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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1706060-God-The-Theme-Park
Rated: E · Sample · Satire · #1706060
This is the intro for my newest idea.
A slow murmur filled the damp, candlelit basement. Before an altar, stands a bald headed, elderly priest with his hands clasped firmly together. He is muttering and has been doing so for the last three hours. His wife sits upstairs at the dinner table waiting for his prayer to be over so she can finally eat her dinner. She sighs and glances morosely at the wedding ring upon her finger beginning to wonder if it was all worth it. If there had ever been a third person in the marriage, it would have been God.
“Marcus?” The priest starts, his heart thumping against his frail ribs as he glances around in the darkness. The candles flicker but remain lit. He closes his eyes once more, letting the silence wash over him.
“Marcus?” The voice again, quite a bit louder than the first time. He knew he wasn’t imagining it. Perhaps it is his wife, he was missing dinner after all. But no, the chills running up and down his spine tell him otherwise. He turns and his heart skips a bit. A figure stands next to the stairs. He squints, his weak eyes trying to make out the features of the stranger.
“Who are you?” Marcus struggles to say, his tongue darting out over his lips. He dared not even dream that the apparition before him was who he thought. His senses were tingling with shock and anticipation.
“I am God,” he smiled, spreading his hands.
“Ah, well, yes...I thought you might say that,” Marcus replied and promptly fainted.

Sylvia heard the sharp thump of her husband’s body hitting the floor and jumped up. Her legs were unsteady as she wrenched open the pine door that led to the basement. The hinges creaked unhappily, desperate for a coat of oil to ease their movement.
“Marcus?” She called uselessly. Her palms itched with worry as she crept a little closer to the stairwell. Her feet moved down the bare concrete steps and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. She could see his carpet slipper shod feet and, as she descended, his inert body came into view. But so too did another figure, one that glimmered and sparkled in the darkness.
“Hello?” she called, her voice quivering with fear. The figure turned and smiled, a dazzlingly white smile. Sylvia promptly joined her husband, unconscious upon the floor.

God stood, perplexed. He knew his appearance would warrant some kind of reaction. After all, one might term it as ‘quite a big deal’. But he’d never understood the human condition of fainting. Surely collapsing unconscious was the least practical reaction in the event of fear. Running away had always seemed the most advisable precaution to take. He shrugged, even though he had created the human race, he could no sooner understand it. To say he had been under the influence was an understatement. He had in fact been outrageously drunk and consequently, blamed many of the errors of the human race upon this fact. But like so many claimed following a particularly raucous night, he could not be held responsible for his actions.
God snapped his fingers and Marcus and Sylvia rose mysteriously off the ground and up the stairs, their bodies jostling against one another for space. He followed them up the stairs and settled them upon their grape coloured sofas. Once this task was completed, God turned his attentions to the meal that still sat upon the table. He sighed contently and reached for the Merlot bottle, pouring himself a large glass and consuming the dinner so lovingly prepared by Sylvia.

Marcus awoke abruptly. He was lying upon the sofa in the lounge, Sylvia on the chair opposite to him. He sat up, wiping his face with both hands, trying to ease the memories back to his tired mind. Perhaps the power of prayer was becoming too much for him. He was no spring chicken after all. Something niggled at his brain and he looked around, searching for the cause of the irritation. The reason, of course, was still perched at the dinner table, gulping down the last of the Merlot. Trying desperately to remain sane, Marcus clambered rather ungracefully to his feet.
“I’m terribly sorry for startling you. I understand this must be particularly difficult for you. Years of wondering if I existed, let alone cared!” God chuckled at the apparent humour of the situation while Marcus could only wobble vaguely and stare.
“God, may I ask you a question?” His voice was croaky.
“Fire away. Although I am entitled to some secrecy.”
“Why are you here? Why me?” Marcus knew there were probably two hundred and thirteen other questions he could ask God; the creator of the universe.
“That, my dear Marcus, is precisely your answer. You could, of course asked what the meaning of life is? But no, you are a practical man, straight to the point. Much like myself...” God trailed off, his eyes two pin points of light staring intently at Marcus.
“I want you to build me a theme park.”

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