Okay, so I am planning on using this space here to just jot down a few ‘common knowledge’ ideas which may not be so ‘common’ after all.
Firstly, God and Jesus Christ are one and the same guy. He tends to be God more, just because His occupation demands Him to be controlling, self-important and pretentious most of the time.
Next up is the fun fact about the twelve disciples. Six girls and six guys going by the names of Rachel, Rose, Grace, Lena, Bianca, Eliza, and Mark, Luke, Matthew, James, Jeremy, Karl.
Thirdly, the place is not called Heaven, the inhabitants are. Like on Earth there are humans, here they are heavens. ‘Here’ is also known as Outer Earth (O.E) according to God. Mother Earth is actually inside Outer Earth, it’s just that they exist in different dimensions. Go inside Mother Earth and you will find the fiery pits of Hell run by a guy called Lucifer St Glen (or the Devil for short).
I think this causes the most confusion, after the whole Outer Earth/Heaven thing and probably God being Jesus Christ as well. Satan does not exist but St Glen does, some kind of accent or translation issue, I guess.
Finally, the only colour allowed to be worn in O.E is white, the colour of purity.
3:30am. I am instantly awakened by an internal force and snap upright, rubbing my slightly bleary eyes as I slide out of my comfy bed and into the day. My daily outfit consists of a pure white, cotton dress with quarter length sleeves, and a hem line which brushes just below my knees. I easily slip into it and pull on my white sandals, then attempt to tidy the mass of brown hair which twists and frizzes in any direction it can. This is probably the longest stage in my morning routine, and once that has been achieved to the best of its ability I splash some water on my face and leave my town house. It’s one of twelve which form a ring around God’s home and just next to us all is the Sacred Temple, the largest Church in O.E, one of many places of worship. It must only be about 3:45am right now, I am early, but it seems that everyone else is earlier. The group wait for me on the gleaming, marble steps; 11 disciples and God. White clothing against white marble, I feel a twitch in the right side of my jaw but I have no idea why. I get them sometimes; a lurch in my stomach while I eat the bowl of cold porridge for breakfast, or a twitch in my throat when God says something to me. Yet I feel perfectly content, I always do. God is wearing His famous cream trench coat, along with a white shirt, baggy blue pants, and His favourite pair of silver sandals. His tan is perfect, His caramel coloured hair shimmers and His pure white eyes gleam. Rose also looks as beautiful as ever; her white singlet and floor sweeping, white skirt contrasting strongly with her olive skin and dark brown, perfect ringlets of hair which cascade down her shoulders. I don’t know how long I have known the others, but I know Rose and I were friends before the rest. It’s a feeling I get in the bottom of my stomach, rather than a memory. I’m sure Rose feels the same as she always greets me with a quick hug and we part the same way, and she always sits on my right at meal times.
“Rachel, I am glad you made it. Now let’s begin our wonderful day”, God extends one of His hands towards me and I take it humbly.
We all move into the Sacred Temple and begin the morning’s prayers. Followed by cold porridge for breakfast, then some teachings by God, more praying, a lunch of chicken and salad sandwiches, more teachings and more praying. Dinner is a gorgeous roast followed by prayers and only after that do we all part ways and return back to our separate homes.
I walk Rose home, since her house is just before mine, in silence. We have nothing we need to say to each other, and though the whole walk there is a strange feeling in my stomach, it disappears after I bid her goodbye. It’s about ten metres to my front door and once inside I climb the stairs and have a quick shower, brushing my teeth while I am under the shooting streams of warm water. Into my floor length, white sleeping gown I get and climb into bed. I read my tattered copy of the bible until I feel it is time to rest. Lying down I look at the brightness outside my bedroom window, it is always bright here. Slowly I close my eyes and drift asleep as a lone word crawls through my brain, sure to be forgotten by tomorrow:
3:30am. I am instantly awakened by an internal force and snap upright, rubbing my slightly bleary eyes as I slide out of my comfy bed and into today. I get dressed, tidy my hair as much as possible, wash my face and walk to the Sacred Temple. I am early, but everyone else is even earlier. The group wait for me on the gleaming, marble steps; 11 disciples and our Lord, God. “Rachel, I am glad you made it. Now let’s begin our wonderful day”, God extends one of His hands towards me and I take it humbly.
We all move into the Sacred Temple and begin the morning’s prayers. Followed by cold porridge for breakfast, then some teachings by God, more praying, a lunch of chicken and salad sandwiches. Except today is a little different, every now and again God will let us use the last half of the day at our own leisure. When he does this most of the disciples continue their prayers at the Sacred Temple, but I am always drawn to walk around and look. I walk past houses upon houses, and little shops. I walk in the park, both around God’s home and further away near a small pond. I walk up and down the stairs in my own house, and peer into the unused kitchen. I just can’t seem to stop moving, and yet I feel nothing but completely content. I have confided in God about it and He said it was just extra energy which I should devote to prayer as I did on regular days. I’ve tried. Believe me. But I just can’t, not on these days. Today was the same, the others went back to the Sacred Temple and I walk around God’s large park, sticking to the beautiful, cobblestone path only when it suits me. I have just finished clambering over a thick root when a tall, dark object catches my eye between the thick foliage of the trees. My pace quickens and I am suddenly in a small clearing, in front of a huge, dark statue of an angel. I gaze up at the statue as an incomprehensible feeling travels the entire length of my body. He is male, with a cloth wrapped securely around his waist and huge, feathery wings stretched out on either side of his body. What is it made of? It looks like marble, but how can it be so dark in colour? I have never seen a colour darker then the brown of wood and it seems to be wearing away at my peacefulness. I move closer, curious about what the statue represents. It couldn’t be evil, I was in God’s garden! On the angel’s chest I can just make out a set of numbers scratching into the marble muscle. Really scratched, not neatly engraved, but as if someone with a sharp object carved them in.
I tilt my head to the left a little and stare at the three sixes, a peculiar feeling resting on my shoulders. I know these numbers, I know I do, yet I can’t remember. Why? On impulse I reach out and brush one of the angel’s outstretched palms with the tips of my fingers. It suddenly becomes so dark I cannot see, what is this? Sometimes there is a slightly dim corner of a room, but nothing this dark. How can something get this dark? It’s like the colour of the statue is all around me and I don’t feel content. I don’t know what it is, but my heart is racing and I don’t want to be here. Why am I not happy?