v12-final1

can be saved get saved, those who die, die. But in the end, a man dying
of violence is a victim of this free will. There is little that can be done for
that.”
“So when a good Soldier dies, God has no say? It is of this free
will?” I was building towards a quiet irate state, “That’s fucking bull shit.
God has a choice, he has…” But Michael held up his hand, asking me to
stop.
“Life is your gift, death is your cost. What you do with it is up
to you, and how you go out of this life, in those final seconds is up to
you. God must deal with these absolutes to keep things in order; besides
the way you are talking you are going down a path to deny God his
existence.”
“So what if I am.” I shot back, turning to look at my glass of waning
scotch.
“I don’t think you want to do that. You seem like the kind of man
who respects God until he gets too much scotch in him.” Michael said as
a matter of fact.
“Probably.” I mumbled back.
Michael, sensing that the initial part of their agreement had run
its course, offered “So I have answered your question. May I ask mine?”
“Only fair.” I said slightly annoyed but finding logic in his words as I
lifted the glass up to eye level and drank the remaining layer of scotch,
taking in the peatiness as a penance.
Michael grasped the top of his glass with his fingertips now gently
swirling what was left of his drink in a counter clockwise motion. He
was looking straight ahead, in full excogitation. I looked down at my
empty glass, and in his contemplative silence I asked myself if I should
have another. Michael’s words broke my train of thought, “Do you fear
death?”
My head jolted back in an involuntary acknowledgement to the
questions that again sparked my rising frustration and anger for the topic
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