• Dreaming of a far away land that at one time we called home. The place that so many flocked to because they thought 'it's better than there, anything is better then there' but there is always different for hem.

    They think that life flows into death and so many of them think death is better then life. Then they get there, they come and stay and all the while they say that here is better then there; however, they are with the same kind of people they were before.

    Just different names, people who mill around and say the same things to themselves so they feel better about their problems as they walk along the darkened streets. It's just another city, another place where babies cry and people dream of something better for themselves. But it's always better then there, it's always better then the life they had. Of course it is. Of course this is their heaven, in that small apartment on a different street. It's just that this time around they have hope, an understanding, that this was better then 'there' and it always would be.

    However many souls flocked there, lived there, believed the same thing at the same time- no matter their thoughts of individuality- it wasn't better then any other place they had been in their lives. It was no place better then where they had been in death. It just was. It was a place, it was a friend, it was a hope, and it was dream.

    Here had the same things as There did, the same corruption of power and systematic thought of 'being better then...' whoever. Better then your parents, better then your neighbor, better then that world you wanted to get away from- you would DIE to get away from. Better then God. Because, they figured, God was the mayor of the city. God was the president of this realm. But no one saw him, just like before. It was easier that way, they had said, it was better because then where would the faith be?

    It was always easier to control them if they had that hope and dream. It was easier to control them if they had that thought of God. It was easy to control 'heaven' when so many thought they were already in the middle of it.

    "So God is dead?"

    "Not dead, they need him for his once a year appearance here. The cynics are sent away, those who denounce hope and figure out that here isn't better from wherever the hell they came from. In life you could have been famous but here your scrubbing floors for 'enlightenment' because thats what they tell you it's for." A took a drag from my cigar, leaning back on the worn-down chair as my eyes trailed to this smoke-screened city.

    She looked at me, eyes wide as she took in everything I had told her. For the past hour or so [time tended to escape me the more I spent it here] I had been explaining why she was here and why she should hate every moment of it. New soul, someone that needed to get molded one way or another- I just got to her before the 'church' did. Death wasn't fancy here and I doubted it ever would be. It was just sending the naive into a new place and telling them some s**t they wanted then to believe.

    "The cynics are sent away?" she asked after a moment, and I could tell she was looking at the apartment with clearer eyes. At first it looked nice and neat, one of those things found in a catalog my mother used to subscribe to and wished to be like, but then you could really see it. The tiling was cracked, the walls needed to be repainted to get anywhere close to the glistening white they once were. The couch was wearing and the chair I was sitting in looked worst of all, but at least it was comfortable. No one tells you in those magazines that the designer s**t is so uncomfortable.

    "Yeah, they disturb the peace. They are sent away."

    She seemed to almost become giddy, bright green eyes dazzling with some inner amusement I couldn't put my finger on. "Then how have you survived here for so long?"

    I should have seen it coming, the question, how had i survived here for so long without being sent away? It's because I was smarter then to flaunt my disgust with just how many of the people here were so blind. "Kid, don't test me. Whoever said murder heaven, if thats what their calling this place, doesn't happen they were dead wrong." It was carried with a flat note, a true threat that only I knew that I wouldn't carry it out.

    "Oh hush, I was just kidding around. But I do see your point. So God isn't dead, but he's used more for advertising purposes so they can keep the people here under control?"

    "Yeah, pretty much. Don't even know if he's the real one, 'nough people would be willing to play 'em." I watched the smoke burn from my cigar in wisps.

    "That seems pretty anti-Christian if you ask me." I noticed that she would unconsciously play with the ends of her brunette hair.

    "Yeah, me too."