This is a story I came up with after a conversation between myself and the one and only purveyor of all things silver, may they or may they not be attached to gigantic and horrific cumulonimbus clouds.
The idea is that, as an artist, we start out with a great idea, then a plan, which, by the time we are half way through, has reduced our lofty goals to a simple and oftentimes distant hope of completion.
So I wrote this story. I put constraints on myself, I wanted it to be around 200 words, and I wanted the story to be told from God’s point of view. While this limitation severely limits what kind of story can be told, if any at all – it at least ensures conclusion.
Here it is – a finished product!
I decided to call it “Gods Complex”
Charlie P. Donovan isn’t going to hit the strike. He wants to, there is nothing more important to him right now. Hitting it would signify the first time his score ever exceeded 200. He flips his hair from his bright, young eyes as he waits, ball perched in front of his face. Charlie steps forward gently swinging his arm in a backwards arc. He thrusts it forward, the ball smashing into the polished wooden floors causing an ominous “Bang!” as his awkward release drops the ball too heavily. Three pins down.
Not today. Not ever, for that matter.
Tomorrow he is going to be drafted. He is going to war!
I’ve decided to throw a war and tomorrow my little ball tossing buddy is going to be sent to kill some strangers. He won’t win, but he won’t die either.
That lovely young thing that stares at him so lustfully, running her thin fingers through her golden hair, smiling and concocting plans to spend the rest of her days with him, she doesn’t really care if he hits the strike. She will soon forget about their love. It’s not really him she loves anyways it’s just the attachment, and the attention. You could sub him out for anybody really.
David Freeman
DSF
Americas Ambassador of Awesome
Thanks for the contribution David.
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