“How do you think you did on that history final?”
“Oh man, I don’t even want to think about it.” Paul covered his face with one hand so he wouldn’t have to look at his computer screen, which currently showed the face of his best friend, Alex, with his characteristically messy bedroom behind him.
“Yeah, I know, Ms. Hufferman is – whoa! Dude, who is that?”
“Who’s who?”
“Maybe there’s something wrong with my screen.” Alex started furiously tapping at his keyboard as Paul heard an unfamiliar voice from behind him.
“There’s nothing wrong with your screen, Alex.”
Paul whipped around to find a tall man with sandy-brown hair, dressed all in white (white pants, white shirt, white vest, even white shoes) standing behind him. “Dude! Who the fuck are you?”
“Language, Paul. The vessel of Our Father deserves some respect.”
“Language? You burst into my room uninvited and you’re worried about my language? The vessel of what? And how did you know our names?”
“So many questions, so little time. I’m sorry, Alex, but Paul will have to call you back.” He waved a hand and Paul’s computer went dead.
“Dude! What did you do to my computer?” Alex picked it up and frantically pressed keys and finally the power button, none of which had any effect.
“I merely turned it off. You’ll be able to turn it back on once you’ve agreed to complete your mission.”
“My mission? What mission? And you still haven’t told me how you knew our names.”
“I told you, I am the vessel of Our Father,” said the stranger, spreading his arms, palms up, as if putting himself on display. “I know all. And I demand respect,” he said, suddenly growing stern and raising one index finger in front of him. “So you will watch your language from now on.”
“Vessel of the what now? Dude, you’re talking crazy, and if you don’t leave my room immediately, I will call the police.”
Now the stranger looked exasperated. “Would a crazy man be able to turn off your computer without touching it?”
“You could have planted some sort of bug or a virus with a timer to make it look like you turned it off.”
“Indeed? How sneaky of me. How did I know your names if I am anything other than the vessel of Our Father?”
“You could have looked us up on the internet. Who is this Our Father? Is he the leader of your cult? Does he tell you to do things? You know, if he tells you drink Kool-Aid, you should absolutely not do it, right?”
The stranger rolled his eyes. “He is not the leader of a cult and to imply he has anything in common with those mentally unstable people is … well, actually, it’s pretty accurate, but you canNOT tell him I said that.” He quickly crossed himself three times. “And yes, he tells me to do things, but that’s only because he’s all knowing, all powerful, etc. etc.”
“News flash. No one is all knowing or all powerful. Anyone who pretends they are is just being a dick.”
“Well, not Our Father, because he doesn’t pretend anything. Well, sometimes he pretends to be a mortal man, but that’s the exception. We’re getting off topic. He needs you to do something for him, will you do it or not?”
“Why would I do anything for some poser I’ve never met?”
“He’s not a poser.”
“Then who is he? Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s hard to put into words. He’s Our Father. The creator of the universe. The man upstairs. Yahweh. Elohim. El Shaddai. El Elyon. Al-Rahman. Al-Rahim. Allah.”
“You mean God?”
“Some of you down here have gotten used to calling him that, but he really hates it. It’s so …“ the stranger wrinkled his nose. “Sterile.”
“You’re telling me God sent you?”
“I highly recommend you not use the ‘G’ word.”
“Fine. Whatever. Some looney wants to claim he’s God, but doesn’t want to be called that. Why should I do anything for him?”
“I keep telling you, he is no mortal man. Besides, I won’t turn your computer back on until you agree to help him.”
“Seriously? What happened to free will?”
The stranger shrugged. “You still have the option of refusing. But he never said he couldn’t sway you in favor of doing what needs to be done.”
“You mean manipulate. Screw that, man. I don’t even believe in God.”
“What if I were to tell you I don’t believe in you? Would that make you any less real?”
“No, but at least I wouldn’t be telling you that you had to do stuff for me.”
The stranger narrowed his eyes at Paul. “Given my experience with mankind, I very much doubt that, but all this is beside the point. You signed a contract.”
“What? No I didn’t!”
“You most certainly did. The day you were confirmed into the Catholic Church.”
“That? I only went through with it so I wouldn’t have to hear it from my grandma.”
“Well done. You don’t have to hear it from her, but you do have to hear it from Our Father.”
“Wait. You’re saying when I got confirmed I signed a contract?”
“That’s exactly what I said, yes.”
“A contract with God?”
The stranger cringed. “Again, I must urge you not to use that word, but yes, that act qualified as signing a holy contract.”
“A holy contract? Oh man!” Paul started laughing so hard, he had to hold his sides. “Seriously, though, man. Prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Yeah. Prove you were sent from God. Our Father. Whatever.”
“And how do you expect me to ‘prove’ it?”
“I dunno.” Paul picked up his water glass off his desk and said, “Turn this water into wine.”
“That was an exceptional miracle performed by the son of Our Father himself. It is not a parlor trick.”
Paul shrugged. “Sounds like something a poser would say.”
The stranger sighed, put his hands on his hips, and looked at the ground. “All right.”
“All right what?”
The stranger looked up and nodded in the direction of Paul’s glass. When Paul looked at it he was so startled he almost dropped it. The clear liquid had turned into a light-green, bubbly liquid.
“What the hell kind of wine is that?”
“It’s Mountain Dew. Your favorite soft drink. You’re underage, young man.”
Paul glared at him, but he took a sip and nodded approvingly. “Not bad.”
“So you’ll help?”
“Maybe.” Paul stroked the fuzz that was just starting to grow on his chin. “What do you need?”
Thanks for reading! If you like what you see here, you can sign up for my newsletter at the top of this page. You’ll never miss an update and you’ll get a free short story every week that won’t be posted online. No spam, I promise!