Current mood: Bloody Fist
My arm is the size of a tree and I take a swing at thee. Your face explodes on impact. Skull, blood and mucus lets loose over the congregation. God keeps your body alive to feel the pain. You realise your life was a joke and wish you could start again, a new. A fresh life where you didn't kill animals and strike children. Where you didn't beat your wife or lie about stealing. Where alcohol wasn't your crutch.
But it's too late. Your exposed brain gives up after a valient struggle and explodes, spraying your hate high into the air. It rains down upon the city for three days and three nights. After those sinful days, the sky clears and the world begins again. This time too afraid to break God's law.