I don’t know if there’s a God but sometimes I want so desperately to believe He exists. Not a kind and loving God, nor a cruel and wrathful one. A fair God; a just God. A God who will strip me of these unnecessary fetters, cloth and flesh and muscle, and judge the essence of the soul beneath. I don’t trust a mere mortal mind to weigh the burdens of my heart without bias. Mercy and bigotry are equally poisonous to truth; how can I believe what anyone says when humanity is so fallible, so prone to lies and self-deception? I’m not fool enough to trust another, not arrogant enough to trust myself. But a God, a being utterly without fault or machination, might peer into my depths and deliver honest judgment. Am I the selfless martyr others claim me to be? Or am I the monster which stares back at me from the mirror, the beast which twists beneath my skin and hungers for depravity? I must know. If there is a God, I pray His scalpel is sharp for dissection.