text: CW: This piece contains religious themes that are not meant to accurately follow holy texts. It also includes profanity. Viewer discretion is advised. * All of the characters in this piece are entirely fictitious and are not based on real people. Any character that resembles any person-- dead or alive-- is purely coincidental. “There is no god.” I read the opening line of the old manuscript aloud, its pages coated in dust and creased several times over from being buried in an old library until tonight. I don’t want to even look at the following text, yet my eyes glide over anyway. “There has never been a single god. There was no god before or during mankind and there will not be one after. We have spent our lives blaming and praising a higher power, yet never stopped to question if our pleas were being received by anything. We have lived a fairytale, one that, with this book, I will break. What you are about to read may be my demise, but I will not let my life’s work meet the same fate. The public deserves to know the truth.” “With what proof?” Kat asks in bewilderment mere moments after I finish the segment. “What could this author have possibly found that proves God doesn’t exist?” “Well,” Eve starts, “what proof do you have that a god does exist?” They turn to Kat, whose eyes narrow with frustration. “For one, all of the different holy texts, not to mention the tales from places like Greece,” she offers. “Those are myths,” Eve counters. “They only exist because the people at the time had no other way to explain things like thunderstorms and plagues. We know now that all of those occurrences are rooted in science.” “What about the creation of the world, hm? Think about it: how would a mess of dust and chemicals create anything more than a base for the Earth? Where did all of the different animals and plant life come from once they had somewhere to exist? It makes sense that God would have at least done that part of the creation,” Kat argues. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that as well,” Eve sighs. “Is that not a logical explanation?” “In terms of science and basic history, not really!” As they bicker, my trembling fingers slide between the next two pages as if preparing to turn to the next segment of the manuscript. In a flurry of panic, I freeze my hand in place, half-wishing for it to turn to stone so I don’t have to worry about it anymore. I don’t want to see what lies beyond this opening page. If I dig us into a deeper hole, I can bet I will be digging us into our graves. “What else does that say, Yasmine?” Eve calls, dragging me out of my thoughts and into a whirlpool of fresh fear. My fingers dig into either side of the manuscript, locking the dreaded pages shut, an action I don’t realize until Eve is trying to pull it out of my hands. “Come on, what else does it say?” They insist, pulling at the faded paper and its worn-out binding. My fingers don’t budge. “This isn’t a good idea,” I try to explain, my voice a shaky whisper. “This sort of information, if it’s real--” “I bet you it is,” Eve interjects. “This sort of information could be dangerous, Eve!” I plead. “Do you have any idea what sort of chaos this can cause?” With a grunt, my fingers come loose and Eve tips backwards as the book finally comes into their grasp. Despite my protests, they hastily pull it open and flip through the pages, their eyes zipping through paragraphs for information they can use-- a predator hunting its prey. Some flicks of the pages later, they stop, lean in close to the text, and read it aloud. “The preceding information and everything following comes from a man who, for his safety, will remain anonymous. He was moments away from becoming the new Pope-- had gone through the teachings and all-- when he was thrust out of his position at the last possible moment. In an instant, the life he had worked to obtain was ripped away from him, the honor of the Pope bestowed upon someone else. Within seconds, he was nobody. This man tells me the reason for his sudden fall from grace: the truth. “He recalls the night that roused his suspicions. In the middle of a violent thunderstorm on the 13 of April, 1775, he knelt on a cold, wooden floor, his hands clasped and held tight to his chest, uttering prayers and pleas for God to send him a sign. Midway through the storm, there was a lull. Silence fell upon the world around him for a moment, one long enough for him to rush to a window and cast his gaze to the sky. ‘The sky,’ he told me, ‘was a deathly black. It blotted out stars and left the perfect clearance for a sign to be sent down. I thought God was setting this up. For a moment, I stared and saw...nothing. There was no voice like the teachers had promised me. There was no evidence of life or death up there, only darkness. When the storm came again, it was as if a lost piece of information had clicked into place. This God we’ve believed in--it never existed at all.’” Eve’s reading, confident as can be, fades to a whisper by the time they reach the final sentence. There are notes of fear in their voice. Kat’s eyes are wide and her expression sits somewhere between befuddlement and worry. “Is that enough proof for you, Kat?” Eve’s question is quiet as they slowly turn their gaze to Kat, who only stares at them for a long moment before snatching the manuscript out of their hands and flipping it to see the front. “Someone search this author’s name,” she mutters. “Lucien Vieux.” I fumble my phone off my nightstand and tap the name into Google. The only result is an obituary. Reluctantly, I read it out. “Lucien Vieux, 45, was burned at the stake on October 11, 1783, in Paris, France, on charges of heresy. These charges arose from the attempted publication of a manuscript entitled ‘La vérité’ --‘The Truth.’ The piece pushed that there was no God, accompanied with a fair amount of self-proclaimed ‘evidence.’ The man whom he co-wrote it with has not been found as of this time. Mr. Vieux did not marry or have any children. All copies of his manuscript have reportedly been destroyed by the Catholic church.” “That’s it?” Kat whispers, to which I nod. “That’s all that came up,” I confirm. Kat’s eyes shine with tears. Her gaze falls back to the manuscript still clasped in her hands. “What do we even do with this?” She asks. “Someone wanted us to find this,” Eve concludes. “There can’t have been many copies of this particular piece. How would one be missed? God may not exist, but luck still must.” “Who do we take it to? The church? The government? The natural history museum? They’ll all just lock it in a vault never to be seen again!” Kat’s voice rises almost to a shout. I motion for her to hand me the manuscript. She does. “We’re on the cusp of chaos with this thing,” I breathe. “People will be a complete wreck if they find out there’s no god. Religion is a comfort, a baseline, something to focus on instead of all the horrible shit happening in our society. It gives people a sense of purpose and belonging. What happens if we shatter that illusion?” “Didn’t Lucien say that the public deserves to know the truth?” Eve chimes in. “Don’t people deserve to know about this so they can change their lives for the better? Think how many problems would go away if we got rid of religion!” “Think of how many more problems would start if we did that!” Kat retorts. “Give me the manuscript.” Eve holds out their hands to me and I hand the manuscript over. They take it and flip to the last page of the piece. “I may not live to see the effects of this piece, but nobody should continue to be in the dark about this any longer. Our history has been torn to shreds by the belief in a higher power. Our belief in ourselves and each other has been ruined by the idea of a lack of responsibility; if everything can be blamed on a higher power, there is no need for guilt or shame or simple humility. With the truth, the good can be good without punishment, and the wicked can face retribution for their actions. In the truth, we will find balance. I beg you, reader, understand the truth and let it become common knowledge. Do not doom this world. “There is no god, only man.”