Number: 05
Title: A Thought in the Darkness
Type: Original fiction
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Synopsis:
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Basically, this story is about a couple of nair-do-wells who happen to
find God's body. They are already wanted by the mob and aren't too keen
on public appearances, so when God's agents show up looking for the last
people that saw Him, the two try to make themselves scarce.
So yeah, God is dead, and it's kind of a murder mystery. The wierd twist
was that the two found him dead in his own office....
The remainder of the story was these two learning what it means to be
God in the figurative and literal sense, and show how the universe is
grossly mis-understood by mankind, despite the fact that they have the
capacity to understand--and peacefull accept--most of it.
The original 'disclaimer' for your enjoyment:
Legal crap: This work is fiction and may not be reproduced in part or
whole, in any form or language for profit of any kind. The author
reserves the right to sell this story off as a movie idea for a
sickeningly huge sum of cash, though. Any resemblence to mercenaries or
dieties either living, dead, or otherwise is entirely coincidental. I do
not mean to offend any religious people, so take this with a few million
grains of salt if you have to: I have a messed-up sense of humor.
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Scenes:
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"This is God's office, man!" He said, a little too loudly for my
tastes.
"I know... I feel like we're messing up a crime scene."
"God does his stuff here?" Mal was poking around some papers on the
large metal desk in the center of the room. Thankfully, he didn't try to
sit in the comfortable-looking leather chair behind said desk. I guess
neither of us felt like tempting fate that far.
"Like what stuff?"
"Well, you know, office stuff." I looked around, following his
gesture.
"God." I deadpanned.
"Yeah." Mal said slowly.
"Office stuff." I said, testing the concept verbally.
"It's an idea." He shrugged.
"Somehow I don't buy the creator of all things wrestling with
concepts like 'staples' and 'papercuts' very well." I tried explaining.
"I never said he was good at it."
I shook my head. "Damnit, stop that."
"What?"
"You're making sense again, Mal."
"Oh. Sorry, Johnny."
I buttoned up my trenchcoat. "Yeah, me too."
You're probably wondering how Mal and I came to be in God's office,
but that should shake you up near as much as _why_ we're here. Don't buy
into that fire and brimstone bit for one minute. At that moment, it
didn't seem we were about to be tortured, and the place was rather
nice. Clean, but with a hint of messiness. Comfortable, homely, like it
was home.... but just _wrong_ somehow.
Since this is exactly how I felt about the world, I guess we had the
right place. Oh yeah, I think there's one more thing I should tell ya.
We're here because God is dead.
---
Or maybe he's missing, but that's as good as dead in my book. After
all, what would you do to God if he just up and left one day, never to
return? Tell him he's fired?
"What are we gonna do with this place?" I asked my compatriot in
something that was feeling more and more like a crime by the minute,
ready to get loose of my conscious mind and crawl around in my guts.
Mal thought about this one for a second, then lit up. "Take 'er to
Southby's and make a fortune!"
"And get arrested for murder..." I sighed. Jeeze, seems like the
twentieth time I've said that, and that's just today.
It was right then, rubbing my forehead, that several dozen men clad
in black burst into the room with massive automatic weapons pointed at
us.
And the day started out so well, too.
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