And Then … The Phone Rang
by Zalman Velvel
Larry picked up the Smith & Wesson 38 revolver, and put the barrel to his temple. It's hopeless, he thought. His finger tightened on the trigger …
And then … the phone rang.
"Go away!" Larry concentrated again on ending his life.
The phone started ringing in the weirdest way, one after another, with only a slight pause in between, as if it were saying, "Answer me. Come on, answer me. Hey! Answer me. What are you waiting for? Answer me. Right now!" He put the gun down, picked up the receiver, and listened.
"What do you think you're doing, Larry?"
"Who is this?"
"Who do you think?"
"Another collection agency … look I'm broke …"
"No, Larry. It's God."
"God?"
Funny, you don't sound like George Burns, he thought.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Larry. You want to bite a finger nail, chew on a cuticle, even chop off a toe to get out of the Army, that's your business. You take away your soul, then you make it My Business. I spent a lot of time on your soul. I spend a lot of time on every soul."
Larry thought, if you spent so much time on my soul, Mr. All Powerful, maybe you should have expressed more interest in my life. Maybe then my wife wouldn't have run off with her Internet friend, and took our three kids with her. Maybe, Mr. All Knowing, if you were getting with the program, I wouldn't be broke because my banking job was downsized out of existence and I wouldn't be getting evicted tomorrow. Maybe, Mr. Big Shot, I wouldn't be wifeless, childless, jobless, penniless, and homeless, if you took better care of this soul after you made it.
"Larry, if you refer to me as Mr. Big Shot again, and in that tone of thought, I'll bring a lightning strike down on your head."
"Hey, it's not polite to read minds."
"Larry, I could get nauseous from reading what's on your mind. Look, I got problems of My own. I got a war brewing in the Mid-East again, a Russian scientist creating a virus that makes AIDS look like a runny nose, and there's a big crack in the moon."
What's so bad about a crack in the moon, Larry thought.
"Do you want to see Paris with 890 billion tons of moon rock on it? The Mona Lisa won't be smiling anymore, that's for sure. Look, if you want help, I'll get you help."
The line clicked off, and then a new connection was made. After ten rings, someone answered.
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© Copyright 2012 by Zalman Velvel Inc.
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