By Jove
“Woah, where am I?” said President Baxter. Smoke puffed from the corners of the room, smelling of opium, though the President felt unaffected.
“You should know,” said God.
The room was pure white. President Baxter was alone, in this cube of a room, but the voice was quite clearly that of God. It was in the accent.
“Why am I here?”
“You're dead. I thought that was a given.”
President Baxter examined himself. He was in no way faint, and he was dressed in the clothes he had put on in the morning.
God spoke. “Actually, can you stop referring to yourself as 'President'. That ended as soon as you died. Along with that, you're not 'Baxter' now either, you're '#3641'.”
“But I'm Tyler-”
“No you're not. What your parents called you is neither here nor there as far as I'm concerned.”
#3641 sat in silence. He did not know for how long. If he was dead, then it could have been an aeon. He was going to spend eternity here, in its immeasurableness. What was to say the moment he spent silent was a moment at all, that this whole conversation did not take place in one instant?
“Can I ask you something, God?”
“No, I'm busy.”
“Pretty please?”
“Oh, alright then. What is it?”
“How did I die?”
“You mean you don't know?” God paused. “That's quite a thing to miss out on.”
#3641 waited.
God spoke. “Well, you died through being assassinated. To cut a long story short, you annoyed the wrong people.”
“I annoyed a gang?”
“You annoyed the oil barons.”
“Ah.” That explained it.
Some more time elapsed.
“I like this place. It's so nondescript. It's as if the only thing here is my voice.”
“There are questions you still haven't asked,” said God.
“Like what?”
“Most people ask, 'Why did they kill me?'”
“Well, I know that.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“You already know. You're God.”
“That's true. But from a narrative perspective.”
“Alright. I died because I tried to make things better for the people, which involved more tax on the oil companies. Therefore, they tried to bribe me, and when I refused in an effort to be a better politician, I expect I was knocked off to protect the oil companies.”
“Was this fair?”
“I don't think so. Why didn't you stop them killing me?”
“Because.. Because.”
“That's not a reason.”
“Nor is 'because Osama might possibly be hiding there,' when he's not.”
“I'm human. I'm allowed errors.”
“I am too. I made a pretty big one by making humans in the first place.”
“True.”
“Please don't judge me on it.”
“I'm not judging you.”
“Yes you are. I can tell. After all, I know everything.”
“Didn't you know humans were going to sin?”
“No, or you wouldn't have free will. I had faith in you.”
“So you don't know everything, because you don't know what we're gonna do next.”
“But I know everything. Don't contradict me.”
“The contradictions are the fallacies though! You can't exist if you break the laws you apply to yourself.”
God poofed out of existence.
“God? Where are you?” said #3641. The space suddenly felt empty. The room's blankness struck #3641 immediately, and boredom caved in. Blank blank boredom boredom.
This is the atheists' death, replied his own subconscious.
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A conversation with God. I actually read this live - and I think it was a nice surprise to the audience when a big etheral voice spoke the God lines. Praise the Lord for second microphones hidden in darkened corners. Written July 2008. |
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