Robert looked at the nearly empty jar of oil wondering how to handle the rest of his afternoon. He could read, but even though the words made dictionary sense, together they conveyed no ideas to him. Earlier in the day his retreating fever allowed him to reply to some emails sent by those concerned about his heath. He kept messing things up with his typing making mistakes he would not have made before this cold.
He could sleep more and he might try that if those feverish dreams would stop telling him weird tales of spinning spirals absorbing the cosmos and begging him to help.
Robert realized he should take death seriously since this could be it and indeed, if it were it, he knew he wouldn’t be ready, because there was no way in his present state he could get near enough oil for his lamp.
Denise offers the word “handle” for this week’s Six Sentence Stories. If the oil and the lamp seem puzzling rather than terrifying think of Matthew 25:1-12 about the wise and foolish virgins and the oil only some of them carried for their lamps.