The vet’s schedule is imprinted on my brain. For many months, that was the most important schedule in my life. Mondays and Tuesdays, morning and afternoon. Wednesdays, afternoon and evening. Thursdays, night shift. Fridays, not there. There were other vets there, of course, but… It wasn’t the same thing. They hesitated, read the files ten times, messed up the meds. And I used to ask, not sure whom, please, please, don’t let him get really ill on a Friday. Or weekend. The vet’s schedule is still imprinted on my brain, but I don’t need it anymore. My kitty is gone.
Words of Wisdom
It was, I suppose, one of those formative moments in life.
In his last moments, as I sat at my dying father’s bedside, he beckoned me closer and breathed the words to me: “Son, if you make nothing more of your life, remember only this…”
The wisdom he then imparted meant little to me at the time, and over the years, consumed only with life’s purely material things, his words began to fade until, eventually forgotten.
And now, lying on my deathbed, desperate to impart a lasting gift of wisdom to my own son.
I simply cannot remember those words.
They always used to laugh at me.
They’d mock me and say that if ever I dared to set foot inside a church, I’d most likely melt into a sinful puddle of evil, unable to bear anything even remotely good or holy.
Maybe they were right, after a fashion: I’ve hardly been a model of decorum and decency. But nobody’s perfect.
Not even that bunch of holier- than- thou hypocrites!
So I burned down the church.
And all of them burned along with it.
Somewhat ironic, don’t you think that it was they, not me, who melted within its sanctuary?
As time goes by the memory tends to fade and you might forget a few things. Important events get etched in your mind and stay fresh forever. Favorite movies and songs tend to stick. You never forget a great movie.
My favorite is Casablanca. It has that guy. You know who I mean. Classic story that imprints on your mind. I think the movie had the French and Nazis causing trouble in his bar and he had to run off.
Not only a great movie, but it has an unforgettable song. “Remember only this, your kiss is on my list…”
What You Willing TO DO?
Covid is killing churches. It’s sort of under the radar. Many were
actually just holding on by their spiritual finger tips. For years I was a
UU trustee, we had weathered major size reduction, based on the Secondary
Retirement Syndrome. You think that home in the country is your final
destination, forgive the ref, then illness settles in, bam, you’re back in
the bay area at some miscellaneous child’s back bedroom. But now the
covid has reduced membership to the single digits. People are just
drifting away; we are just fading away. Hard to watch something so hopeful
Billbert ran across the graass to Linoliamanda. She dropped the cat which yowled and melted away into the darkness. “Linoliamanda. What are you doing at our Air Bnb?”
She smiled. “Oh. Hi, Billbert.” She turned to his parents. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Blanketmaker. I was just looking for my cat. That’s my house across the street, next to the church.”
Mr. Withybottom stood on the front porch, his fists on his hips. “Linny. Get away from those people. If you remember only this one thing, you might live to graduate from high school, those crazy people are a bad influence.”
In the remnants of online society after the apocalyptic flame wars over food debates, the silence was broken by the call for peace: seek not for what is best or you will risk missing out on what is good.
This new online religious movement preaches a hedonism found in moderation, pleading with the remaining self-important and self-aggrandizing pedants to set aside their judgments. “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum,” they preach.
I am returned from that dark future time to forewarn you now. I plead with you to remember only this: Do not read the bottom half of the Internet.
The church in the woods was not yet a ruin, but the interior was stripped bare. “Is this… safe?” I asked. “Oh, come on,” my girlfriend said scornfully, “they can’t watch everything. They probably don’t even know this is here.”
“Not much to see,” I said. “Where did they kill and eat their god?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Well, what was it like?”
“You’re too scared to want to know,” she snapped. “When are you going to get a backbone?”
Right now, I decided. When we got home I would report her as a religionist to the Ministry of Truth.
Frederick’s head injury left him a vegetable.
The only memory left in his head was the church he was found in.
A cult’s sacrifice, rescued from death by the police, but caught in the crossfire.
Holding his bleeding head in his hands, Frederick tried to scream, but nothing came out.
His surroundings fading from view, seven surgeries later, kept alive, but for all intents and purposes, gone.
Staring out the window, if you sing a hymn or read scripture, he will smile.
Put a spoon or straw in his mouth, and he will swallow.
One cruel orderly feeds him roaches.