"You don't scare, right?" "Get job, soon as you get money you'd be wanting more and more." "You need to start talking to people."
Her stepmother's words blurred into one as she listened to the grating voice, wanting to be alone—something the new bitch in her life couldn't contemplate; the black haired woman always talked and talked, and worked and worked—obviously thinking about nothing but money or materialism by the way she talked. The reasons her father and stepmother always gave her about getting a job were the same—money, money, money.
Always, it didn't matter about anything else, everything was about money with them—and they had the audacity to assume she was just like them—a victim to the present society bent on whoring itself for gratification and the buying of mortal value that would crumble the moment resisted.
She had enough of the world long ago—she had held tightly to her beliefs that truth and love were more valuable than how much you could buy. She viewed society and the materialism upheld by it as base, the antithesis of everything her faith held dear.
Not that she believed in any one religion—after seeing how religion could be dominated by power, corrupted by the desire for worth and privilege, she abhorred it. Nothing could be more dangerous to faith than the religious institutions springing up saying they had the true message, sowing their seeds of hate and false-love while emptying the coffers of the world's soul of humanity.
Along its way through time religion and society had lost what it truly means to be human—it wasn't just about love, it was about choice, individuality, the completeness that comes from facing your sins and accepting your self as is regardless of public opinion. The only truly complete and pure human wasn't one who never sinned, but one who, once committing sin, still accepts himself and admits his sin without fear to the public and God.
To accept your sins and not lay judgment on your own actions, or lay down a defense for your actions showed caliber and a certain strength seldom seen nowadays and in the past. Fear pervaded through the times like a cloak, blocking out the sun and obstructing one's view of the path. Fear made one think that the road to paradise was narrow and straight, since every moment one fell off the path—but none ever noticed that they were never on the path. From the moment of one's birth everyone's put on the wrong path to find purity and true immortality.
In truth, there is no path to true immortality; divinity is so massive that it's undefined—there is not, and never was, a mold for God—why should there be when he is perfect in his own imperfection?
'Not that anyone would understand,' she sighed immersing herself in the peace of silence, knowing full well that the only tranquility to be had was what one made for themselves—a thing as fleeting as a breath of air.
Dissatisfied with the world, she tuned it out, focusing her thoughts on the utopia of her mind—its narrowing tunnels more massive than the ones imposed by society, its straight paths more jaded than religion's crooked ones. Her world freer than all the democracies combined that existed throughout the years.
Quietly she fell asleep in escape from the world around her.