“It’s what’s in here—” and touched his chest—“and what’s in here—” then pointed to the windows, “and how you use it out there. Life’s a gift. Don’t fuck it up. You’re fucking it up.”
Westmore listened to the ticking clock, staring at the shadow.
The angel flicked the cigarette away, to the tile before the French doors. “It’s not possible for you to understand—your brains aren’t big enough.” He kept pointing to his own head, jabbing a finger. “You can’t…cogitate. You cannot…reckon. You do not have the capability of comprehending, man. So that’s why we whisper to you in time-held secrets. That’s why we unfold as myths and fables. That’s why Moses parted the Red Sea. That’s why when Jesus said ‘Lazarus, come out,’ Lazarus came out. It’s parlor tricks. You can’t understand the whole picture, none of your kind can. God gave you paradise, God gave you perfection and bliss, and you still turned your back on Him. You said ‘Fuck you,’ to God. You willingly chose error and sin over God’s perfect gift. ‘You closed the door in My face, so I’m gonna close ALL the doors in your face—all but one. I still love all you assholes, so I’m gonna leave you the option of salvation. I’ll tell you what you have to do to do get. But that’s it. From here on you’re on your own.’ You people all chose the wrong road, so now you gotta drive on it, and during the drive you’re gonna have to deal with all the things God wanted to protect you from: war, hatred, disease, poverty, failure—ALL that shit. It’s no cakewalk. Satan’s owned the title-deed to the world since Eve bit the apple and Adam put his fuckin’ fig leaf on in shame.”
Westmore laughed.
“ Come on man. You don’t mean that all that biblical shit literally happened? I always thought they were just allegories, sort of like fables.”
“ Belief is a powerful thing. It shapes the past as well as the future. Once a thing is done and thousands of years have passed, who is to say the manner in which it came to pass? History is what we believe it to be just as God and heaven are what you believe them to be, well, to a point. God does have a definite nature. It’s his appearance that changes. Your faith shapes it. There are many different heavens just as there are many different hells and many different types of angels. If you were a Buddhist I may have appeared to you as a lotus blossom.”
“ Why not as Buddha himself?”
“ It’s within my power but beyond my authority. That would be akin to appearing to you as Jesus Christ. I’d wind up in Hell myself for that.”
“ So there are different gods as well?”
“ No, only one, but he can take many forms. It all depends on your belief.”
“ I don’t get it.”
“ Fortunately it’s not really necessary that you do. You’re not capable of getting it.”
Westmore’s thoughts dripped like blood. He felt becloaked in darkness.
Then the angel said, “Heavy shit’s going down in this house. That’s why I’m here.”
“ What kind of heavy shit?”
“ An aggrandized affront. Systematized evil. It’s a by-product of your fucked up society. The only true society is the society of God.”
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Westmore grated.
“ Of course you don’t, because you’re too stupid. We work in secrets. Someone has to know. That’s why I’m here. Farringworth is an adherent, a living symbol of the corrosion of mankind. He wants to argue with God. He thinks that if he pisses God off so completely and precisely, then God’ll show Himself.” A chuckle like crumbling rocks. “Let me tell you something, Westmore. God’s already pissed off. He has been for five thousand years, and He’s sick to the nucleus of His soul. He’s not going to show Himself—you’re not worth His time. God’s gone. He’s fuckin’ busy, man. He gave you a chance. Take it.”
Farringworth, the photographer thought. What did
Westmore listened to the ticking clock, staring at the shadow.
The angel flicked the cigarette away, to the tile before the French doors. “It’s not possible for you to understand—your brains aren’t big enough.” He kept pointing to his own head, jabbing a finger. “You can’t…cogitate. You cannot…reckon. You do not have the capability of comprehending, man. So that’s why we whisper to you in time-held secrets. That’s why we unfold as myths and fables. That’s why Moses parted the Red Sea. That’s why when Jesus said ‘Lazarus, come out,’ Lazarus came out. It’s parlor tricks. You can’t understand the whole picture, none of your kind can. God gave you paradise, God gave you perfection and bliss, and you still turned your back on Him. You said ‘Fuck you,’ to God. You willingly chose error and sin over God’s perfect gift. ‘You closed the door in My face, so I’m gonna close ALL the doors in your face—all but one. I still love all you assholes, so I’m gonna leave you the option of salvation. I’ll tell you what you have to do to do get. But that’s it. From here on you’re on your own.’ You people all chose the wrong road, so now you gotta drive on it, and during the drive you’re gonna have to deal with all the things God wanted to protect you from: war, hatred, disease, poverty, failure—ALL that shit. It’s no cakewalk. Satan’s owned the title-deed to the world since Eve bit the apple and Adam put his fuckin’ fig leaf on in shame.”
Westmore laughed.
“ Come on man. You don’t mean that all that biblical shit literally happened? I always thought they were just allegories, sort of like fables.”
“ Belief is a powerful thing. It shapes the past as well as the future. Once a thing is done and thousands of years have passed, who is to say the manner in which it came to pass? History is what we believe it to be just as God and heaven are what you believe them to be, well, to a point. God does have a definite nature. It’s his appearance that changes. Your faith shapes it. There are many different heavens just as there are many different hells and many different types of angels. If you were a Buddhist I may have appeared to you as a lotus blossom.”
“ Why not as Buddha himself?”
“ It’s within my power but beyond my authority. That would be akin to appearing to you as Jesus Christ. I’d wind up in Hell myself for that.”
“ So there are different gods as well?”
“ No, only one, but he can take many forms. It all depends on your belief.”
“ I don’t get it.”
“ Fortunately it’s not really necessary that you do. You’re not capable of getting it.”
Westmore’s thoughts dripped like blood. He felt becloaked in darkness.
Then the angel said, “Heavy shit’s going down in this house. That’s why I’m here.”
“ What kind of heavy shit?”
“ An aggrandized affront. Systematized evil. It’s a by-product of your fucked up society. The only true society is the society of God.”
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Westmore grated.
“ Of course you don’t, because you’re too stupid. We work in secrets. Someone has to know. That’s why I’m here. Farringworth is an adherent, a living symbol of the corrosion of mankind. He wants to argue with God. He thinks that if he pisses God off so completely and precisely, then God’ll show Himself.” A chuckle like crumbling rocks. “Let me tell you something, Westmore. God’s already pissed off. He has been for five thousand years, and He’s sick to the nucleus of His soul. He’s not going to show Himself—you’re not worth His time. God’s gone. He’s fuckin’ busy, man. He gave you a chance. Take it.”
Farringworth, the photographer thought. What did
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