Xan leaned back into the chair and looked out at the city below him. They all looked the same to him—poorer, richer, further, closer, on planets or in space. It was always a different face of the same thing. Today was a bad day. Today was the anniversary of that day. He itched to go out today and forget. His body twitched with a desire to find a distraction, be it in someone or in a bottle of whiskey. He closed his eyes.

Mother, do you see me now?

Where is your God?

------20 years ago, somewhere on the edge of some far of galaxy----

He ran through the grey hallways of the spaceship. On one side were windows that let out to the vast nothingness of space, and on the other, numbered doors, a silver-colored cross on the left of each door. He knew that each door housed a family. His friend lived behind door 340, and he lived at 12. The numbers meant something; he didn’t quite understand what, but he knew his mother and he were one of the prophets’ favorites. He sometimes came to them. Sometimes, the prophet would send him away so that they could pray with his mother. It was a prayer for adults, and someday, he, too, would get to do it, he would be told. He didn’t want to anger his mama, so he would leave and run the expense of the many hallways.

Running made him feel free. Sometimes, he imagined that he was running somewhere else—on a planet with green pastures and fields. The adults said that they were going to a planet where someday he could run amongst the grass. He had never seen grass, but he imagined that it was soft. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Then, when he could run no more, he stopped and leaned against the metal walls of the hall. His breathing labored.

He looked out the window, and it opened to darkness, the darkness only broken up by grey asteroids. It had been a long time since they had passed something other than the asteroids. He counted on his fingers; he was six. He held out six fingers. The last time they had passed a planet he had been- he put down two fingers and counted the remaining. He had been four.

The ship was boring.

The views were boring.

He was bored.

Sliding down against the wall, he sat on the cool metal floor. He didn’t want to read or pray anymore. He wanted to learn about other things—other planets and other places—but he did not want to learn about God.

The loud alarm system shocked him off the floor. He looked around the empty hallway. The alarm shrieked, breaking the silence. The warm white light turned red.

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“This is not a false alarm, I repeat, this is not a false alarm,” the prophet's voice rang out through the speaker system on the ship. “This is the end.”

He turned around and started running back to their room. Although he did not know what to do, a fear moved him. He needed to get to his mom.

“Everyone must return to their rooms.”

Loud bangs rang out in the distance, noises he had never heard. They were followed by shouting. He sped up. Maybe if he had been older, he would have been able to run faster. Get to safety just a bit faster. He dared not look back to where the noise crescendoed into a morbid chorus. He slapped the scanner near their room. The door slid open, and he ran in. His mother grabbed him and pulled him under the table. The door slid closed behind him.

They sat crouched under the table. His mother held him tightly by his shoulders. She was shaking, barely keeping back sobs. Shots rang out around them outside of their room. Only the metal sliding door kept them separated from the chaos outside. He stared, perplexed by the titanium cross on the wall. If God was their all-knowing father, why did he not rescue them now?

“Heavenly Father,” his mother started to pray as she rocked them back and forth. Her grip grew tighter. Nails dug into his shoulders. He winced but did not pull away. His mother was there to protect him. She could never do anything to harm him. His mother was like God- no, she was something better than his mama.

“The Lord is my shepherd.”

The shots only got closer. They surrounded them from all around. He could hear the sound of yelling, of shouting, of those he knew taking their last dying breath. Dying sounded like gurgled breaths and coughing, he thought. They sounded like grunts and screams. Dying was scary, and even though he could barely comprehend the idea of death, he knew that he did not want to die.

“There is nothing I lack,” she kept praying.

“Mama, what’s that noise?” he asked. He pushed against her hold and tried to move away, but he couldn’t. Her hold was iron, unwavering.

“In green pastures, he makes me lie down;”

The door busted open. Men dressed in all black barged in. Their faces were covered. They were fully dressed in armor. Were they demons? He could see a patch on one man's vest. It read Intergalactic Search and Rescue. So, these were the demons they had learned about in the bible.

“There’s a kid here,” one of them shouted.

“To still waters, he leads me.”

He thrashed against his mother, trying to free himself from her grip. He needed to get away from the demons. Her grip only tightened. It hurt.

“Mama!” he shouted. She gave no reaction to him. But he knew they needed to flee. To get away from the army of Satan.

“He restores my soul.”

The men made their way to them. Their steps thudded loudly against the metal floor. Drumming. Was this not God's will?

“Sick freaks,” another man said.

He looked at the cross behind the man; its surface was smooth, reflecting his fearful face on its surface. God, I am scared.

“Get the kid away from her.”

“She has a weapon!” The man yelled, scrambling. They shuffled wildly around the small room.

He watched in the reflection as his mother held out a syringe.

“I will dwell in the house of the Lord,” she plunged it into his back. He felt the pain scoring his body. Filling it with such a vile feeling that it seemed to still linger to this day. Shots rang out, and his mother slumped. He tried to look up to her, but the pain was too much. He screamed, collapsing under the weight of his mother. The pain. The pain. The PAIN.

“Get the kid. We need a medic!” the masked demon yelled.

“Fuck,” it cursed.

He looked at the cross. His vision dimmed. Was this the will of God?