The Other Before God

God woke when he felt the stirring of a foreign presence in his limbs. He discovered the paralysis the moment he tried to rise but failed. No amount of straining or grunting helped shift his deadened weight against it.

‘It’? It had been some millennia since he had created the universe, and at that absurdity he scoffed. There can be no ‘it’ unless it was made by me.

But his certainty was nudged aside by the very real immobility his answers fell short of explaining. It did not seem he was paralyzed – there was feeling, uncomfortable as it was.

The sharp tingle and aching stab felt like blood that had ceased to flow, a sleeping leg.

It’s sitting on me, thought God.

The air became cold; he reeled in the idea at once, angry for having allowed such a thought to escape.

There’s nothing there.

He crawled with apprehension; burning, freezing, sweating. He’d never sweated in all his existence, hadn’t known he could. Thoughts thudded in his mind like a bird he’d once watched, flinging itself into the window of its shop cage.

The paralysis only lasted long enough that he couldn’t pretend it was a dream – and short enough that he couldn’t begin to rationalize what it might have been.

The moment he felt it subside, God launched himself free. All around was silence, the stiff dark of the unrisen sun. He felt it was still present.

He called out.

The taught air vibrated with laughter in a voice distinctly not his own, ungendered and mischievous. Where was it coming from?

He demanded to know what it was.

The last vibrations edged their way away until the hush swallowed the sound.

He commanded to be told its identity.

But as the laugh disappeared, so did the immanent pressure, as though the volume of space had decreased as something had left.

Where is there to go? God was confounded. I am everywhere.

God remained still. He felt small with the realization that he was not alone.

A short scene, three ways

1.

"Go fetch!" shouted Lucy, launching a tennis ball across the lawn. Lucy was a foolish girl, whose body outgrew her smarts. She launched the ball further than she expected, right into oncoming traffic. For a moment she stood dumbstruck, then shouted, "No Sparky! You'll get run over! Look both ways before you cross!" But Sparky was merely a dog, and did not understand human speech or road safety rules, nor did he stop to consider what it meant to cross the property line. Dogs are dogs, they don't rationalize. All he understood was the joy of chasing a grey ball through a grey yard onto an equally grey stone river. He held onto that joy up until he died. To this day, Lucy still rationalizes what happened.


2.

Oh, cruel fate! How could a game do simple, so carefree and innocent, ten thus to horror? Blood and bones and dented hoods! How Lucy cried aloud, cursing the now sweating palm that had led her beloved to his untimely and unjust death. Why had he not heeded her warnings? Why must he have loved her so blindly, so devotedly, as to leap into death! To lay there still with a smile, tongue lolling about the accursed ball! And now he is but guts upon the road. The driver leapt from his car, and Lucy pounded on the murderer's chest. How dare he come now, to wrap comforting arms around her! Begone you vile human sample! Sparky would breathe still, bark still, wag his tail still if it had not been for you! If only, if only...!


3.

Lucy enjoyed testing faith. In second grade she convinced Kyle Murray to wait by the chain link fence for a kiss, and left him there all afternoon. With her dog she was no different. With every toss of the tennis ball, she urged Sparky further and further into the road. Her mother had warned her once not to take one's trust for granted. Lucy threw the ball one last time. This was the lesson learned.