Scott believed the universe was eternal because he didn’t want God to get credit for starting it and thereby interfere with his autonomy. However, entropies of all sorts undermined the theory taunting him with the thought that if an eternal universe were going to fall apart over time, as Scott believed it would, then it would have fallen apart long ago. As consolation he told himself that scientists would one day figure it all out so every rational person would have to agree with him.
Tommy asked him, “What about eternal life?”
Scott spoke slowly allowing the weight of his authority to dominate before declaring that both of them would be “eternally dead” in a few short decades adding, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Then your eternity’s not worth much,” Tommy replied.
John loved to play the game of making faces when posing for family photos like crossing his eyes or pursing his lips. He was at the age when children found funny faces funny and even his father and mother thought he was cute.
None of that would have mattered except for the strife dividing his family over the next decades which opened doors for the demonic to flow agitating any form of weakness it could find. Nor would he have remembered any of it had he not inherited his mother’s photo album. The photos reminded him where he came from shoving in his face a demand for repentance for his part, large or small, in the mess they were now in.
John wished he gave his mother a beautiful smile when he had the chance and not some goofy expression, but when he looked at the other photos in the album a childlike smile of release appeared on his now aging face as he realized that most of the time, indeed nearly all of the time, he had.
Guilt followed the pride of life dissipating Zach’s energy. That may have been a good thing since he was wasting his time on stuff that didn’t matter.
But what mattered? Zack was just a simple guy with a conscience informing him that he had lost his way. To get back on track he ran after one godforsaken enlightenment program until it disappointed him giving it up for some other gnostic nonsense.
I can’t tell you how Zach found his way home because I am in the same hog pen that you are refusing to eat the miraculous pearls which allegedly would provide living energy that could not be equated with matter no matter how fast the speed of light was.
The squirrel rushed to the other side of the tree along a branch far from Peter as he grouched his way down the path. There was no need for all this grumbling, but being thankful he could even walk seemed like a waste of time since he had no trouble walking.
The sunrise was peaceful. The sea was calm, but he was entertaining enough demonic influences to have a whole Halloween party by himself.
Eventually – unless the slippery slope had its way – Peter would tell those demons where to go, but he did so much enjoy a whiny fit of righteousness. Like the other inanities he entertained they came to spoil the day under the pretense they were making it better.
On a table in his hotel room Simon began building a house of cards carefully laying each one next to or on another lest the structure fall showing the futility of his addiction. Meanwhile the full moon rose over the Sea of Galilee sparkling light on calm water.
After he used up all his cards he opened the door to the balcony to breathe in the cool air. He saw the moon, higher now but still beautiful, and he wondered why he wasted his time with those cards.
Coincidental with Simon’s wonder one card in the house he built gave up supporting the others. With a swoosh all of the cards lay flat on the table.
The merely ordinary smeared Simon’s view of reality like a greasy film making him discontent with what he saw. To brighten his spirits he tried all sorts of gimmicks. His current desperate attempt included taking a challenging course in mind over matter levitation where each student was required to either levitate or produce a creative alternative.
One student wrote an essay arguing how going on keto would lead to less matter for the mind to lift. Another painted a self-portrait entitled If God Had Wanted Me to Levitate, He Would Have Made Me More Like This Hot Air Balloon.
When it was all over each of the submitted stories, essays, songs and paintings received an Award of Outstanding Excellence and Simon tried to decide which was worse: dealing head-on with his unsatisfying view of reality or signing up for the second level of the course.
Believing the best way to deal with someone was not to beat him over the head with a club Brian manipulated George with psychology. George, on the other hand, preferred the club.
Over the years these two friends found lovely brides and got married raising children who had children until Brian died which made George wonder if he should have used the club less often. Without Brian’s subliminal influence George felt the only thing left to do was grow old.
That was when an undeserved miracle gave George a wallop knocking some sense back into him and letting him know he wasn’t quite dead yet. After that the grandchildren longed to hear his tall tales while his own children listened and even his wife respectfully responded to his loving touch which frankly shocked him but not as much as it pleased her like an answered prayer.
Jeremy tried to spark some vitality into his life, but reality kept blowing it out.
His dietician suggested replacing the stuff that went into his mouth with other stuff, but he didn’t like that other stuff. The family counselor suggested he forgive his wicked sister Felicity, but that wasn’t going to happen. His anxiety over unlikely disasters wouldn’t leave no matter how many shrinks he paid to worry about them.
Reality refused to repent of its evil ways. Over the years all it did was add to Jeremy’s baggage until he couldn’t get a good night’s sleep even after wicked Felicity preceded him in death.
Brian’s cold was a regular part of his seasonal doldrums starting about November and lasting till Spring. The liturgy minister in the church he attended, knowing Brian’s talent with a guitar, wondered if he would like to join the Sunday worship band. Brian told him about his cold even though the cold didn’t stop him from doing anything he really wanted to do.
Without warning the minister put his hand on Brian’s shoulder and prayed out loud while everyone watched that Brian be healed. Embarrassed but courteous Brian accepted the prayer expecting nothing much from it. Three days later the cold was gone and it never returned.
Denise offers the word “band” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories.
I am on vacation, but this story occurred to me and so I scheduled it for today without being able to participate in the link party.
Although impoverished Jeff found a ride out of Blislisnis to attend his mother’s funeral held in the rural town that he left decades ago teased by vanity that never bore fruit. A former classmate carrying an oxygen tank with nasal tubing who came to offer his condolences surprised Jeff with how old he himself must now look as did other former companions who proudly told him of their grandchildren.
The pastor asked him if he would care to say a few words in memory of his mother. Standing near the casket with nothing to say he tried to form words, but the only thing people remembered him saying was I’m sorry, momma.
Friends of his mother offered Jeff a place to stay with work to do giving this prodigal son an opportunity, which he accepted, to forget Blislisnis. At the gravesite he silently prayed for the privilege of a few years of usefulness, of blessing not burden to others, before finding a spot of his own somewhere in that churchyard, out of the way perhaps, but hopefully not too far away from his family.