Sam was never keen on believing on spiritual higher power or in other words, God. he maybe had a different view on Angels and a deep conscience that something would be around, waiting, watching on the sidelines.

he had turned on his own words when he became desperate after unfortunate events unfolding in his dork of a life — discovering his telekinesis and precognitive abilities tangled up with being blasted with the fact he has demon blood engraved in his seemingly untainted blood.

“if anyone can hear me, just— please. i need someone.” he pleaded a prayer upon cupped hands at the edge of a ridged motel bed through an undertone of hope and despair — growing unsure.

Sam breathed, “God, please. i know you can’t save me but, have someone you know can.” he begged desperately as his heart clenched involuntarily underneath his ribs that seemingly cracked under pressure.

if something was listening, hearing his pathetic prayers of help — he needed something, anything, God, please. “please, please, just give me a sign.” his voice croaked hopelessly under the damp lighting emitting from the dingy motel lamp that was a stark comparison to the hope in his chest slowly distinguishing each moment silence lingered.

Sam’s shoulders slugged under the weight of his wrecked perspective on religion — unable to dig deep down and clutch onto any sizeable ounce of hope carved into his tainted organs.

the light was dying unnaturally fast in a side by side vision of a bright flower sulking from lack of water, something stolen amidst a once blossoming garden that was felt decayed and abandoned without another humane thought.

Sam’s trembling hands tightened further together as if his kneeling position would ease and coax something in, to see his suffering and lend a friendly presence to sooth his aching soul.

he could swear a blood vessel could pop under his skin from how hard he was concentrating on his whispered prayers he had taken from the open discarded Bible across the beds stale cover that was dim from color.