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God Is An American

Ciara M. Blecka

    He was a war hero and a white male Christian with washboard abs. He carried a gun and a Bible and highlighted the line that said a man shall never put on a woman’s garment. He prayed the pain away. But he smoked pot every day that he kept hidden in a prescription pill bottle and he called this freedom.
    “Want to do some cocaine?” they asked him. Who was he to resist? He knew he was better than all the rest. He could’ve blown away the heretics with one pull of the trigger anyway.
    “I’m looking for a good time,” he warned them. The only reason he was here. He could go back to church in the morning but tonight it was the rush in his blood he was looking for. She could give it to him. She was a dark little number with hell in her teeth and it could never be spanked out of her. He couldn’t decide if he liked that about her or not.
    The bright white lines corralled by a razor blade that drew blood as well as it organized a high were ephemeral and effective. And the liquor was the world-turning chaser.
    “Are you gay?” she asked him. A slap in the face. He had never known a woman so bold nor so sinful. She was dipped in the devil’s gold.
    “No,” was all he could say.
    He had been straight-laced, hetero, and clean before she came along. He had always stood for the Pledge of Allegiance and kept the tragic in his thoughts and prayers. And now with the voodoo of a liberal witch, that which was sacred all swirled away. His good judgment seemed to lapse with each line, and the temptress sent here to court him could orchestrate debauch with one flick of her pinky.
    Transvestites with a cherry red pout glittered in the green light of the den reserved only for the VIP. He pulled off a skirt as well as any of them. And the women were divine to behold, not so Suzy Homemaker yawn. And when she ripped up a Bible, he nailed her harder and called out for God.
    When he woke up in a dumpster, he knew it was time to get his gun. It was the only American thing. He said his prayers then shot up those homosexuals, prostitutes, blacks, and anyone that had gotten in his way. There was nothing for it. If they hadn’t lured him in, he’d be purity itself no question about it.
    But maybe he’d go back for another five grams tonight.

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