One January Morning, Part 26
The moment that a deity realizes who He is, the moment that He realizes He can heal the gash in His neck as easily as He rolled the twenty-sided die that turned Him into a Skee-Ball-playing schmuck named Morgan for His weekend’s leave—that moment is fun to watch. In the blink of my eye, Morgan the Schmuck is gone and the white-bearded, Hestonesque Patriarch of my imagination has taken his place.
“The guy I killed,” stutters Morgan the Pirate, “was fucking God?”
“Not fucking God,” says God. “God.”
“I was using it as an adjective,” she spits, incredulous.
His reply: a shit-eating grin. He knows. Of course he knows.
To be continued…