I walked wearily down the street with my back-pack firmly in my grip. All I could hear was the shuffling of feet behind the darkest shadows in which not even a silhouette could be made out. It was getting dark out, but the monsters couldn’t get me anymore. Not now. I was no longer afraid. I had felt the Hand of God. He had slapped me right across the face, had marked me for death. A death any of those feigning life were not worthy of dealing. I knew from the moment that God revealed his unparalleled disdain for me that I was meant for bigger things. I wasn’t sorry for what I had done. He put this on us, even on those that had worshipped in his home for years. “The Great Purge was meant for all”, as the man with no god said, and he was right. Those who survived had come to depend on him, for in the end, it was he who had become the most religious. Those who had preached their own faith before had abandoned their hope, but the man with no god seized the opportunity to gain influence. It was his church of rationality that reigned supreme ultimately. Supreme, that is, as God had allowed him to become. For God was angry, angry at all of us, and allowed his anger to stew as more and more joined the Atheist man, and more and more left his side. He locked the gates to heaven and opened the gates of hell. He watched blindly in his rage as the dead rose and consumed all life on the big rock. He watched as I did what I had done, and accepted it with a greater anger than he had done with most others. He temporarily abandoned his passive genocide to slap me in the face. And as the skin of the right side of my face peeled away, I smiled. I smiled because I knew I was special, I knew that I had done something significant. I was more important than those whose life was suffice to be taken by those whose had already left them. I smiled and then I began my journey down this narrow, cluttered street to my ultimate objective…