Of Frank and Fate

Hello.

Sir?

Is it finished?

Well, sir, you see...

-is it finished?

No sir.

And why not?

Because, sir...

-because why?

Well, sir...

-just get it done.



A wave of the hand dismissed the man, a nod of the head told him to leave. His feet were operating almost as fast as his brain, and both were telling him to get out, quick. When he reached the end of the dark hallway, he made a quick left and walked down the creaking stairs onto the empty street.

"Hey you!" came a shout from a black town car with a window half-cracked. The man who had shouted had an unpleasant look on his face and a slight resemblance to a bulldog with a sleeping disorder.

"Hey you!" repeated the man. Impatience was definitely the character of this man, and violence looked like the color.

"Hey you, get over here!" Now came the purpose of the man's shouting, in the form of a command.

He (for the sake of specification, our man) walked over to the window, half-expecting to see a gun.

"Frank, right?" asked the bulldog man.

"Yeah, that's right," replied Frank. Frank shifted nervously. If the man was going to kill him, he would have done it already. "And who might you be?"

"For the sake of this conversation, you can just call me God," said the man who, for the sake of this conversation, we shall call God. "Get in."

Frank looked this way and that, hoping for some avenue of escape. When none presented itself, he opened the door and sat in the car. He looked out, still clinging to hope. Hope looked back, and then smiled and turned its ugly head.

"So," God started with the car, "we hear you consider yourself quite the asset to this corporation." He had something of a smile on his face; not altogether unpleasant.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Frank. Too quick, he thought. God obviously thought the same thing too.

"Oh really," said God. This was followed by a loud laugh between the driver and God. Frank took this time to survey his surroundings. The seats were peeling, the leather was stained, there was blood on the other head rest, and the child lock was on.

"Well," said God, dragging Frank back to reality. "We don't consider you much of an asset, which might be... career threatening to you."

Frank sat in silence. They had obvious delight in what they were doing. The God-man was slightly incompetent, which might play out to Frank's advantage if he acted the part right. And right now his script said, "Frank sat in silence."

"But what we do consider you is a risk; a loose end, you might say. Irresponsible, illogical, bad at business, lousy at negotiating..." God was talking down to him, no surprises there. He had been for years. The diction didn't seem any different either.

"... and most important, you don't ever seem to get things done one hundred percent. Bad for business you might say."

God looked at the driver and smiled. "That's where we come in. We're here to finish the job you should have done years ago. Do you know which job that is?" The car stopped. Frank looked out the window. They were in a less populated suburban area, more specifically at the construction site of what appeared to be a large store. There were men at work. They wouldn't dare kill him here.

God looked at him with his awkward smile. "Do you?" he asked.

"No." There was nothing else to say.

"Ah. Well then. Good, I guess. Follow me."

Frank sat and watched God get out of the car. God opened the door, and Frank came out. The driver stayed in the car. Frank looked around the site, and then at God. No shovel, no problems.

"This way, please." The tone of God's voice had a hint of fake masculinity to it, and smoothed with a facade of well-being that sounded nothing like the real thing.

Frank got in line and walked behind God who seemed to be whistling something. Every once in awhile a construction worker would see God and shout some greeting. God would simply wave back and smile with his awkward smile. Frank spat in disgust.

Frank almost stopped in his tracks. He looked into the eyes of the construction workers and saw the downcast faces of those he held dear. Even more disturbing was the crooked, vengeful smile of those he had wronged. He saw in each one of them the essence of karma. He shuddered and walked with closed eyes, hearing the voices of recompense whispering cruelly into his ears.

"Here we are."

Frank looked around. There was nothing "here." Wherever "here" was, he wouldn't expected it to be "here."

"Where?" asked Frank, breaking his silence.

"Here," replied God. He reached in his pocket (making Frank jump), and pulled out a paper tied like a diploma.

"Read," he said.

Frank started unrolling the paper, He looked at it, swore, turned around sharply, and fell, having met the bullet to which God had prescribed for his demise. On the paper in Frank's hand was written in large print, "Goodbye, Frank."

And in much smaller print was written, "God gives, and God takes away."