When god fled the scene

When God fled the scene, I screamed. Did we beat him, my sisters asked? No, we scared him, I replied. You, me and all the others. He ‘gave us free will’, but we had it all along. He left the room empty, scattered bodies of his men on the ground. Some say he ran for the coast, turned into a seagull and found himself an island. Somewhere to rest, somewhere to think. Others say he went back to the sky. Blowing his nose in the clouds, until even they told him to get a therapist.

Will he come back? The little boy asked. The little boy hated God too. The little boy already saw the pain of one man in charge. He won’t, we answered. Our voices echoing each other. Because while God cannot die, God cannot forget. And what we did today, little boy, will resonate in his memory for long after you’re gone. 

The boy is worried about how. But the girl already knows. She offers him violet eyes and lets him in on the dance. The dance that broke God’s back. No tricky steps, no leader, no costumes. It’s simple, really, she tells the boy. Grab a hand, take a breath, and let your voice join the others. As long as we stay loud enough, God will not forget. 

When can we stop? The boy asks. 

That, angel, may take a little more time, I tell him. But the answer is simple. 

Your voice will rest when little boys no longer need to learn the dance from little girls.