So Many What-Ifs

Fiction (in whichever form it happens to present itself)

  • Ghost town

    It’s been a while since he’s gone out
    To the small town, a little south
    From where he settled down alone
    Self-sufficient, his food home-grown

    So when it seems a little different
    He, not wanting to seem ignorant
    Ignores all the early warning signs
    Assumes they’re figments of his mind

    He nods his head by way of greeting
    But all the smiles that used to meet him
    Seem to have disappeared, been traded
    For cold, dead stares, all kindness faded

    He has to wonder, as folks pass by
    And another limp catches his eye
    What could have caused the injuries
    Plaguing damn near everyone he sees

    He passes the baker, and the little café
    But no sweet aromas come drifting his way
    They’re open, but empty; no people, no food
    The unsettling vibe is affecting his mood

    Then there’s his target, the hardware store
    Where the owner, Carl, is blocking the door
    Joe greets him politely, but Carl glares in silence
    Exuding an air of barely repressed violence

    Joe tries to ignore that growing feeling of dread
    Keeps telling himself that it’s all in his head
    Yet from Carl’s pallid face he just can’t look away
    His eyes drawn to what seem to be signs of decay

    He starts to ask Carl if he’s feeling alright
    But falters and chokes when Carl’s mouth opens wide
    The stench is horrendous, the view cavernous, black
    Instinctively, Joe finds himself stepping back

    He aims his gaze at some point down the road
    Trying to keep down the bile in his throat
    “See you, Carl”, he mutters, though that might not be true
    As he thinks of how the man’s skin’s turning blue

    Attempting to avoid seeing more ghastly faces
    Joe picks up his pace as he rushes past places
    That have seen better days, like the old town square
    Looking dilapidated and in need of repair

    The town’s eerie quiet, which he’d been ignoring
    Now seems overwhelming, deafening, roaring
    The silence at home so much a part of his soul
    It took time for the lack of sound to start taking its toll

    The town’s renowned busker just stands there, not playing
    Her guitar hanging limply, strings seemingly fraying
    There’re no cyclists, no cars, no planes in the sky
    Joe’s starting to panic, though he couldn’t say why

    He stops at the corner near the grocery store
    And mostly out of habit, his hand reaches for
    The treats in his pocket, for the sweet orange stray
    Who doesn’t appear to be around today

    He whistles, clicks his tongue, but the cat doesn’t show
    Its absence leaving room for his fears to grow
    No cats, dogs, or insects, not a bird to be heard
    The whole situation seems frankly absurd

    He finds himself shivering from a chill up his spine
    And seriously doubts that all is just fine
    The uneaten treats he leaves on the ground
    Holding out hope his little stray’ll come ‘round

    While he rushes along past darkened houses
    He knows whatever’s touched this town has
    Drained its light, its life, its power
    Left gardens filled with wilted flowers

    It takes getting out and away from the town
    For his heartbeat to finally start slowing down
    The oppressive gloom all around him is lifted
    And it feels as if his reality has shifted

    Someone else had to have noticed, right?
    Or had whatever this was occurred overnight?
    He guessed it could still be all in his head
    And yet it’d felt real, this town filled with the dead

    He should check the local paper, or maybe online
    He’s aware that he’s fallen behind the times
    Virtually and literally, he’s been off the grid
    He’d considered disconnecting the best thing he did

    But now regret’s seeping in, at being so unaware
    That he has no idea what he’s witnessed out there
    Could it be drugs, a pandemic, or worse?
    Could this be how the apocalypse occurs?

    He has a phone somewhere, but he knows it’s outdated
    His computer died long ago, its scrap parts now crated
    Sometimes his old neighbour had passed him her paper
    But it’d been many years since the last visit he’d paid her

    It takes him a while to find his phone and turn it on
    Time he spends debating if he should call his brother John
    Two rings, then to voicemail, the call’s been rejected
    Sad, but not surprised, he puts the phone down, dejected

    He sits and stares at the wall, until his thoughts realign
    Realising the lack of light means he’s lost track of time
    At least he’s made up his mind, regrettably so
    He needs to help get things back to the old status quo

    For the first time ever, he kind of wishes
    He’d been into that doomsday prepping business
    As he scrambles to assemble weapons, armour
    Things he assumed he’d never have use for

    Suppressing every thought that centres
    On dissuading himself from this adventure
    Unsure of what precautions he should be taking
    He can’t seem to stop his hands from shaking

    He tries going to sleep, but keeps jolting awake
    Plagued by the thought he must’ve had a mental break
    So as soon as the day breaks, he’s up to finish preparing
    Shaking his head at the makeshift getup he’s wearing

    On his way to the town, he feels his confidence waver
    He takes a deep breath, and wishes he could be braver
    He halts for a moment, tries to swallow his fears
    When the sounds of the bustling town reach his ears

    Certain now, that his wits must have left him
    He still carries on, although confusion sets in
    Once near the first houses, the difference is stark
    Unlike before, they don’t seem gloomy or dark

    There’s laughter and shouting, a car buzzes past
    As Joe waits for his thoughts to catch up at last
    Aghast that it must’ve been all in his mind
    He’s numbly stumbling on, brain lagging behind

    He wants to go home, but his feet keep him moving
    Every step that he takes seems intent on disproving
    All that he expected to find here today
    For there’s nothing unholy, not a sign of dismay

    It takes quite a while for him to connect
    The looks that he gets to the gear that he’s packed
    It makes him self-conscious; he dislikes attention
    He packs everything up, hopes it’ll never get mentioned

    Still expecting the noise to be fading away
    He fears the air will turn cold, that the smiles will make way
    For the sneers and the glares that he’s encountered before
    So it’s with caution he opens the hardware store’s door

    “It’s been a while Joe, how ya been?”
    Carl greets him with a wave and a grin
    “I’ve been…” He falters. Maybe losing my mind?
    “… Kinda busy.” He answers. “You? Shop’s doing fine?”

    “Can’t complain, can’t complain. You need some supplies?”
    Joe nods out of habit, but hard as he tries
    He can’t seem to remember what he’d intended to get here
    Resorts to glancing at shelves, choosing items he’s near

    With a bag full of stuff he’s quite sure he doesn’t need
    He says goodbye to Carl, and steps out onto the street
    He’s got so many questions, but no one he can ask
    And finding answers on his own won’t be an easy task

    Thoughts twisting and turning, he wanders through town
    Despite the friendly faces, he can’t feel anything but down
    Until, there, at the corner, right where he hadn’t left him
    He spots his four-legged friend, and breaks out into a grin

    He sighs, relieved, though the cat just looks wary
    Completely ignoring the area where he
    Puts down some treats, hand outstretched for petting
    But the cat’s wide-eyed stare is a little upsetting

    It’s just a cat being weird, he rationalises
    They’re fickle and funny, and full of surprises
    Yet this feline had, until now, never failed
    To appear friendly, and cuddly, and happy-tailed

    Joe looks up when a dog trots heavily past them
    Dragging its paws, keeping its eyes downcast when
    A ball bounces past, and a child follows, shouting
    Inside, Joe can feel a new seed of doubt sprouting

    He watches the dog leave, its golden fur faded
    And desperately wishes he could still be persuaded
    To believe all was fine, that it was all in his mind,
    That this town wasn’t caught in some terrible bind

    He notices then, the birds aren’t singing, just screeching
    He looks down at the cat staring up at him, beseeching
    Its eyes remain trained on him, ignoring the treats
    And Joe knows he can’t bear to leave it here on these streets

    He scoops it up gently, feels its small body tensing
    But then it curls up, almost as if it’s sensing
    Joe will get them to safety, away from this mess
    And it starts to purr quietly, lessening Joe’s stress

    Breathing deeply, slowly, while his thoughts and heartbeat race
    Joe thinks about his options, subtly picking up his pace
    Doesn’t want to look suspicious, the cat held closely to his chest
    But drawing stares regardless, looking obviously stressed

    They pass the last few houses, and with a sudden sense of yearning
    He looks back one last time, to where he’ll never be returning
    He has to come to terms with this abrupt realisation
    But with it comes a wave of devastating isolation

    Gaze on the horizon, he marches on, still rushing
    Uncertainty clinging on to him so tightly that it’s crushing
    The incessant meowing in his arms sounds distant, dull, and dim
    Until soft paws use tiny claws to try to get through to him

    He stops and stares down at the cat, who’s pawing at his skin
    Slows his breathing, looks around, his surroundings sinking in
    His house is right in front of them, the place that he called home
    A quiet haven just last week, but now a lonely dome

    He sighs and pets his furry friend, calming himself down
    “It’s time for change”, he whispers. “Time for another town.”
    He sets the kitty on the ground and walks up to his door
    Loyally, it follows him, as if it wonders what’s in store

    Inside he looks at all his things, collected through the years
    He wonders who will take them, if he’d just disappear
    He packs the bare necessities, can’t bear to stay much longer
    That urge to flee immediately continues to grow stronger

    Completely starting over, he’s done it once before
    He’s older now, and tired, but he feels down to his core
    That staying here would kill him, a slow and lonely end
    He needs another shot at life, as does his furry friend

    He leaves a letter on the desk, “To whom it may concern”
    A farewell and a warning, regarding things he’s learned
    “Here, kitty”, he whistles, and soon his friend appears
    “You need a name”, he muses, scratching behind its ears

    The cat purrs in response, eyes closed, looking content
    And Joe thinks of the chances leaving could present
    He smiles to himself, grabbing the remaining bags
    Followed closely by his cat, whose scruffy tail now wags

    The door closes behind them, his car’s good to go
    “C’mon bud, get in. Let’s get this show on the road.”
    Relieved to be moving, he spares no backwards glance
    Just smiles, pets his buddy, and says “I’m naming you ‘Chance’.”

    Based on the following writing prompt:

    Living a secluded life off the grid was also something you wanted to do and have been doing for the past 20 years, only heading to the nearest town 20 miles away to get some odd supplies every 6 months. On your latest visit, you are greeted by the dead roaming the streets.

    , , , ,

  • Alignment

    The ground beneath your feet starts to rumble. Softly at first, but rapidly increasing in intensity, the tremors shaking you to your core, growing ever more violent, until you start to worry that you’ve made a grave error and are about to be swallowed whole and devoured by the earth.

    You close your eyes and attempt to cover both your mouth and your ears as the dust and rocks fly up amidst a deafening roar, assaulting all of your senses at once. You lose your footing and find yourself on whatever’s left of the ground, unsure of what is up and what’s down, and of how much time has passed, until an unnerving quiet suddenly envelops you.

    You slowly open your eyes, blinking the dust away, trying to adjust to the bright light that takes you by surprise. It had been evening when you cast the spell; had you somehow spent all night down here, cowering in the fetal position? Embarrassed, you untangle your limbs and sit up, brushing some of the dirt off your clothes, before becoming aware of someone, or something, staring down at you.

    It takes you a second before you gather the courage to look up. And then you rather wish you hadn’t. The being glaring down at you almost defies description. It’s easily four meters tall, and two meters wide, its body constructed of rock, earth and other things not often associated with living creatures. Within the cracks of its rocks, a vivid orange-red liquid moves around. Lava, you guess.

    It was hard to tell its limbs from its torso, to the point where you weren’t even sure it had limbs. It had a head, that much you could be certain about, but it was oddly shaped – jagged pieces of rock sticking out at all angles, no discernible neck, and facial features that you might as well be imagining, because they kept shifting when you tried to focus on them. Three burning embers glow fiercely in your direction though, and you avert your gaze.

    Trembling, you get up, and face the creature on unsteady legs, trying to recover the courage you had had in abundance before the ground had opened up.

    A low rumble erupts from the creature’s head, but before you have time to realise you haven’t researched which language it might speak, the rumble appears to reverberate inside your head, somehow turning into words you can understand.

    “Who dares summon me?” It asks, and you swallow, trying to find your voice. You rehearsed this. No backing out now.

    “My name is – ” You start, before a loud, low growl interrupts you.

    “I care not for your name, human.” The words echo around your brain. “Spare me the speech you have undoubtedly prepared; I have heard it all before, and had hoped never to hear it again. How dare you wake me? What gives you the right?”

    Your whole body shakes with each word, leaving you trembling and nauseous, but determined to get your point across.

    You clear your throat, before trying again.

    “I would like your help in acquiring dominion over this world. You would get to do as you please with mankind, as long as you leave enough people for me to rule over, and afterwards, whichever reward you’d like would be yours.” You briefly dare to glance up at its face, but the brightly burning embers burn your eyes, so you look away, and stare at the ground instead.

    “No.”

    “E-excuse me?” You look up in disbelief, too surprised to be put off by its glowing eyes this time. Not even a negotiation? The ancient texts you’d read had asserted that power and violence were its bread and butter, that unleashing it would certainly doom the earth. You’d simply wanted to team up with it, to use its power for your own gain. You’d feared it might be too eager, too power-hungry to wait for you to explain your plan. What you hadn’t expected was an outright refusal.

    “I am not yours to command, not a tool for you to use. I am not at your disposal. This power you seek, you will have to fight for it yourself. I will not take part in the destruction of your world, nor in the genocide of your people. I have nothing to gain in doing so. Do not summon me again, earthling.”

    Its body started to fold in on itself and the ground started trembling once more.

    “No, no, wait!” You yell, reaching out your hand as if to grab him. The demon stills, its stare burning through you, and you hastily retract your arm, awkwardly tucking it behind your back.

    “I mean…” You try to steady your voice. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand. I thought wreaking havoc on worlds is what you do? Bringing terror to people? Why would you not want to help me?”

    The creature slowly bends over, until its head is almost level with yours. The rocks of its body scraping together, creating an unnerving sound while readjusting their position to keep its balance. You try to swallow, but your throat is dry, and for a second you forget how to breathe.

    “Every time.” It growls. “Every single time I am summoned it is by some petty creature wishing to gain power over a world that has not threatened it, over people that have not harmed it. And every time, this insignificant creature assumes I will jump at the chance to harm innocents, to destroy cities and forests and mountains. Why? Why would I take pleasure in such acts? Why would I agree to take the blood of beings that have done me no wrong?”

    The hairs on your neck – and the rest of your body – stand up, every part of you is trembling and you can barely think straight. It takes all of your energy and concentration to even stay upright. Yet your mouth seems to open of its own accord, and the words that tumble out aren’t quite what you’d have said if you’d had any energy left to think.

    “You did it before!” It comes out as an accusing whine, but you’re too distressed to be embarrassed by that now.

    “I most certainly have not.” Its rumble sounds indignant; had you not been as terrified and upset as you were, you would have been impressed by its ability to convey tone through gravelly growls and rumbles.

    “You have! I’ve read the texts.” Your voice is unsteady at first, but you’re working your way back to confidence. You know what you’re talking about. You did your homework.

    “You destroyed entire countries, ancient cities and structures! You killed millions of people! And all without prompting! You’re the definition of evil!” You’re yelling now, breathing hard, and blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your vision, which is starting to blur.

    “No.” Another growl. “It was not unprompted. It was the only way to save this sorry world of yours from its oppressors. I did not kill innocents, I killed tyrants. You must be more careful checking the sources of these texts you read, youngling.” It’s quiet for a moment, although its body was continuously making noise, as the rocks move and touch and shift.

    “Hmmm. Perhaps the authors of these texts were survivors of my wrath. They would have had cause to describe me as evil.” It makes a shrugging motion with the rocks somewhere below its head.

    “In any case, the evil you are looking for can be found on the surface of this earth, youngling; you should not search for it in my realm. You would not like what you would find.”

    You shake your head, although most of the movement is involuntary, because it’s caused by the tremors shaking everything around you.

    Impossible. The texts were clear in their descriptions of the many innocent lives that had been lost. Cities that had been brought to ruin by the creature towering over you. ‘Humanity’s one true enemy’ was a phrase which had turned up in more than one of the texts.

    “It seems as though I have failed,” the demon grumbles, slowly moving into an upright position again, covering you in a thin layer of dust created by its rocks scraping together. It turns around and surveys its surroundings, before dropping its gaze to you again.

    “I must not have been thorough enough. The tyrants still roam this earth, and appear to have taken full control of it. What is left of the people I tried to protect?” It asks, and you’re not sure if you are supposed to answer that question, so you just shrug. The texts never mentioned different fractions of people.

    “Are they gone?” The rumble sounds forlorn. “The people who were so kind to this earth and all its creatures? Who looked so much like you, but for their shorter stature and their bright, colourful eyes; whose voices were softer and whose words more gentle. Have I been summoned by none but tyrants, seeking dominion over their fellow tyrants? Have I been blind?”

    A deep, growling sigh erupts from its entire body, its rocky parts shifting and grinding together.

    “I have let time get away from me. It moves so quickly up here, your lives are so fleeting.” Another groaning sigh fills the air surrounding you, covering you, rooting you to your spot.

    “I will let you live, young tyrant.” It says, turning back to you. “I will let you live, so you can re-examine your history, to discover the people you have lost and buried and forgotten. To update these texts you studied, so I will no longer be awoken by bloodthirsty creatures hungry for power. For if this happens again, I will comply. I will kill all the tyrants. Every last one. No matter if they do not remember how they came into power in the first place. No matter if there are no people left to liberate from their tyranny. I will wipe out every single last one of you, to avenge the people you eradicated. To make up for my negligence. Let the texts reflect that, young tyrant, and still your thirst for blood and power with the knowledge that I am letting you live, even though you do not deserve it. Ensure I will not be woken again, or unleash doom upon your people.”

    With that, the creature stretches, roars, and sinks in on itself, lowering itself into the earth, which cracks and sways and causes you to fall down again. The deafening roars and groans make you curl up into a ball. When the ground finally stops moving, and the blood stops rushing in your ears, you are greeted by a deafening silence.

    Slowly, carefully, you open one eye. Then the other. It’s dark outside. You slowly sit up, and look at your phone, but the screen is cracked and it won’t turn on. You look around you. It’s only a little darker than when you’d started the summoning, as if maybe only an hour or so has passed.

    Your head is spinning, your thoughts are racing, and your legs feel like jelly. So you sit and stare at the ground, which is a little cracked, and a little dirtier than it was before, with a thin layer of gravel covering everything within sight. Other than that, it looks completely normal. Not how you’d have expected a demon known for destruction to leave this place.

    Then again, there was apparently quite a bit you didn’t know about this creature. You stare at the evening sky, watching the stars grow brighter while the sky darkens.

    Suddenly you remember that one text, the very short one, that hadn’t sounded like any of the others. The one whose source you hadn’t been able to verify, because the author’s name –  unusual as it was, didn’t even get any hits on google.

    The text which you’d quickly discarded as nonsense, because it had spoken almost lovingly  of this creature. Which hadn’t mentioned any death and destruction, but instead had celebrated the way it had protected people from evil.

    The one that had referred to the creature as light-bringer.

    Based on the following writing prompt:

    You awoke an Ancient Terror and plan to use it to conquer the world. But it seems the demon doesn’t understand your motives, and you’re starting to doubt whether it is actually evil.

    , , , ,

  • The what?!

    You’ve been in this queue for a long time, and you don’t even know why. (You’re also not entirely sure how you got here in the first place, but you’ve got the feeling that the answer to that question would upset you in more ways than one, so you tell yourself that everything is fine.)

    Every twenty seconds or so, the line moves forward a little. You try to look past it, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that you’re heading towards, but all you see is a seemingly endless stream of people, stretching out into the distance.

    You try to take in your surroundings, but you’re struggling to make sense of them. The place you’re in is very… nondescript. Literally. Every time you really try to focus on a particular shape or object, it’s as if your vision starts to blur, and when you blink in an effort to clear it, you can’t remember what it was you were trying to look at. You’re not even sure if you’re inside or outside. You think that you have to be outside, considering the amount of people here, but there is no wind, no sun, nothing that indicates you’re exposed to the elements at all. Even the temperature is so neutral that you barely register the fact that it‘s extremely pleasant. Almost as if it’s the perfect kind of room temperature.

    Yet somehow the thing that surprises you most about all of this, isn’t the location, or the fact that you don’t know what’s going on, but it’s how all of these people are waiting patiently. Aside from some soft murmurs, and the occasional shuffling of feet when the lines moves forward, there are hardly any sounds. Never have you witnessed a group of people, of any size, wait for something without getting annoyed, or rowdy, or in any way impatient. It’s a little disconcerting.

    The next time you take a step forward, a sign pops up to your right. Or perhaps it was always there and it simply moved into focus. It reads:

    “What is the one thing you’ve always wanted to ask __?”

    Ask who, you wonder, as you move past the sign and look up, there seem to be significantly fewer people in front of you. The line seems to evaporate while you’re pondering potential questions to ask, and suddenly the person in front of you takes a step forward and disappears behind some kind of fog, which then immediately clears up again. Great. Everything is fine, you assure yourself.

    Then you feel compelled to move forward as well, and suddenly you find yourself in a small room, facing… Zeus? You scratch your head.

    “For non-believers, I take the form of whatever deity they seemed the most interested in, or comfortable with,” Zeus said.

    “Right. Okay.” You nod, as if this all makes perfect sense.

    “So…” You have to know. “Are you… God, then?”

    “It‘s what many people call me.”

    You nod again, not sure what to say. Should you apologise for not believing in any gods at all?

    “So, tell me, what question would you like me to answer?” God asks.

    Your mind is completely blank. All the things you’ve ever wanted to know about life and death (and everything in between) seem to be hiding in a corner of you mind you can’t quite reach. So you ask the only thing that does come to mind, despite not knowing where it came from, or even if this is something you’ve thought about before.

    “Why did you make the platypus so weird?” You ask.

    “The what?” God replies, confused.

    “The platypus? You know, that duck-billed, beaver-tailed, egg-laying, venomous mammal?” You try to clarify, wondering what the title of ‘God’ entails if he doesn’t even know all the animals on earth.

    God stares at you. His left eye twitches a little.

    “I’m sorry, the what now?” He gets up and you instinctively take a step backward – Zeus was kind of gigantic and more than a little terrifying – but he moves past you, towards a door in the corner of the room.

    It’s only now that you realise you can actually focus on your surroundings. The room you’re in is surprisingly mundane. Sure, God/Zeus had been sitting on a throne, but that cabinet against the left wall, with a water pitcher on top of it, looks just like the one you bought at Ikea years ago. The light blue paint on the walls is starting to fade a little, and the carpet looks like it has seen better days as well. (You suspect it might once have been thick and golden, but right now it is almost threadbare, and a faded shade of yellow.)

    God is whisper-arguing with someone on the other side of the door. The door has only been opened a crack, so you can’t tell who’s there, but you can tell that God is pissed.

    The door closes again, and God stalks to the other side of the room, where he opens a curtain. Instead of revealing a window, a flatscreen appears. He switches it on, and flips through the channels, seemingly without using a remote. Every channel appears to be broadcasting some sort of security footage, but he’s flipping through them too fast for you to really make out what you’re seeing. Flashes of animals, houses, roads, lots of water? Earth, you guess.

    He finally lands on a channel that apparently meets his expectations. For a few seconds, all you can see is a river, but then you can see something swimming to the surface. A platypus emerges, and God swears. (He uses many colourful words, some of which you’ve never heard before, but are determined to remember.)

    “That sneaky little shit,” he mutters. “Hiding in plain sight. The audacity.”

    “Well,” you supply, “the platypus doesn’t really hide. It doesn’t really blend in, you know. It’s far too weird for that.”

    God swivels around to look at you, apparently a little surprised that you’re still here. He’s looking less like Zeus now. Smaller, and more human. Or less human, perhaps. Softer features. Kinder, much more tired, eyes. More androgynous. You definitely prefer this look, whatever it is.

    “You should probably go,” God says. “I have some things to take care of.”

    “Right.” You nod, while staring at the platypus merrily swimming along the river. God follows your gaze, and sighs. “I haven’t actually answered your question, have I?”

    You shake your head.

    “Okay.” God walks towards the throne again, making a slight detour to take a folding chair from where it had been propped up against the wall and handing it to you, motioning for you to sit down.

    You unfold it, and take a – slightly uncomfortable – seat, staring at the being across from you, who now no longer looks like any depiction of “god” (or “goddess”) you’ve ever seen, yet who somehow looks far more ethereal, and far more powerful than Zeus did. An impressive feat, especially since God is currently rubbing their eyes, looking extremely tired and annoyed.

    “Well,” God starts, “as you have no doubt been able to tell, I did not in fact create the platypus. I was unaware of its existence up until just now, which is obviously a failure on my part, although I am fairly certain that there are ways that it was hidden from me.”

    The pitcher on the Ikea cabinet starts pouring a glass of water, which then floats towards God, who grabs it and takes a few swigs, eyes mostly focused on the flatscreen, where a platypus can be seen laying eggs.

    “Eggs.” God mutters. “Honestly.”

    “Anyway.” God’s eyes focus on you for a second, and you feel as though they look right through you. It’s not as uncomfortable a sensation as you would’ve expected.

    “I have some… nemeses, who love to try and mess with me. Usually to the detriment of people on earth, which means that I often have to take drastic measures to take care of them.”

    You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from pointing out that this doesn’t always appear to be successful, but God seems to know what you were going to say anyway.

    “I know. But it could all have been much worse. I won’t horrify you with the details. Suffice to say, most of my enemies are dangerous, and their actions are hard to miss. Some of my enemies, however, take a more… playful approach. Less lethal, more annoying. Way more annoying.” God mutters that last bit.

    “It appears that one of them has introduced this creature on earth, but I am not yet certain as to why. Perhaps they had intended the platypus to cause significant harm to other animals, or the ecosystem, but if that is the case, then I suppose they have failed. There is a chance they are used as spies, as my enemy’s eyes and ears on earth, but,” here God stares at the screen again, “it seems as if there would be easier, more productive ways to accomplish that. So, perhaps they were simply planted there to confuse and frustrate me.” God takes another sip of water.

    “Diabolical,” you can’t help but mutter under your breath, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes. God chuckles.

    “Yes. Well. I think I’ve answered your question to the best of my abilities, and I owe you some gratitude for alerting me to the existence of the platypus. I’m sure I’ll figure out what he’s up to eventually.”

    “Who?” You ask, figuring you’ve got some kind of rapport going here, so you might as well take advantage of it.

    God laughs. “My money is on the trickster you might call Loki. Or Anansi. Or Saci. We all have many names down there.”

    “Huh. Okay. Well, thanks then.” You get up, unsure of where to go next.

    God points to a door to your left, which you could’ve sworn wasn’t there before. It’s not the same door that God used to argue with someone.

    “Alright.” You wave awkwardly, but then another question pops into your head.

    “I’m not sure if asking another question is allowed,” you start, and God nods, a little wearily, “but why were there two underscores on that sign outside, instead of just ‘god’, or something?”

    God looks annoyed. “Dammit, I thought I told them to fix that years ago. It’s been glitching when it encounters atheists and agnostics. It’s supposed to just show a different message entirely, preparing you for what’s about to happen.”

    God walks over to the other door again, sighing. “Well. That explains a lot, actually. I’d been wondering why so many people seemed at a loss for what to ask.”

    You hear another deep sigh as you grab the door handle. “It’s just one of those days, I guess.” You nod one last time. Some days are just like that.

    God waves you off, and as you walk through the door that wasn’t there before, everything goes blank. The last thing you’re aware of hearing before the door closes behind you, is a softly muttered “eggs?!”.

    Based on the following writing prompt:

    In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. “God, why did you make the platypus so weird?” You ask. “The what?” God replies confused.

    , , , , ,

So Many What-Ifs