Wednesday, August 7, 2013

please pass the potatoes

please pass the potatoes

For five millions years, volcanoes erupted and covered the earth in smoke, in poisonous gases, killing 95% of life on the planet. The angels were fighting, screaming at the dinner table, everyone just wanting to be heard. A thousand angels can dance on the head of a pin, how many do you think can crowd at the long trough for Sunday night meals?

An asteroid crashed into the ocean, creating the Gulf of Mexico, sending rocks and diamond dust into the air. Boiling hot seas, the dinosaurs choked, their heavy bodies hitting the ground heavily. Tiny mammals trembled, hiding in their dirt-dug homes. Lucifer fell from Heaven, a shooting star, his pride and his anger in his chest like packed coal. His wings shattered on impact. He dragged a handful of his brothers and sisters with him, all the ones who couldn’t be heard when asking for the potatoes. He looked through the dust-covered sky, vowing revenge and ignoring the sound of dying giants and his cheering siblings.

It was a slow process, starting over. One cell to two cells, just like in the beginning when the universe exploded into existence. A fish crawling out of the sea and grasping its little flipper-fingers on the mud, gripping for his life. The tiny mammals lift their heads out of their holes and when it’s safe, they go on, like time never stopped, like the world hadn’t started over.

God watches His petri dish of a planet, the bacteria of His creation growing at too slow of a rate. So He breathes life into one man in Africa, builds him special from dust and rain. He takes his rib and he builds a mate.

What’s this? An angel asks, young with eyes like cut-out stars. He misses the dinosaurs and sea beasts.

Just you watch, He said. I’m working on something pretty big.

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