A few more tentative scribblings03:16 Oct 06 2009
Times Read: 606
My previous post on this particular story...
Synopsis:God's Test Planet (Aborior) is facing Armageddon. One man (X for now) who escapes life before this event comes to find the afterlife in chaotic disrepair. Trudging about in despair he stumbles upon a forgotten artifact of God and uses it to locate Him. X is told that God had forgotten about Aborior long ago and has since moved on to a new (allusions to Earth) project. X decides to return to his corner of the afterlife with the intent to bring things up to par with his new divine insight before the immanent mass arrival.
We look like potatoes. Especially that one, look, he's gone so far as to grow an extra set of 'eyes' (those nubs are far too underdeveloped to be considered ears). We even walk like potatoes, a lopsided roll rather than the easy glide a proper intelligent being should posses. God, it's a blessing that reproduction doesn't result from coupling, we'd be extinct by now. Hell, we all look so damned similar just think of the confusion that would cause in marital partnerships, the excuse "Honey, I thought he was you!" might actually fly. Thank you for that small miracle. Come to think of it, our Sprouting is eerily similar to that of potatoes. You've created a master race of Veggie People, Lord. Now I know why I detested eating greens as a sproutling, I subconsciously realized that they were a subspecies of my own!
X sighed before taking a tentative sip from the tepid coffee evaporating before him, consumed more hungrily by the air than him. Still lost in his idle ramblings to God, his eyes never left the picture window. He'd been people watching so long at his corner coffee shop that the remaining barista had already begun flickering the lights in impatience. Purely for his benefit as he was the last patron remaining.
Bah! 'People watching' my ass! Watching this lot is like peering at sperm through a microscope, all the specimen look the same! Meditation through repetition is more like it.
X rose to leave, taking his time and glaring at the barista.
continuation...
X kicked a pebble that lay unashamed in his path.
How dare such a lowly thing as a misplaced piece of rubble regard an advanced being in such a manner? As if it wanted to intercept my trajectory, my plans, God, can you believe this? Ha! That'll show it! .... ....
X wan't taking his medication.
What's the point?, he was turning 65 next week anyhow so why not feel what life was like for a mutant?
Why is thinking for myself such a deformity? I never hurt anyone, I never sinned or blasphemed, I never tried to speak out against the Holy Government, I never did anything but think. That was all he seemed to be doing lately, his conversations with God streatched themselves out on the sunny windowsill of his new found lucidity.
When I get up there, Lord, you and I are going to have a little chat about the absurd nature of underground tubers and nasty servers of coffee. He hadn't spent this much time in his own head since he was 5 and his malady was discovered, he was putting up pictures and rearanging the furniture
It's starting to look pretty snazzy in here, it's a shame I'm 'Being Called' next week or I'd lay down new floors...
'Being Called', it's the ritual of auto termination on Aborior. Through years of arduous prayer and lengthy meditations consulting with God over the past millennium, it has been deemed the most holy to die precisely upon one's 65th birthday. Reaching Heaven is a highly advanced and delicate science. Every citizen of Aborior has been guaranteed his providence in Grace through strict charting and plotting of each course of life at the learned hands of the Holy Government,
a bunch of Hooie, blinking rapidly 5 times before and after I leave the men's room is making my bowel's changing of the guards any more blessed. A bunch of kooks if you ask me, well intentioned but kooks nonetheless!
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