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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Other · #1902365
Phoenix tries to sort out some of his issues the morning after the election...
Phoenix's experiences in the Middle East had not given him any reason to be fond of Muslims.  He did not indiscriminately hate them, but he did not endorse their views, either.  If they left him alone, he would leave them alone.  Phoenix was a Christian, deep down.  When he presented himself publicly, he attempted to be fair to all races, religions, nationalities, ethnicities, and the like, but once in a while, someone would do something so stereotypical that he could not ignore it.  Phoenix studied people.  That was part of who he was and how he survived.  He had survived the Middle East as a machine gunner by studying people, getting to know their culture, and playing along.  Sometimes Phoenix felt fake in doing so, but it worked.  And if you wanted to get along in the global culture that was America today, you had to work with others.  Hate did not work.  Neither did sarcasm or bullying.  Phoenix was a good soul, or at least wanted to be.  He did not like the idea of being one of the judgmental bigots of the world who could not see their own faults past their own hate for the faults of others.  People were people.  They made mistakes.  Presidents made mistakes.  Phoenix made mistakes.  But Phoenix was ever so much more complicated than most other people he knew...or what he knew of them.

His doctor and he had had a good talk two days ago.  Phoenix could not stop thinking about his identity problems, though, and wrote his doctor a letter that he delivered that morning to his doctor's office.  He hoped that his doctor would get it and call him that day.  Phoenix needed some encouragement.  He was not suicidal.  Phoenix had gotten over that somewhat, in a way.  He did not want to die just yet.  Instead, he wanted an alternative - an option of some sort - to turn to in dealing with the pain of being who and what he was.  Phoenix did not want to die necessarily.  He just wanted to be happy, accepted, and comfortable with his own identity in his own skin.  That was a tall order for Phoenix, though.  After the sexual abuse, after the War, after the rough start to life Phoenix had gotten...he just wanted to be a great doctor.  He did not need to be great in the eyes of his patients or of his supervisors.  He did not need to be told he was great or rewarded for his greatness.  He wanted to be known for doing the right thing and being good at it.  Phoenix wanted to be a good person.  He wanted to atone for the evil he had committed in his past.  He wanted to make something of the disaster of a life he felt he had had in some areas thus far.  He wanted to be a true disciple of God and recognized as such without having to say so.  There were people in Phoenix's life - like his doctor - whom Phoenix could tell were true disciples of God and they never had to say so.  Phoenix knew by their actions, by their caring, by the look in their eyes...  Phoenix wanted to be one of those people.  He did not know if he was capable or if God could do such a thing with so little to work with in some areas of Phoenix's weakness, but Phoenix believed that God was the Almighty.  God could do anything if He wanted to.  Phoenix hoped that God wanted to make Phoenix a great follower of Him.  He knew that God listened to Phoenix.  God answered Phoenix's prayers regularly.  Phoenix knew God was there.  He just hoped that God could work with what Phoenix had to offer.
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