transcripts of prayers left on god’s answering machine
praise be to the god of Silence,
of missed calls, of texts left on read.
you might want to pick up your phone once in a while, you know? sometimes it’s urgent. anyway, call me back as soon as you can. bye.
praying with silent, desperate tears streaming down her face as she pleaded with the only Father she could fathom to save her.
I doubt You’ll get this now. Probably have my number blocked. Heh.
I never could scream loud enough for You to hear.
you were supposed to protect me, you know?
was I not good enough? jesus was, and you killed him anyway. did you want to crucify me, too?
hey, Man! listen, I’ve got those files for You. I’ll drop them right off. want me to leave the door unlocked?
it’s me, your mother. I miss You.
for all I know; i’m talking to an empty house. you’re probably not even home. i’m always sure the voicemail box has to be full by now, but there always seems to be space. wonder how much you paid in advance for the latest model, way back before everything. must’ve cost a fortune. anyway, I—
our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done: on earth, as it is in heaven.
we are calling about a problem with your car’s extended warranty—
what was that for, huh? You just let her die? what the hell! I asked You. I asked You to save her. You owe me!
bring him peace. don’t let anyone bother him anymore. give him what he wanted. give him rest. please.
do you think jesus felt loved? how could anyone, when your own father wants you dead? could you trick yourself into thinking that’s love? could you make yourself believe it?
this is an appointment reminder for—
—can You hear me, dad? am I coming through? anyway. just wanted to call and say I love You. okay. see you later. bye.