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Man Has Questions for God

SYNOPSIS — A character study of an immortal's woes.

PAIRING — Adam Frankenstein x gn!reader

TAGS — Introspection, Philosophy, Religious Themes, Allegories, Physics, Angst, Suicidal Ideation, Existential Dread, Body Horror, Referenced Romance

WORD COUNT — 886

A/N — Adam's immortality is a topic that just won't let me go, and I'm running to so many philosophical places with it 😭🏃‍➡️ Also, this is my first—my FIRST!—work that I've ever posted that doesn't have smut in it, in all of my seven years on ao3 😂 Adam Frankenstein, what have you made of me?!

Masterlist | Ao3 | Dividers by @saradika-graphics | Header by @editfandom

"What now, God? Hm?"

Adam spoke to the bloated, red eye of God that stared down at the Armageddon, the heat death of the world.

The charred soles of his feet sizzled against parched earth, the desert around him dry and cracked, not a single plant surviving, let alone life. Adam's flesh melted and regrew with every pyroclastic wing across the heavens. The tips of his hair curled in on themselves, shriveling to ash.

"Is my existence as you envisioned? Does it suffice your plan for the world?"

The sun had swallowed Mercury and Venus. Earth was next to be absorbed into its churning belly, that crucible of elements that had moiled incessantly for billions of years.

"Am I your dark angel?" He probed, his tongue a piece of charcoal in his mouth, his teeth black. "Am I your… Lucifer? Is this my punishment?"

He knew, it was the vision of a dark angel that had spurred his creator into his assembly, but his animation had not been Victor's feat.

"Or am I your son?"

Weeping, he raised his face to the sun and blisters sprung across his skin, tears evaporating in thin streams of vapor. Buckling knees met the scorched earth, burning holes into the calcium of his knee caps.

God's son was said to have been crucified and killed to purge the sins of man, and he too had walked among them again. Perhaps… the sins of man had grown so manifold that they needed constant absolving.

Born on a cross, maybe Adam was God's second son, the inverse child to the one who had supposedly lived eons ago. A shadow of that revered person, only that he absolved mankind by coming back to life. Over. And over. And over again.

Except mankind had long disappeared, along with any other being that he might call kin.

So if that had been his task, why was he still here?

Adam stared at the unblinking orb in the sky and found that he too couldn't blink, for his lids had melted off his skull and ran in thick dollops down his cheeks.

The earth scorched him where he knelt. What remained of the atmosphere rolled like fire into his lungs. Soon, the floor would open up and become lava for him to drown in. And he still lived. And he still lived.

Sun was life, he knew.

Was he the sun?

Was it a sprig of that fiery giant's heart that churned behind his own ribs?

Would he too finally cease to be when the sun exploded? Would he breathe his final breath with the red eye's lurid super nova?

Or was he his own sun? His heart a cruel reactor for nuclear fusion, splicing hydrogen, pouring life unwanted from his ventricles?

Would he burn brightest before his death, and send the gravitational echo of his unmaking across the galaxy?

Or, if he was neither a sun, nor anyone's son, would he float suspended in space, frozen forever and bereft of breath? For more eons than life itself had ever known, until every other star had gone dark, until every black hole had evaporated and even entropy ceased to be.

Until only he remained.

Would it make him God?

A God as inept as his maker had once called out in spite. Incapable of creation, and of death. Not even his own.

Cold sweat dripped down the crevices of Adam's flesh, rolling through his anatomy in frozen shivers despite the ball of fire that consumed the sky, larger than the world. Scorched legs sunk into the liquid ground, no divine mercy to save him from a million heat deaths.

Wheezing, convulsing, he clawed at the air with skeletal hands, finding it tangible and soft. He gripped, tore at the fuming atmosphere for anything that might grant him leverage. Hell licked at his flesh, but he was no devil!

He didn't want to die. Not like this.

The reactor of his heart sputtered and yammered when he yanked his eyes open to cold winter light, his lids back where they belonged, his lashes tear-crusted, his locks tangled but not burned. Large hands were fisted into fabric, one into the sheets, one into his lover's shirt.

He'd woken them with his thrashing. Immeasurably grateful to be released from the nightmare's clutches, he felt horrible all the same, for it had plagued him for nights upon thousands of nights, and never did he recognize the dream when he dreamed, and always did they hear him wail and whimper, endured his brutish hands and feet clashing against their peaceful form.

"My angel," his lover's voice cooled him like a river's current, murmuring around his nuclear heart. "The earth still spins. It is winter… And I love you."

Adam still tasted charcoal from the nightmare, sobbing as he lay his face onto their chest. His shaking only ceased when they rearranged the heap of blankets over the two of them and encased him in their consoling embrace, lips to his hair, fingers down his heaving spine. Chilly winter air whistled through the walls and floorboards.

No fire burned forever.

And while Adam had many questions for God, he prayed that mercy would be bestowed to him at last—when he had found the answers to whatever questions God had for man.

A/N — If you enjoyed this gritty little character study, a comment & reblog would mean the world to me ❤️ What do you make of his immortality? How do you think his life will end, if it ever does?

-- Merry Christmas from your Aunt Peggy, with a helping of existential dread ✨

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