It was an ordinary day. Drizzly and cloudy, the occasional bursts of sunshine only served to remind everybody how gloomy everything was. Yes, an ordinary day it was.
Not for the chubby little boy who waddled his way home from school lost deep in thought; because our young prodigy had figured out a cast-iron test for one of the most important questions of all time.
Is there God?
The test was simple. He'd count to three, and if anything spectacular happened, that'd prove that God was real. He poked at his methodology from all sides, and he found it sound. An involuntary chuckle slipped out his pursed lips as he admired his own ingenuity.
One.
A droplet of rain fell on his forehead breaking apart with a near imperceptible shudder. A stray leaf fought a mighty gust, swaying this way and that. A dog began its hourly lament in the distance. A lorry driver began to toot out a masterpiece on the horn. A bored girl began to walk into view at the edge of his vision.
Two.
Another droplet of rain fell, this time on his outstretched arm. YES! This was it?! No, because a twin droplet followed the last and fell on the other arm, which wasn't quite outstretched. The dog's wailing cut off abruptly. YES! No, it started again, indistinguishable from the last. The lorry driver's toot entered the middle section, his favourite bit. The bored girl took another step. The boy sniffed.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The boy stopped counting. Why was he counting again? There had seemed to be an important reason.
BZZZT! BZZZT!
'Oh, hey mom. I'm almost home. What's for dinner?'
On another day, the chubby little boy, now a fine, young, rotund under-achiever in an air conditioned room, pondered the sudden sense of deja vu that'd overwhelmed him momentarily. God, these sudden, unexplained thoughts were the worst. Why couldn't he be like everybody else thinking about nothing all the time? God? He sighed.
He knew that he could never get back to working hard at twenty percent efficiency unless he took this thought to its logical conclusion. He sighed again. How many times had he had the same thought before? Presently, a flare of enthusiasm wiped away his weariness and he almost totally forgot about all those other times. This time would be different. He started to count.
One.
A tubelight flickered in the distance, towards the far end of the aisle. (When would they fix that?) The loud sound of open mouthed chewing came from a cubicle nearby. God, these mannerless geeks really drove him up the wall, he ruminated, as he bit loudly on his seventeenth bourbon biscuit of the day. A beep from his laptop signified that yet another email had arrived, affording him the opportunity to do more non-work by replying to it. A crumb made its way from his sloppy mouth and began an inelegant tumble to the floor at glacial pace.
Two.
The flickering tubelight continued to flicker. WAIT! Was that last flicker slightly longer than before? Probably not. The loud sound of open mouthed chewing morphed into the sound of open mouthed crunching moderated by open mouthed gulping, like the rumble of mansion sized potato chips being washed away in a thunderstorm. Coke and chips again, that geek was not only mannerless, but tasteless to boot. That crumb of bourbon biscuit slipped and slid its way down the smooth curve of a well tended belly. Another beep from his laptop. WAS THIS IT? It somehow sounded different! God was speaking to him? Oh. It was the different tone of a meeting invite.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The man stopped counting. Why was he counting again? There had seemed to be an important reason.
'PNNNNG!' 'PNNNNNG!'
< hey. ya gt da invite. join u in a bit. brb. >
On a different ordinary day, in a different place, far way, an old man squinted his eyes against the piercing afternoon sunshine. God, what would he do for a bit of rain! It was almost like he was being punished for the decades he'd spent doing nothing in an air conditioned room. Hmm.
A sudden thought crossed the old man's mind. His mind was now a fickle thing, with the boredom of retirement, but this thought seemed to strengthen and tame all the other threads into submission. In addition, this particular thought bore a familiarity which disconcerted him. It focussed his mind.
'Hey God, I haven't really ever had the cause to doubt your existence, but it's not like I have really felt your presence strongly either.' the old man mused, with a remarkable effort of concentration.
'How about you prove you're real? I'll count to three, and if there's a sudden spot of rain that cools this bloody afternoon, I'll concede that you might exist. Easy peasy right?'
One.
The noisy neighbour lady's phone began to ring. KRICKIT! That was a strong case for the existence of the devil, if anything, the old man felt. The timing was impeccably awful. A wasp began to buzz by his ear; a gnarled hand involuntarily started to swish it away. The faint sound of a slamming door reached his ears. With his hearing, it was probably next door, but darn, kids these days were so careless! Somebody should smack some sense into the little imps. Meanwhile, unnoticed, the old man's glasses began to slip off his nose.
Two.
KRICKIT! KRICKIT! KRICKIT!
'YES!' 'WHAT?' 'I DIDN'T QUITE CATCH THAT', the noisy neighbour lady barked in a rapid monotone. That proved it then, the Devil was real and he was a joker. God was still playing hide and seek though. The wasp of yore alighted casually on the old man's left ear, and naturally, the old man didn't feel a thing. A joint here twinged with pain, and a joint there sighed with pain. A car door slammed nearby.
Three.
'AAAAARGGGGH', the noisy neighbour lady screamed in agony. The old man chuckled - she'd probably dropped the phone in the bathtub or something. (He wasn't to know, but she was to die of an inexplicable heartattack in a second.) A suddenly bored wasp flew away, mysteriously enticed away from sinking its stinger into the juicy flesh of an old man's left ear. The ebb and flow of human voices, which could vaguely be resolved into the annoyed drone of a parent chastising a child for slamming doors, filtered into the old man's ear. Startled, the old man jerked in shock, and due to a happy coincidence, that pair of glasses that had damn near made up its mind to fall to the floor and shatter, righted itself on a stubby nose.
A momentary shower of water fell on the old man's thinning hair, and then, to use a well worn phrase, all hell broke loose.
The young lady upstairs was mortified. She'd just wrung the water from some of her laundry off the balcony, and right into somebody's face! She couldn't begin to explain this one; her embarrassment turned to fear when she saw who her victim was. The old man would verbally lash her to death!
'Er, sir.' she began to squeak hesitantly, only to stop in shock as she registered the pure, unadulterated joy on the old geezer's weathered mug.
He was screaming.
'I KNEW IT!'
'I KNEW YOU WERE REAL, GOD!'
'WHO ELSE COULD HAVE CHASED THAT WASP AWAY?!'
'WHO ELSE COULD HAVE SAVED MY PRIZED GLASSES FROM BREAKING?!'
'AND WHO.. ELSE... COULD... POSSIBLY.. LISTEN TO ME AND MAKE IT RAIN. EVEN IF ONLY FOR A BIT?!'
Not for the chubby little boy who waddled his way home from school lost deep in thought; because our young prodigy had figured out a cast-iron test for one of the most important questions of all time.
Is there God?
The test was simple. He'd count to three, and if anything spectacular happened, that'd prove that God was real. He poked at his methodology from all sides, and he found it sound. An involuntary chuckle slipped out his pursed lips as he admired his own ingenuity.
One.
A droplet of rain fell on his forehead breaking apart with a near imperceptible shudder. A stray leaf fought a mighty gust, swaying this way and that. A dog began its hourly lament in the distance. A lorry driver began to toot out a masterpiece on the horn. A bored girl began to walk into view at the edge of his vision.
Two.
Another droplet of rain fell, this time on his outstretched arm. YES! This was it?! No, because a twin droplet followed the last and fell on the other arm, which wasn't quite outstretched. The dog's wailing cut off abruptly. YES! No, it started again, indistinguishable from the last. The lorry driver's toot entered the middle section, his favourite bit. The bored girl took another step. The boy sniffed.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The boy stopped counting. Why was he counting again? There had seemed to be an important reason.
BZZZT! BZZZT!
'Oh, hey mom. I'm almost home. What's for dinner?'
On another day, the chubby little boy, now a fine, young, rotund under-achiever in an air conditioned room, pondered the sudden sense of deja vu that'd overwhelmed him momentarily. God, these sudden, unexplained thoughts were the worst. Why couldn't he be like everybody else thinking about nothing all the time? God? He sighed.
He knew that he could never get back to working hard at twenty percent efficiency unless he took this thought to its logical conclusion. He sighed again. How many times had he had the same thought before? Presently, a flare of enthusiasm wiped away his weariness and he almost totally forgot about all those other times. This time would be different. He started to count.
One.
A tubelight flickered in the distance, towards the far end of the aisle. (When would they fix that?) The loud sound of open mouthed chewing came from a cubicle nearby. God, these mannerless geeks really drove him up the wall, he ruminated, as he bit loudly on his seventeenth bourbon biscuit of the day. A beep from his laptop signified that yet another email had arrived, affording him the opportunity to do more non-work by replying to it. A crumb made its way from his sloppy mouth and began an inelegant tumble to the floor at glacial pace.
Two.
The flickering tubelight continued to flicker. WAIT! Was that last flicker slightly longer than before? Probably not. The loud sound of open mouthed chewing morphed into the sound of open mouthed crunching moderated by open mouthed gulping, like the rumble of mansion sized potato chips being washed away in a thunderstorm. Coke and chips again, that geek was not only mannerless, but tasteless to boot. That crumb of bourbon biscuit slipped and slid its way down the smooth curve of a well tended belly. Another beep from his laptop. WAS THIS IT? It somehow sounded different! God was speaking to him? Oh. It was the different tone of a meeting invite.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The man stopped counting. Why was he counting again? There had seemed to be an important reason.
'PNNNNG!' 'PNNNNNG!'
< hey. ya gt da invite. join u in a bit. brb. >
On a different ordinary day, in a different place, far way, an old man squinted his eyes against the piercing afternoon sunshine. God, what would he do for a bit of rain! It was almost like he was being punished for the decades he'd spent doing nothing in an air conditioned room. Hmm.
A sudden thought crossed the old man's mind. His mind was now a fickle thing, with the boredom of retirement, but this thought seemed to strengthen and tame all the other threads into submission. In addition, this particular thought bore a familiarity which disconcerted him. It focussed his mind.
'Hey God, I haven't really ever had the cause to doubt your existence, but it's not like I have really felt your presence strongly either.' the old man mused, with a remarkable effort of concentration.
'How about you prove you're real? I'll count to three, and if there's a sudden spot of rain that cools this bloody afternoon, I'll concede that you might exist. Easy peasy right?'
One.
The noisy neighbour lady's phone began to ring. KRICKIT! That was a strong case for the existence of the devil, if anything, the old man felt. The timing was impeccably awful. A wasp began to buzz by his ear; a gnarled hand involuntarily started to swish it away. The faint sound of a slamming door reached his ears. With his hearing, it was probably next door, but darn, kids these days were so careless! Somebody should smack some sense into the little imps. Meanwhile, unnoticed, the old man's glasses began to slip off his nose.
Two.
KRICKIT! KRICKIT! KRICKIT!
'YES!' 'WHAT?' 'I DIDN'T QUITE CATCH THAT', the noisy neighbour lady barked in a rapid monotone. That proved it then, the Devil was real and he was a joker. God was still playing hide and seek though. The wasp of yore alighted casually on the old man's left ear, and naturally, the old man didn't feel a thing. A joint here twinged with pain, and a joint there sighed with pain. A car door slammed nearby.
Three.
'AAAAARGGGGH', the noisy neighbour lady screamed in agony. The old man chuckled - she'd probably dropped the phone in the bathtub or something. (He wasn't to know, but she was to die of an inexplicable heartattack in a second.) A suddenly bored wasp flew away, mysteriously enticed away from sinking its stinger into the juicy flesh of an old man's left ear. The ebb and flow of human voices, which could vaguely be resolved into the annoyed drone of a parent chastising a child for slamming doors, filtered into the old man's ear. Startled, the old man jerked in shock, and due to a happy coincidence, that pair of glasses that had damn near made up its mind to fall to the floor and shatter, righted itself on a stubby nose.
A momentary shower of water fell on the old man's thinning hair, and then, to use a well worn phrase, all hell broke loose.
The young lady upstairs was mortified. She'd just wrung the water from some of her laundry off the balcony, and right into somebody's face! She couldn't begin to explain this one; her embarrassment turned to fear when she saw who her victim was. The old man would verbally lash her to death!
'Er, sir.' she began to squeak hesitantly, only to stop in shock as she registered the pure, unadulterated joy on the old geezer's weathered mug.
He was screaming.
'I KNEW IT!'
'I KNEW YOU WERE REAL, GOD!'
'WHO ELSE COULD HAVE CHASED THAT WASP AWAY?!'
'WHO ELSE COULD HAVE SAVED MY PRIZED GLASSES FROM BREAKING?!'
'AND WHO.. ELSE... COULD... POSSIBLY.. LISTEN TO ME AND MAKE IT RAIN. EVEN IF ONLY FOR A BIT?!'
No comments:
Post a Comment