“Alone!” he wept as he wiped the tears from his face. “Truth! No longer truth!” he cried.
The confused scholars surrounded the boy…
“We are but fallen angels cast of the kingdom and free from everlasting pleasure! We are the defiled, we are the shunned!
The group of scholars grew larger and larger; all gathering around to hear the boy speaks his delusions.
“How dare he speak in such a foul tongue, “a scholar yelled.
“Blasphemy!” Another yelled.
“God is dead! God is dead! We are the forgotten, the disillusioned and abandoned offspring!”
One young scholar found the man’s words full of substance and truth. His mind began to wonder of all the wrong doings, men and women had done unto him, and so he begun to feel enraged with anger and hate.
“God is dead!” The young scholar cried.
The crowd turned their heads towards the back of the auditorium, where the young boy stood.
Mothers and children cried and screamed at the accusations that now swarmed the room like some great black cloud
One of the elder scholars began to speak and the squawking of the crowd simmered down to a quiet mumble.
The scholar continued… “Young man! What is your name?”
“Ezekiel! Son of Agathe!” the young boy shouted.
“Ezekiel! why do you reprimand the Lord in such spiteful rage?” asked the old scholar.
“There is no more God! fools! all of you! Fools! you are misguided sheep! how can you be so naive?” the boy cried with a splinter of agony.
“Zeke! fear not! what is troubling you my boy!” the scholar asked with empathy.
I sat in disbelief at what was unfolding before my eyes. No one had ever questioned the scholars or challenged them on this matter. I was experiencing a paradigm shift, and I didn’t know what to feel. I hung on the boy’s words like they were string – I wanted so much to hear what he had to say. As I looked around I could sense the feeling of uncertainty and worry. My hairs stood up on my neck in anxiety. The air around me began to thicken and suddenly I could feel the inner linings of my shirt, as beads of sweat ran down the side of my body. I was scared, we all were. Why was the boy speaking this way? What was happening?
“For what do we owe this perjury? are we not bound and chained by this belief we lay in the God’s hands? for what cost must we continue to pay? God is dead and he is taking us with him!”
“BOY!” the scholar screamed, “what madness has driven you to commit such foolish disobedience? For what is the purpose? Answer us!”
The crowd gasped in fear as the boy reached into his pocket to pull out a sharp blade.
“Ezekiel, NO!” The scholar cried. “God will save you, please boy… put the knife down!”
Ezekiel continued “as my own body as sacrifice, I challenge the Gods to one final score of judgement. If God is not dead, he will come down and stop the blade!”
He took the blade in his hand and begun to move it down to the right side of his exposed flesh. The mothers cried and the children hid their innocent faces in their dirty little hands. The scholars bowed their heads in shame and in hope that the young boy would draw the blade away from his body.
I could not help but watch. I had never been so frightened like this before in my entire life. Here I was, filled with spirit until this young boy came along and challenged everything that I had to stand for. And now, the deciding factor; whether or not God really was dead like Zeke had claimed, or if the all willing Gods would come down from the heavens and stop the blade.
“GOD IS DEAD! GOD IS DEAD!”
The boy pushed the blade into the side of his body and into his ribs as the crowd screamed. The children and women screamed as loud as lightening cracking in front of one with their hands now covering their faces.. It felt as though the ground was trembling, as if some great earthquake was bound to shatter the scene into rubble and dust.
As Ezekiel dropped to his knees, the old scholar rammed his way through the crowd, knocking over women and children to come to the child’s rescue, but it was too late. Ezekiel’s bloodstained the barren stone he laid on, a red puddle of what could have been a bright future had been spilled in the name of God, once again. Great. Well written.
Suddenly I could not hear the screaming around me anymore. My eyes transfixed on Ezekiel’s cold, dead body and the scholars huddled around him in disbelief. Dust and people now consuming the air around me, running around mad and in shock; their lives had just taken an unexpected turn, as had mine. I felt numb and paralysed. Not at what I had just witnessed, but at the thought that Ezekiel could have been right.
“Are we but caught adrift in some ocean of uncertainty and chaos? Is there no hope or resolution now for the human race? What have I become?”
I look bleakly into the future. Why were the God’s absent and why did they let that boy kill himself? If they let Zeke kill himself, then why? Why did they let this young boy die as a sacrifice to challenge our belief? Is God dead?