No matter how much I begged for parents, I knew that ultimately, I am nothing more than a child of the government. Life in the orphanage is not as fun and free as those whose parents kept them. Although I interact with the other kids every day, I would never call them my “friends.” One by one, government agents would take the kids upon asking the staff if someone has adopted them. The government would then become their parents. One day they came for me. I begged to stay. I begged for any actual parent to adopt me. Even if my parents were to be abusive, I would still prefer it over becoming a puppet of the government.
The agents took me to a training room. Inside, I saw all the other kids they adopted. The kids were being forced to watch videos and listen to audio that bordered on brainwashing. The kids were being told how to gain psychic powers. Controlling the elements, regenerating bones and organs, telekinesis, teleportation; they were being mutated into mindless drones. Surprisingly, it worked, and the kids developed psychic abilities in no time.
Once the agents were happy with the kids’ progress, they dressed them in soldier uniforms and placed them in front of a scanner telling them where they would fight. One by one, they were scanned and assigned a location. “Germany.” “Austria.” “Hungary.” “Turkey.” “Bulgaria.” “Italy.” “Japan.” “Korea.” “Vietnam.” “Russia.” “Iraq.” “Afghanistan.” “China.” The kids didn’t fight it. They were ready to die for their country, even if they were unaware that a war was going on.
Despite not wanting to partake in this brainwashing, I ultimately accepted my fate, before one of the agents took me away saying that I was special. They nailed me to a cross, placed a crown of thorns on my head, and put me in a cryogenic sleep. It wasn’t long before I awoke. I was outside in front of the town hall. An agent was shouting through a megaphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your saviour has returned! Jesus shall save us from this war! You no longer have to live in fear! Follow him blindlessly yet with faith in your heart and He will protect us and answer all our prayers!”
A homeless man ran up to me and spit on me. “Fuck you, Jesus!” he shouted, “Where the hell were you when I prayed? This is all your dad’s fault! If it wasn't for him making that apple tree in the Garden of Eden, none of this shit would be happening!” The homeless man would have continued before being tackled by the agents. After silencing him, the agents kept shouting for followers to bow and praise me. I couldn’t move or scream. I wanted to tell them that I'm just a kid, but I know that no one would listen. I’m supposed to be The Son, after all.
All I could do was look up to the heavens and pray to the real Jesus, assuming he is there, asking for forgiveness for whatever sins I did in the orphanage to deserve this. I prayed for an end to the war. I prayed for blood to continue to flow through my weakening body. It wasn’t long before rigor mortis set in, turning me into nothing more than a symbol of forgiveness and a miracle which would never arrive.