all GOD’s.

Then he was all crystal clear, in my ear, whispering words, feeling loverly. Then I was panicking, tugging at the locked door- Why couldn’t I GET IT OPENED? Fucking child-proof door! GOD IS A SMART ASS!

Then he was all over me, arms a cage about me, legs bars about mine. Then he was next to me, fingers prying, lips pressing. Then I was screaming and kicking and biting. WHERE THE HELL WAS I?!

Then he was undoing and pulling and lovemaking and being GROSS. He stuck his thing in me- HE IS A FUCKING DICK.

Then I was crying and tearing and heaving- oh GOD I WAS SO EMBARRASSED! Then I was exhausted and dried out of tears and tired. I fell asleep in his car- I TOOK A NAP IN HIS AUDI TT- Right after getting RAPED?

Then he was taking me inside my house, setting me on my bed- HOW DID HE EVEN KNOW WHICH WAS MINE? He is GOD.

Then he was leaving and continuing his life. LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED.

I went to school, skipped his class, failed geometry. Now, I’m repeating it. Now, I’m repeating IT all over again. Except it’s everyday, like I’m his FUCK buddy or something.]

[I come up to his desk after class.
HIM: Hello, Tryphena. [smiling now, so proud of himself] You look good today. [nodding toward the board] That was very good. I think you finally understand.
me: Then I don’t need you anymore.
HIM [chuckling]: What do you mean?
me [bristling, keeping calm]: You know what I mean.
HIM: Tryphena, [tunnel eye stare] don’t be so cryptic.
me: I’m done with you and your games.
HIM: Like you can do anything about us. [US?!] You know you’ll come crawling back to me. [leaning in, stale breath] You need me.
[like he’s GOD. GOD i hate HIM.]
[i turn slightly away, as if to hide from these WORDS OF TRUTH. i reach, i reach, i reach- it is here. grip the handle. with force. steady now.]

[he stands and comes to me. big, meaty hand, cupping my face.]
HIM: Baby girl, Tryphena. [words drip with poison, with sticky honey, sweet, paradoxical]
me [jerking my chin out of his grasp]: NO!
[Eyes, with pride, with fire, with meaning, with determination, meet tunnel eyes, with anger. He was caught off guard. Ha!]
HIM: Tryphena, what’s wrong? What has happened for you to act this way?
me [he is sick, he is demented, he is done]: I am through with you and your shit. Just leave me alone!
HIM [taking a step toward me]: Tryphena, you don’t mean that.
me: Stay away from me! I do!
HIM [with meaning, with heartfelt lust, with sickening psychotic passion]: Tryphena...
me: I’m warning you.
HIM [laughing]: Ha! What could you possibly do? You are just a child! What do you know!
[He takes another step. Wrong move. I pull the knife and jab him, hard, up under the rib cage. He chokes and staggers back.]
me: I know you aren’t GOD. I know you are worthless. I know enough to beat you.
HIM: You…[wheezing]…beat…[choking]…me?
me [eyes narrowing]: Yes. You’re the one who is dying.
HIM [tunnel eyes dimming]: Haha, Tryphena.
me: Haha?
HIM: Yes, Tryphena, yes, haha…You are the one who is dying.
me: I stabbed you.
me: I know.
HIM: You are losing yourself.
me: You already lost yourself.
HIM: I’m already dead.
me [eyes bulging]: [silence]
HIM: [cough cough cough]You…you are mentally unbalanced.
me: You are mentally unbalanced.
me: You’re WORTHLESS.
HIM: You are, too.
me: [speechless.
HIM: You have no parents, no life, no hope, no future, nothing. You are nothing. You are WORTHLESS.
Me [snapping]: Why are you telling me this?
me: I am not GOD.
HIM: No, but I am still YOU.
me: You are wrong. [DIE ALREADY!]
HIM: [dying breath] Haha...Tryphena, bring your damn pencil to class.
[Just like that, he dies.

What did he mean?]

[i run, i run, i run, like the world is falling away behind me, like darkness is nipping at my heels, and I have to run from it. I have to run.

I run past my house, past my stepsister, past everything I once stood for. What did he mean?

I don’t stop. Not until I cannot run anymore. When my feet fall off and my head nods off and I am forced to stop and think. I don’t want to think. Life is better when I don’t think.

I’m better off.]

some guy in the dark of the street: hey?
me: go away.
guy: hey!
me: I’m done!
guy: You left your knife.
[I turn around. I look at the guy’s face, shining from the dark of the street.

He has these amazing eyes, round and green and knowing. He has this hair, soft and brown and comforting. He has these muscles, strong and secure and holding. He has this heart- strong and bloody as that knife.
He can handle life. He doesn’t need me.]
me: Keep it.
guy: Tryph...
me: You’ll need it.
guy: What for?
me: GOD.
[He stands up and steps out of the dark of the street. He looks at my face, glistening from the sweat of hard work.

He smiles.]
guy: You don’t need it.
me: Why would I?
guy: You’ve destroyed your GOD.
me: I am my own god.
guy [smiling]: Thanks.
me: You’re welcome.

[I have this heart- strong and bloody as that knife.
I have this head- screwed and unbalanced as HIM.
I have this ME- Tryphena Lilac Mather-
I have this GOD.

And he keeps his own fucking hands in his own fucking pants.

And I have my own goddamn pencil, stuck behind my ear, tucked through my hair.

But you’re so welcome. Because without me, how will you ever KNOW who are fucking ARE? Without my KNIFE, how will you ever kill those personal DEMON GODs and LIVE YOUR LIFE?

How will you ever BREAK FREE from your own fucking chains and say to hell with it and just LIVE?!

Word to the wise:

Don’t give people shit and pretend you give a damn about them. Just live your life. Life will find you when IT IS TIME.]
© Copyright 2008 Cherry Hawkins (ajt2010 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1506110-GOD