Creationisms: Part I

With each blast of its pipes, the church trembles. Cobwebs scatter, and dust fills the air, the organ roars in triumphant return. People outside gather, wasn’t that church closed years ago? They look beyond the old fence into the darkness from which the sound comes. Inside the old man continues to caress the ivory, oblivious to the falling stone. He is back in his element, happy for the first time since the inspector shut the doors all those years ago. Glass shatters to the floor with each triumphant chord, Christ’s image cracks on the window above him. With one final note he holds, feeling the music deep within his core. He looks to the heavens as he holds the chord his eyes closed in bliss, the group outside gasps as the church crumbles to the ground and the organ is silenced, one final note escaping into the night. (Best if read while listening to Toccata and Fugue)

“Check 1! Check!” the quarterback called as he stepped up to the line. “Slot 1! Jimmy Dean! Jimmy Dean!” he yelled looking to his left. The slot receiver looked up… what? The young QB had no idea what was going on, his coach had sent in the play and breaking from the huddle he realized he had no idea what it was.  “Silverback Gorilla!” his voice cracked. He was stalling hoping to remember what the play was, “Diane Reeves on 3!” This is some kinda messed up a linebacker on the other side of the ball said to himself. Little did he know the entire offensive line was thinking the same thing. “Check! Check! Burger King!” his voice was raspy. He couldn’t call a timeout, not on his first play from scrimmage for varsity. The tailback behind him just shook his head as the quarterback stammered, uh-oh he thought, three seconds on the play clock, “Hike!’” And that’s when the shit hit the fan.

His car would shake and rattle if he ever exceeded thirty, it was hard to get a vehicle that didn’t on a dishwashers salary. Most of his phone conversations were punctuated with the line “What?! No I’m in the car!... Yeah I know!” this was often yelled as to try to negate the effects of the vehicles dedication to its own percussion. Needless to say the day the transmission literally fell out of the bottom of the car, was a happy one, or at least it would’ve been had he not been on the highway. A family of ducks and and old maple paid the price.

Debris still clouded his mind as he awoke. All he saw were cottonball clouds gently nudging each other along. He could hear the birds, playing in the wind. The grass gently tickled his arm. He seemed to be floating, where was he? Home, lying in his backyard? He wanted to get up, to run inside to get a glass of water from the sink, he was... thirsty. Would mom make him some lemonade? No, that’s impossible, he wasn’t to be relieved for another two weeks. Then he started to remember. The convoy, the flash of light, an explosion? No, he didn’t hear anything. He rolled his head to the left, dead grass and dirt for as far as he could see. He rolled to the right, and blinked. His vision was still blurry, but he could see the smoke and what looked at what he thought was a scrap car, like the kind at a junkyard, just the kind of car his dad would’ve let him pull spare parts off of when he was a kid. He smiled as drifted back to his childhood. His vision began to clear… his smile faded. The scrapheap was all that was left of the Humvee he had just been riding in. The birds were chirping, playing with what remained of the navigator who had been sitting to his left. He turned skyward, the cottonball clouds of exhaust, gently nudging each other along.

“Well this is a first for me,” the sniper said adjusting his scope. “Wind north, northeast at two knots” his spotter said. “I mean I know the guys on everyone’s ‘most wanted’ but do we really have to do this on his wedding day?” said the sniper watching the processional make its way down the grass aisle. “Well it’s the first time the guys show his face in four months.” “I feel for the braud who fell for this guy, she probably has no idea who he is… oh, Christ… the ring bearer.” “What?” “The ringbearer, it’s a kid.” “Well, he’s not going to have a normal childhood,” the spotter said under his breath. “Your cold you know that?” the sniper turned to him, he sighed “Not only we gotta off this guy in front of his fiancée, but were going to scar some kid for life.” “Oh yeah, that reminds me, the captain said to be sure to take the shot before he puts the ring on” the spotter said jotting down some notes, “doesn’t want the bureau to look bad killing a married man.” “You gotta be kidding me,” the sniper shook his head. “Two clicks right, load and fire when ready.” The sniper centered his target, he saw the groom mouth ‘I do,’ and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out.

They marched on Jerusalem, each side fighting in the name of God. Each arrow that found its mark, each blood-stained sword was a holy sacrament, symbolizing their devotion. “Praise be to Allah!” “In the name of the Lord!” They both fought and died, for the same God. There was a holy spirit at the battlefield that day, but it did no swear allegiance to one side or the other. Instead, it simply watched, heartbroken by the carnage, and yet for all of its omnipotent power, unable to stop it. Each arrow that found its mark, each blood stained sword, was a holy injustice, piercing the soul of the divine.

With the human race destroyed the alien invaders felt very satisfied. The landed in their ships, and began to build; schools, libraries, rec centers. They grew over the land and began to cultivating it, careful to preserve its resources. Even the human remains, when ground up and put into an aerosol can, proved to a very effective bug repellent. They were a clean, organized race of alien invaders. All in all, Mother Earth was happy with the change.

Maybe it was the view, or the lack of oxygen, but the scene from the summit took his breath away.

He nervously awaited, tapping his fingers on the bouquet of flowers. The door opened, a large man, wearing only a bathrobe that was doing a poor job considering its intended purpose. This was probably because the belt that normally synched the two halves together was trailing behind him with what appeared to be a piece of toilet paper stuck to the end. He waited anxiously for the man to say something, cringing trying to keep his eyes above his waist. Instead, the man took a draw from an unmarked bottle he was holding, and continued to glower at him. “Um…” he stammered “Is Lisa home?” “…Who?” the man barked nearly falling over. “Lisa…” he looked around, “…your daughter?” “Daughter?” a wide eyed expression crossed the man’s face “oh yeah!” he turned holding the door for support “Liquor!” He called waddling a few steps into the adjacent room before toppling over. "Coming!" she stepped over the fallen man, “I see you met my dad,” she said “don’t worry, he usually passes out before he reaches the gun drawer.” He laughed nervously wondering, if this relationship went that far, what that meant for their wedding.

It was a peaceful day at the pond in the park. Ducks played in the water, and the trees swayed in the breeze. The gusts of wind would cause tiny waves, bobbing the little ducks up and down as the quacked happily. Suddenly there was the approaching sound of a whistle, and the little pond disintegrated in a massive explosion sending the water into a geyser, blowing the leaves off the trees. Ten miles away an army colonel peered through his scope, “wow, that one really missed the mark,” he said standing below a smoking cannon of an M-1 Abrams tank, “I don’t think we even hit the target range,” a lieutenant behind him said, staring in dismay at a chart. The colonel sighed, peering at the hollow cottage a mile and a half away, “oh well, let’s load ‘er up and try this again.”
         
“Wrestle with you own mortality for awhile, why don’t ya?” he said annoyed. Ever since they entered the construction site, he hadn’t shut up. “I’m just sayin’, giving that this is your last night on the planet, I thought you might want something special.” He rolled his eyes, “I’m starting to regret setting you free.” “Your lucky life has only one direction, otherwise you’d be as lost as a unique in a whore house.” He gave him a look and continued on.
         
The meeting paused abruptly as Bob walked in late, clothed in a full skirt and matching blouse, he paused looking around the room. His boss pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes, “Bob, when I said this was a dress-rehearsal…” he didn’t bother to finish his sentence. “I think it looks good on you Bob,” someone said at the other end of the table.

“Honestly Dave, I trust you about as much as a mohel with Parkinson’s.”
         
The peasant looked up in horror as the great dragon landed before him. Just as the dragon was about to lunge for the innocent serf he paused. Where the calories really worth it? he wondered. The peasant had grabbed a pitchfork and was jabbing at the beast while shouting commands, “shoo…shoo!” I did do a lot of extra flying yesterday, the dragon thought rolling his eyes back, trying to recall what he had eaten for dinner the last forty-eight hours. The peasant was becoming more aggressive, now taking tiny steps forward, but flinching as the dragon sighed. He looked down at the little morsel. This one did look kind of dirty, maybe I’ll look for something a little cleaner, like a lord or vassal, something organic. Satisfied with his decision, he spread his great wings and lifted off for the horizon. The startled peasant gathered himself and began shouting at the great creature, thrusting his pitchfork over his head. He grinned smugly and headed back towards his hut.
         
Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ was playing softly on the record player. He lay in bed, his breathing labored, she couldn’t tell if the sounds of static were coming from the record or his throat. She dabbed his brow, so close to a brilliant mind, she thought. Yet here, so near to the end, he believed himself to be a failure. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes, once so full of hope, but now deconstructed by life to a yawning emptiness. For a brief moment she grew angry with him, “why couldn't you just be happy?” He stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. “Happiness,” he sighed, “was not my purpose.” His head sank into the pillow as a final ‘amen’ drifted through the room.
         
The census agent looked down at him with a quizzical expression. “Well, are you going to count me or not?” the cat asked.