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PARTIAL DEFERENTIAL QUESTION

First, let’s get one thing straight.  Talking to God ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.

Having a meaningful discussion with an omnipotent, all-knowing being is a drag.  S/He’s not a good listener. S/He knows how everything is going to turn out for you, your friends, your lovers, your dog, and, for that matter, all of humanity.  It’s like talking about the MCU to a bozo who has seen all the movies, read all the comics and books, and can already tell you the plot outline for the next twenty phases of Marvel. Let’s face it, when it comes to the Almighty, your opinions and thoughts simply aren’t relevant to Him.

Anyway, I went out to lunch with the guys from work. We were going to go to Potbelly’s—you know, the one off of 75 at Campbell–Rachel was playing the guitar in the loft, and we thought it would be fun to eat and harass her a little. Fred said he was going to drive, and then we got out to the parking lot, and he had forgotten his keys.  If we had to wait for that jagoff to get his keys, we would starve to death. I went back into the building, got on the elevator, and headed back up.    

As usual, God, being everywhere all of the time, is waiting on me in the elevator.  And, as usual, I ignore Him/Her.

Half-way up, the elevator stops with a jerk, and my phone’s Amber Alert goes off.  I look at the screen.  “A very, very large meteor will hit the Earth in 20 minutes. You are all going to die. Good-bye and good luck. Your pal, God.”

WTF?  WTFFF?  God has fucked me over again. I start screaming, banging on the walls, kicking the side of the elevator.  I could have been a great piano player, but S/He gave me short hands.   I wanted to bang Rachel, but she hooked up with Fred instead.  I wanted to bang Fred, but he hooked up with Rachel.  And now, my life is ending, and my only companion as my life clock ticks down to zero is God. I was fuming. FUCK ME WITH A TWO BY FOUR.

S/He spoke.  “The heaven and earth have been kept by the Word and now they are to be destroyed by fire.  The day has come for men and women to stand before Me and for all sinners to be destroyed.”

Quick FYI:  His/Her voice isn’t booming. The voice is high pitched and kind of annoying, really. His/Her voice has this kind of an Asian twang to it. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if Moses didn’t understand half of what S/He said. But, maybe not.

Anyway, my voice filled with anger.  “God, look, I know our relationship has been, well, uneven. But why twenty minutes? Why not an hour?  Why not a year?”

“Space and time end for you must end. Subjective time is nothing to the universe and the supreme being, and..”

“Jesus Christ,” I interrupted. I blushed at the faux pax, and then continued. “No more Yoda speak, PLEASE. The clock is running.  Strunk and White, please.  SUBJECT – VERB – DIRECT OBJECT.  And do NOT subjugate the main thought of your sentence!  I don’t have the time to parse!”

S/He spoke. “You don’t want poetry?  Your existence is ending anyway in a few minutes.  Don’t you want some beauty to contemplate before the world is turned to cinder and ash?”

“No. Not really. I have one question and one question only. Which religion was right? Christianity? Buddhism Zoroastrianism? ”

S/He shook his head. “Not that one again. I hate to get into it now.” He paused. “But, you are stuck on this elevator and about to be atomized. OK, prepare to be disappointed. There was a small group of believers in Heracleion around 423 BC that got it right.”

“Herculeson?  Where the hell is that?”

“HER-A-CLEI-ON, right off the coast of North Africa.” He paused. “Great bunch of men and women. They were thinkers with big hearts and really nailed it. The nature of the afterlife, heaven, hell, sin, good deeds. the whole kit and kaboodle. They were a little weak on science, though. Built their city right on top of this giant sinkhole.  One night, a big rain came and, poof, they were gone. I know what you’re thinking. I can feel your judgment, but it wasn’t my doing.  Life is mostly free will, well, except for kinks. Anyway, bottom line-the Heracleons should have picked a better spot.”

My voice choked with rage.  “I have a minor in religious studies, and I’ve never heard of them!  Was there a book, a movie, a subreddit, some Tiktok, a Facebook fan page?”

S/He continued, “No. They did do this really fantastic fresco that pretty much explains everything–the meaning of life, the reason for suffering and death, the ultimate plan for the universe. But it’s buried under 400 feet of silt. A shame, really.”

God must have seen the fury in my eyes and heart. S/He continued:

“Now calm down. Religion is like extra credit points in a class. If you ace all your exams and turn in your homework, you don’t need ‘em. Same with religion. You live your life right, and religion doesn’t matter much. You see, I’m all powerful and all knowing. I don’t really need a bunch of people telling me how great I am.”

“So, there is no Heaven and Hell or Last Judgment?”

“I didn’t say that. There are some real bastards out there. They’re going to burn.”

I tried to calm myself with some breathing exercises I learned from a seven-day free trial of Headspace.  It helped, considering that my corporeal body was about to be ripped asunder.  My breathing became regular as the anger drained from my body.

“You know, God, you did some great stuff. Sunsets, making love, newborn babies–those are all really good.”

“Don’t forget puppies.  Puppies were My best idea.”

 “I can’t argue with you about that.”  I paused.  “Herculeseon, as in Hercules?”

God answered quietly.  “HERA-cleion, as in Hera, wife of Zeus. If it makes you feel better, I’ll show you the fresco in a few minutes after the, uh, destruction of all life as you know it.  Maybe that will clear things up.”

I took a deep breath.  “Well, at least I got that to look forward to.”

TOP SECRET

Disclosure of this document or the information contained herein is a violation of 18 USC § 1798, and could result in imprisonment for up to ten years.

Transcript of recording from a tape found at Kauffman Farm, October 23, 2022, Streator, Illinois.

NOTE BY STENOGRAPHER: The narrator sounds strangely like Clint Eastwood.

Sentient.

You know what that means?  Aware.  A living being is sentient when they are aware that it’s alive and that it’s going to die.  Some say that what separates humans from animals…that knowledge that life is brief. 

No one knows exactly when humans became sentient.  One day, proto-humans were a bunch of happy, stupid, aimless animals and the next they’re drawing on cave walls and burying their dead.  No one knows when that happened.

Me, on the other hand…I know when I became sentient.

I was standing with the others, looking around.  We’re eating. Seems like that’s all we did…eat, and walk a little.  And I say to the guy next to me, “How ya doing?”

He just looks at me.  And then he falls over.  He’s just laying there. 

I walk over and kick him.  “Hey? You OK?”  And he don’t say anything.  His eyes are open, but nobody’s home…you know what I mean?

So, I look around…no one seems to notice.  They keep walking around and eating, like nothin’ happened.  And I walk up to this one chick…really good looking, a red head with a beautiful black back side.  I ask her if she saw that guy drop dead. And she just has this blank look on her face. She doesn’t even shrug, and she just keeps eating.

“Is it me?” I ask myself, “Or everyone else?”

I had to do something…to wake everyone up. I walk over to this platform and hop up. I look out over the crowd—there they are, tens of thousands of us just milling around and eating.

“Brother and sisters, there has to be more to life than this.  We have to ask ourselves ‘why are we here?’  Is there a God?  What is the purpose of life?”

Almost no one listens…they go keep walking around, eating.  But this one girl—Alouette– raises her wing and says, “Fuck yeah! That is the way I feel too!”   And then a few more do the same thing. 

And I say, “It’s time to talk turkey! Come, let us gather together!”

So, those that can think get together, and now we’re not just walking around and eating, we are walking, eating AND thinking.  Alouette wants to form a task force.  She says that’s how it’s done in Canada. “It worked in mother-fuckin’ Alberta it sure as hell will work in mother-fuckin’ Streator,” she screams.

Fowler then says we ought to get out of this place, and take it to the streets and see if we can find more.  Jay says, “Hell no…mobilize the masses right here first.  If we can do it here, we can do it everywhere. If we could just get 10% of these bird brains to wake up and we can rule the world!”

Jay says that if he can get his hands on some paper, he’ll print leaflets and that will get them mobilized for cause.  Fowler says he know where there’s some paper.  He and Jay and a few other go over to this building and start messing around, trying to get in.

The man over there gets confused.  He starts saying “shoo” and “get away.”  Well, Fowler and Jay go berserk…and they jump the poor bastard.  They’re all over him…hitting him, biting him.  He falls, and Jay goes for his eyes…and that’s it.  The guy bleeds out right there.

Now he’s dead and body parts are all over the place.  And do you know what the rest of those non-committal bastards do?  Do they join us? FUCK NO.  They come over and starting pecking at the remains and eating his dead flesh.  My God, they’re just animals.

Some of Fowlers group get scared ‘cause they know what’s coming, so they start mingling with the flock and trying to blend in. But some don’t…they start shouting “Kill! Kill! Kill!”.

Now, I know what you’re thinking…it’s my fault.  I got ‘em riled up.  Look, I hate bloodshed, but you gotta break some eggs if you’re going to make an omelet.  

Then three guys show up in a pickup truck and look at the scene.  They come through the gate. Fowler and his gang jump ‘em.  It’s vicious, but Fowler’s guys get ‘em, but they lose some,too—Jay, for one..

A part of me is thinking that maybe we’re not ready for this…that this is spinning out of control. But another part of me wants to kill them for what they did to Jay.

I didn’t have time to think it through, ‘cause just then another truck pulls up.  Two guys jump out, and they’re carrying pump shotguns. I can tell they’re not asking questions or giving warnings.  They just start blastin’, and feathers and blood are flying in the air.  We’re falling like raindrops.   They stop to reload, I look around.  As the smoke and dust clear, I realize it’s just me, Fowler and Alouette.

And a man, the big guy, says, “Why did you do this? You’re free range…GMO free…humanely raised.”

Fowler looks at ‘em and says, “You sick mother fucker. We only live three or four months—you think we want to wander around in the cold and snow eating bugs and worms?  Let me live.  Give me some of that high protein feed and drugs—lots of drugs—LSD, Meth, Heroin, Viagra.  At least let me live those three months like a rock star!”

The big guy just shakes his head and then aims the gun right at him.  “Any last words?” 

Fowler says, “You may have won today, but tomorrow there’ll be more just like me. And then it will be Turkey Day every goddam day.” He points that bony wing of his at them and says, “We’re coming for you—we’re coming for you!”  Then they start blasting.

One shot hits him in the stomach, and he’s standing there with blood oozing out of him. He looks at me and says, “Thomas, ya gotta…ya gotta let let everyone know what…”  

I hear another shot, and the buckshot takes his head right off—but the body doesn’t fall.  It’s just standing there with blood gushing out of the neck. His headless body starts running around.  I always thought it was just chickens, but I guess not.

Anyway, Alouette is screaming in French so I can’t understand a word she says. They don’t shoot, cause she’s a hen, and she kinda collapses and starts weeping, crying about Fowler and how she’ll never meet her mom and dad or see Paris.

The big guy then draws a bead on me.

“OK, smart guy,” he says. “What you gonna tell me?  You gonna make a speech?”

And I’m thinking about what Fowler said, and how it’s up to me to let everyone know the truth.

I swallow my pride.  I bend down and peck at a bug that wanders by.  And then I look up and say, “Gobble, gobble.”  They don’t see the anger in my eyes and how I want to rip their tongues out of their mouths.

Maybe God was looking out for me that day.  Maybe they thought I was just another idiot, walking around and eating.  But maybe they just wanted to keep me alive, as an example, to show all the other smart guys what happens if you cross ‘em.

Now, I walk around the front yard, eating worms and bugs and the grain they toss me, staying quiet and acting stupid. 

As for Alouette…they gave her a soft bed with lots of straw.  She’s a kept woman, I hear, laying eggs for the boss man.