The first chapter in the story. Written by IGR Productions. Music By Christopher Peterson.
---------------------------------------
Chapter 1
--------------------------------------
What I’m seeing is another mangled bloated animal sticking to the pavement on the shoulder of some major road. What you should see if you happen to drive by right now is me crouched a few feet in front of my car, looking down on a pile of blood and fur, my hazards blinking casting my shadow across the corpse in rhythmic pumping. My cigarette clenched between my lips and the smoke colored white and nicotine yellow is burning my eyes making me squint. I’d move it but my hands are busy trying to scoop a furry ball of atoms into a cardboard box already stained with bodily fluids no longer being used.
I find it hard to pass up the dead on the side of the road, even now when my watch tells me that I’m late for church I’ve gotta stop. I’ve gotta stop, pick it up, find a field and bury it. It’s the same as it as been for the past year. The only thing that’s changed is I used to go to the same field every night, my own little pet cemetery with no monuments or tombstones.
But either I’m to busy or too lazy now days to find a new one.
I just find the nearest field and say something decent before getting on with my own life. Last winter, I was still burying them in the special field, but when it finally snowed deep I couldn’t get deep enough to get into the dirt, so I just dug until it got rough and then put it in and covered it back up with snow. When spring came around the snow melted and thirty plus mutilated soaked animals laid there above ground. The local news made a big deal about once loved pets found in large numbers buried in the same field. The People were angry that someone was killing their pets. But they kept on hitting them, so I kept on burying them with some dignity, and I have been ever since.
But since I’m already late to church I’ll save this one until I’m heading home.
The church I’m going to is new to me. Every Sunday I try to go to a new church. Sometimes I go back to the same one, but that’s only if I’m sure they’ve forgotten me. It’s just not the same, if they know me.
By the time I show up the last sinners squeeze into the house of God, and I follow. The sound of psalms mixed with music seems to lift and guide people to stand on their feet making it harder for their heart to pump blood. The floor is poop brown and the pews are a shade lighter, all lined up with an empty aisle down the middle.
I’ve always liked sitting up front, where the hardcore church people sit. Where the people who want you to know, they believe sit. I see a space between two of these believers that I know I can fit in, up front. So I head down the aisle. On both sides of me are people standing, with their arms in the air swaying from side to side, reaching up in a symbolic grasp of God.
I try and try and still can’t reach.
I find myself third pew back still in the aisle staring down my seat. Politely I excuse myself and it seems like I’m breaking an invisible bond with God and the individuals I squeeze past. Finally to my seat I’m starting to notice things. Things like the immense P.A. system so the person on stage can have a booming voice like God. I’m noticing the top of the line instruments, the lights, the massive projection screen that has the words for the song in case you didn’t know it. I’m noticing expensive electronics, things that can be considered Amish porn.
But now the singing is done and I’m already yawning, but all the seats are packed, and I feel like the only one not looking for the answer to my after-life. Figuring out how I can live forever. The person to my right is taking notes, so I turn to the person to my left and ask if he has a light. Of course the answer is no, it’s not like I expect him to have one. I just ask for my own entertainment.
I was twirling my own lighter in my pocket the whole time. The guy up front starts talking about Noah and his ark, the second creation. This is my cue. I find church a lot more interesting if it’s personalized. So I pull out my new pack of camels, and start packing it. I’m sure the sound of the pack slapping my palm is heard by all in the room. So I make sure to pack it good for a minute or so. Rip the plastic off, open it up, discard the silver crap on top onto the floor beneath my feet and place a brand new cigarette between my lips. I can already taste it. My lighter lights on the first try, and I pull a long deep drag into my withered black lungs.
I bet if you ask any smoker they’ll tell you the first drag is always the most satisfying. By the time I take my third puff the seats on either side of me are empty.
And I’m smiling.
Halfway done and my bubble of personal space has grown from a space just big enough for me to sit down without actually touching anybody to a space I could lay down, stretch out a bit. Shit I’ve got a big enough area that I could piss and not hit anybody. And it just gets bigger. And the guy up front is now talking about how the body is a temple. So me and my cigarette get up and walk through the empty spaces that were once filled with people, until I’m out to the aisle. And all eyes are on me, scornful, judgmental eyes. I take a last drag and throw the butt up ahead of me as I walk out so I can step on it and grind it into the carpet. And I know everybody is still looking at me, and everybody in here is judging me. Going against God’s word, for sure, I know they hate me, they don’t love their neighbor as themselves. And are breaking commandments and trying to damn me to hell with their thoughts.
And this is what I’ve come for, this is one of my hobbies, of making hypocrites out of believers. And I’m loving their hate. For in this moment in their eyes I am worse than Satan. Before I exit I think about reminding them that Satan was an angel, the brightest and most beautiful angel. That he was the angel of light and if Jesus sits on the right hand of God then sure enough Satan used to fill the space on the left hand. Or maybe tell them how if evil can be turned to good, and good be turned to evil, doesn’t that make them one and the same. Jesus is Satan and Satan is Jesus and God is both cause God is all. And that they should know and understand that even God is suffering from dissociate identity disorder, needing people to reaffirm his belief that Satan is a separate entity and not one with himself. For we are made in his image, and we are made of good and evil no matter how much we deny it.
And I’m thinking that I’m too happy to try to explain, and that they stay happy if I don’t explain. So even with their cold stares and hypocrisy, I’ll leave the game a draw, so we both can win.