I want you to meet a boy; this is not only his story, but let's start with him.

Night fell on what many believe is the last day of the week. The day was meant to be kept holy and sacred. Why? Because the Lord says so. But he's no Christian; he believes in no god. Not after what they did. What they let happen. He aint praying to no man in the sky.

The night was quiet. It was peaceful; no dog was barking. No car alarming whaling in the night. It was just as you would imagine. Shadows stretching and mingling in the corners, stars whispering secrets to the darkness. But for him, sleep was elusive. Restless thoughts swirled in his mind. Tangled with unease, its like he was in the midst of a volcano about to erupt

He stripped his clothes from head to toe, leaving only his underwear. The cool air lashed his skin, payingback for his ancestors sins and the pain they caused. He caught his reflection in the window as the soft glow of the street light illuminated his broken soul. He stripped more than just clothes that night. He stripped the weight of the world and all of what it had to offer.

The night grew hotter, and he tossed and turned in bed, restlessness clawing at his thoughts. The sheet clung to his skin, and each creek of the house felt magnified in the stillness. A ding from his phone broke the silence—a message from his friend. Appearing to keep his mind at bay. He grabbed it and headed down to the kitchen. His feet echoing softly on the wooden floor.

His mama already tucked herself in bed, burdened by the weight of her responsibility as mayor of the godforsaken place and the loss of her child. She had little to no room for peace or reflection.

He only went down there to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator; he had no idea what he was about to do. He opened the fridge door, but his gaze landed on a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.Suppose Mama Pierce was the one who left it out, forgetting to return it to the bar. You would think that he would have ignored it like the good boy his mom raised, but no. He poured himself a generous glass and savoured the rich aroma as he lifted it to his lips. It felt like a small rebellion against the weight of the night, a momentary escape from the chaos swirling in his mind.

He sat his phone down and gazed through the glass doors out back at the pool, contemplating a late-night swim. Suddenly, a figure darted past the flower bed, near the pool, knocking over a chair with a loud clatter. His heart raced as he leaned closer to the glass, straining to catch a glimpse of what or who had just disrupted the quiet of the night.

He was a kid, nineteen and dumb; he had no idea what was about to happen. Curious, he slid the door open and approached the scene. A flower pot was broken, but no one was there. It must have been a stray animal; that's what he thought until he was met by something or someone who looked exactly like him. Same blonde hair and blue eyes, with pale, almost alabaster skin. You know that saying: curiosity kills the cat; yeah, he is that cat.

That thing moved just like him; it took the same steps he did and tilted its head in the same direction. It lifted his gun the same way he lifted his; it fell to its knee the same time he did. The same tears it cried, he cried; he just wanted it all to stop. That was a gift Mr. Pierce could give, so he aimed his gun at the spot between its eyes, and like the archers in the mid-century empire, he loosed his arrow and watched as he fell to the ground.

It was dead, but Mr. Pierce was still alive, still breathing, and his chest still beat. But he couldn't stay here, not after what he just did. He had to run; he had to escape reality. He may be the mayor's son, but he was not above the law. After all, he is no God; he is Liam Pierce, a man with a name. He ran, but he felt it—the scarlet paint dripping down his face. He dropped to his knees over a puddle of water, and there was the hole he put in his head. He lost consciousness and laid out in the middle of the street, hoping his angel would come for him. Who was he kidding? That shit ain't fucking real. A fairy tale waiting to happen. He'll be his own god.

But for now, he's not my problem.

Many believe this world is ruled by a God, a single deity with dominion over all, omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient. They say he makes no mistake, but not a day went by where his father, the all-knowing, holy ghost-filled Rev. Dr. James, didn't make it known that he was an abomination and not meant for this pure world—his words, not mine.

He is Rhyfel James, and he is destined for greatness! Well, that's what he said before the palm of his father's hand met the black of his face.

"Go up to your room and get ready for church, you damn bastard child!" he shouted, his voice full of arrogance. Rhyfel stumbled back, the sting of the slap piercing his jawline as tears welled up, but only a single black line slid down his cheek.

"I thought this was supposed to be water resistant," he mumbled as he shuffled his feet and made his way to the stairs that stood a few feet behind him.

He was not an only child, but he was the first one for his parents. According to the Bible, that is a blessing for any new couple. At first, his parents felt the same way they praised him, saying he would bring riches up on the family. Break generational curses and eventually take over as the high priest at the church. All that changed when he sat in the booth and confessed, "Forgive me. Father for I've sin," he was sixteen, too young, too foolish to realise what he was doing. It never once crossed his small town mind, that his father would recognised, the voice he created. That was the day his love became something different and the nightmare now is.

"Honey, turn the TV up." He said to my mom while I walked up in the states tomorrow. But I heard when the white lady came on "breaking news: The mayor's son, 19-year-old Liam Pierce." That's all he heard; the rest faded into the closing of my rooms door

He looked at his bruised face in the mirror, thinking of the lie he would tell the church to protect his family from judgement that I doubt he'll even have to do. Those people do everything by book down to a letter. No rod is ever spared.

He quickly endourns himself in his Sunday's best rush down the stairs. Only to realise the house was empty. They left without him again. No surprise there. He headed out and started walking because, God forbid, he didn't show up to church. They would preach blessing me upon his life and talk about him like he was the devil himself. Don't shun him; I suspect him and cast him out. Maybe that wouldn't be too bad. Anything will be better than the life he has? Well, so he felt.

But there are other people in this world with far greater problems. Meet Issabel

"Bendito sea el Señor, mi roca, que adiestra mis manos para la guerra y mis dedos para la batalla," The words of her abuela whispered in her thoughts. Don't worry, we'll get a translation soon. Those were the only words Isabel could remember her grandmother telling her as a child. She was six when she passed. She didn't even get to go to her funeral as soon as her grandmother died.

Her parents packed up and moved very next day. They had nothing to their names, but they found solace within church walls with every passing day. The trust and loyalty for her family grew, as if God himself knew exactly what he was doing.

She never really had a childhood. Most of her days were spent worshipping the Lord. her one true God. Her parents told her he was the only one she could trust. No complaining there. It was all worth it in the end. After all, prayers do come true, she would know. She's living in someone's answered prayer. If not for her mom, it was her papa's.

Everybody thinks she is this perfect little girl, her family's pride and joy. Well, she is; there's no lie there. She is the perfect little girl and Messenger of God, your voice, laced with pure satin, but if only they bothered to read the Bible, they would know why that was a curse; they would see that she's more than just a holy image.

The devil himself was heaven's greatest singer; he had pipes, not pipe. Let's not go there.

But just like every other church girl. She was a part of the choir, but they were beneath her peasant's really. They don't even understand the weight of what they're singing. She's the one they rely on, the one they look up to, the one with the purest faith. Don't get me wrong, though her belief in God? its unshakable. He's the one who's guiding her, Who sets her apart

Luckily, she is not who we are looking for.

It's been a whole month since this kid got kicked out of school; I can't remember his name, and honestly, it doesn't bother him, not really. People think he got expelled, but that's just the roumor mill doing it's thing. The truth is, he doesn't give a shit either way.

his dad though, he can't take a hint, everyday His gone comes knocking, trying to track him down. Siako, that's his name. He moved out a while back, like way before any of this went down. So yeah, the pounding in his chest is his daily alarm. It was like a dialy reminder to stay one step ahead of the mess he walked away from. But that is not the part of his story we need to focus on here.

He was texting his best friend last night. Well, it was his dead girlfriend's brother, really? First time in months, and honestly, they're definitely not on good terms. He still feels like shit for just ghosting him and leaving without saying goodbye or telling him where he was going. He knew you must resent him for it. So he was sitting there about the send a follow text to the message. He read but never bothered to reply. He was going to apologise and explain, maybe. then he saw the news. His best friend was dead. He shot himself.