God is Dead - A Short Story
God is dead.
I could feel it. I knew it. The stories of my childhood had resonated within me just yesterday, but today they were silent.
I slipped on my robe and fetched the morning paper. I half expected a headline like "God checks out" or some other editorial wonder. However, the headline "PM Accused of Accepting Bribe" told me it was another slow news day.
I tossed the newsprint aside and went to look out the kitchen window. The sun was shining, glinting off the city towers. A normal day.
My automatic coffee maker had done it's duty. Just like normal. I poured myself a cup and sat down, still gazing downtown.
I thought about what one does when a loved one has died. I suppose there's the body to take care of. Not a problem in this case. Then there's the funeral arrangements. That'll be a doozy with a pope, a few chief rabbis, and God knows - er, who knows - who else arguing over the responsibility.
Or will they? Do they even know? Doubting that I could get a hold of the Pope, I called my friend, David. He was only a Reform rabbi, but maybe he had heard the news.
"David? ... It's Frank. Have you heard any news today? ... Like what? You know, anything unusual. ... No? ... Okay, sorry to bother you. ... You, too."
My eyes brushed the clock. I was going to be late for work. Does one work if God has gone and died? An image of my boss checking his heavy watch convinced me that, yes, one does.
---
The light woke me. Rubbing my eyes, I saw it was almost eight. The days were already getting shorter. I'll have to start setting my alarm.
I wrapped myself in my robe and checked for the paper. It wasn't there. Late again for the third time this week.
Yesterday's paper was lying inside the door. I grabbed it and found the customer service number. The phone was under one of the sofa cushions. I dialed. Waited. Finally, a ring on the other end followed by the droning pre-recorded voice. I had no patience to deal with this. I tossed the phone back under the cushion and got ready for work.
---
It's the two week anniversary of His death. I awoke at 8:30 this morning. No paper again. There was no paper at all yesterday.
I think others are just hearing the bad news. I feel bad having not arranged the funeral, but it seems strange to have one now. On the other hand, they say funerals are for the living. Maybe it wouldn't seem so strange to everyone else to have one so long after His death.
No work today. My boss didn't even show up yesterday, so no guilt either. I grabbed a pad of paper. "Funeral," I wrote at the top. I underlined it. I examined it for a few moments. A box would be more appropriate, don't you think? Three more lines and now it's a box.
Now what?
"Flowers."
I scratched it out. It didn't seem appropriate.
"Eulogy."
That's a tough one as I hardly knew Him. I wrote "David" next to it.
"Location."
Another tough one. The crowds will be enormous!
This is too tiring, I thought, and laid the pen down. I need a coffee.
---
It's been three weeks and one day. I'm not sure I want to go out anymore. There are no papers available, even at the news stand down the block. I don't even feel safe out there now. I swear that Mike, my neighbour, almost hit me in the elevator as I returned home. I guess I shouldn't have asked him who died.
