Two Seconds

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“The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

--William Shakespeare

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God brings. God takes. God deceives. God forgives. God forgets. 

Who is God?

That's all I've ever wondered my entire life. Who is this man that we believe is our creator? Our one link to humanity?

They say God is divine.

What does he do that makes him so divine? He does nothing but take people, make them suffer, then throw them into the darkest parts of hell to die in vain.

Then again, that's only what I believe. Even as I drive to the hospital, I think about how every two seconds someone is taken by God. How they are lying in a bed, surrounded by pale white walls and sad faces, when in those next two seconds they are gone.

Forever.

They don't say goodbye. They don't cry. They just leave you behind to suffer the pain. The pain God decided to wrought on you. I drive by the churches, marveling at them silently as the night sky blanketed the city of Los Angeles.

The lights flood the streets and the signs. The churches were lit, with their signs displaying all of their religious events. I stopped as the light at the intersection turned red. The rain continued to pour down on my car, harshly hitting the windscreen. I watched carefully as the wipers wiped the fluid away, like it was nothing. 

Just the way God wipes you away after you're done.

Maybe God is a good man. Maybe he eliminates you of your suffering once you leave his world that he created for us. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe you fall asleep, but never dream.

But never wake up either.

I gently tapped the pedal and the car wheeled forward into the parking lot of the hospital. I parked silently into an empty space and stepped outside. 

The wind tried to push me over, and the rain spat down on my face like grit. I fought against the wind and tumbled inside the hallway of the hospital.

Today for once it was quieter. There was no shouting, no screaming.

No dying, yet.

I walked over to the radiation corridor where my wife, Sam, was receiving her treatment for terminal cancer. I saw her doctor and rushed over immediately.

“Dr. Rogers!” I shouted. He turned around and frowned, narrowing his eyes a bit. I've known him for nine years now. When he frowns, it's never a good thing. I stood beside him as he put a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the tears scratching the back of my eyes.

“Jen…” He sighed. I looked up at him, reading his face.

“How bad is it?” I croaked. Dr. Rogers lowered his head, sniffling. I felt tears welling up in my eyes as he looked up at me once again.

“Come with me.” He said. I followed him down a corridor and into a room. 

It was dark, and solemn. I could hear soft, hushed voices coming from up further ahead. I could barely make out Dr. Rogers' face in the dim light. 

Finally there was light, though it wasn't that bright. There was a blue glow on the ceiling and there was a humming sound coming from a tiny corner in the room. Dr. Rogers lead me to a balcony, in which then I saw what he wanted me to see.