joemarzen
04-02-2011, 05:12 AM
It upset Lincoln the way people avoided him in the morning. When he climbed out of the tree he was living in, the people in the park behaved as though he were some sort of vagrant. Granted his style of dress seemed to have fallen out of fashion and it's true that over time his clothing had become a bit threadbare; but Lincoln prided himself on his cleanliness.
"Never a scuff on my hat, never a spot on my cuff." He would often say to himself.
Besides, he didn't think that it was his appearance that bothered people. No, he definitely thought it had more to do with the way he shimmied down the trunk of his tree. The problem was that building any sort of structure to ascend or descend from the tree always led to trouble. He tried to simply nail pieces of wood to the trunk to make a ladder, but that seemed to invite unwanted visitors. Once he hung a rope from a branch and slid down, but that brought problems of its own. For one thing it was nearly impossible to climb back up when carrying anything more than a trifle. As it was he already had resorted to carrying his plastic bag in his teeth. When on the rope ladder, the taxing nature of the climb often made him begin to breathe heavily, which in turn caused him to emit a loud wheezing sound as his breath escaped from between his lips and the strap of his bag. This, compounded with the way he inevitably began to swing violently back and forth made him quite a spectacle to the people passing on the nearby sidewalk. In the end he found it was best to use the low branches of the tree as footholds. It seemed that since they were actually part of the tree they had a sort of natural camouflage. No one ever suspected that they actually constituted an ingenious climbing apparatus.
Climbing down wasn't as difficult as climbing up but witnesses obviously found it far more disturbing, thus creating his image problem in the mornings. You see the branches of the tree were set too far apart to use as a natural staircase. Lincoln clung to the trunk of a tree like a bear, his cheek pressed firmly to the bark and his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he scooted downward inch by inch. Often times this was quite slow going, and, as you might imagine the whole thing appeared quite awkward. Lincoln always kept his eyes firmly closed while traveling downward as it was best not to make eye contact with the people below. Everyone always looked at him like he was crazy, and that's hard to bear while concentrating on not falling. Sometimes someone would offer to help him but Lincoln always told them to go away. At least he could have the dignity of reaching the bottom on his own.
Upon reaching the turf Lincoln always took a moment to rest. He would recline on his back, propped up on his elbows, with his knees bent and his long legs spread wide. Most days he would let his head fall backwards to let the morning sun warm his Adam's apple. After gathering his thoughts for a moment he would sit up to take in his surroundings. The first order of business for the day was to find something for breakfast. Since the park was normally fairly busy at this hour of the morning it usually wasn't too difficult. When Lincoln approached people that had witnessed his emergence they tended to make hasty retreats, sometimes even leaving useful items behind.
Today wasn’t one of those days though. The only person around was a woman jogging and she didn’t appear to be carrying anything substantial. In this case, the best course of action was to make the rounds of the local trash receptacles. With that in mind Lincoln headed off to Washington Street where there were many restaurants. That’s how Lincoln found himself behind Rose’s Bakery.
Unfortunately it wasn’t the proper time of day to find vittles. If he intended to find anything to eat he’d have to wait until later in the day when the owners of the establishment inexplicably threw away large clear bags of food. With that in mind Lincoln found a perch on a nearby fire escape where he could spy the area without being seen.
The afternoon dragged on. Lincoln had in the past attempted to while away the day reading periodicals he found on the street; but was forced to stop because most of what he read was inexplicable or struck him as needlessly vulgar. Ever since he woke up in the park a fortnight ago the world was confusing and frightening. What was worse he couldn’t remember a thing about how he had gotten there, or anything else for that matter, just his name, Lincoln. With these thoughts in mind Lincoln dozed. When he stirred the sun had begun to set. Perfect timing he thought. Or not, a fat man seemed to have beaten him to his bounty. Lincoln climbed down and approached him. Surely there would be enough to share.
“Excuse me sir, may I join you in your search?” He inquired.
The fat man turned to address him, he was filthy.
“Why you certainly may.” The man replied with a thick accent.
Lincoln stuck out his hand, a mistake. The man’s hands were even dirtier than the rest of his body. His finger nails were encrusted with a blackness as dark as coal ash. Lincoln feigned a sudden urge to sneeze and retreated long enough to make the issue of shaking hands moot.
The fat man didn’t seem to care. He had begun eating a pastry out of one of the bags.
“Name’s Elvis.” He said between mouthfuls.
“I am pleased to meet you, my name is Lincoln.”
…………
As Jesus lays in his bed staring at the ceiling he tries to come up with something to do that day. Nothing seems very productive to him. Having spent the last evening carousing with his friends he has a distinct urge to be useful. Unfortunately his options are limited; heaven becomes boring after a couple of millennia. Perhaps it would be amusing to go pick up a dead person from Earth, but probably not. After another half hour he finally wills himself out of bed and soon he's standing at the desk of the immigration department.
"I guess I am gonna go pick someone up." He says to the clerk.
She hands him an assignment ticket and he heads off to pick up a cloud car. He thinks that it's silly that the glorified golf carts that are used to transfer the newly dead to heaven are called cloud cars, but, whatever, they do look like clouds. Perhaps Gordon Sanders will have something interesting to say, but probably not. Apparently Gordon is scheduled to be fatally hit in the head with a baseball as he walks through a park, better get a move on.
Jesus navigates through town blowing stop signs and swilling coffee. He's still trying to decide what music to play to set the mood when he arrives at his exit, Lincoln Nebraska... ok. He flips the switch to stop Earth time and begins his decent.
Gordon Sanders has been having a reasonable day. Today is the first day of the year that's been warm enough to go without a coat. With that in mind he decides to walk home from work, cutting through the park. He's only vaguely aware of the baseball game being played on the field he just passed. A moment ago he registered the crack of a bat. Suddenly everything around him freezes. A perplexed look comes over his face and he turns around to take in his surroundings, about six inches behind his head a baseball hovers in mid air. He stands staring at it for a moment before music begins to play. It's not loud but it seems to be coming from all directions. It's an oldie, "Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum?" Just as he's registering this he sees a shape descending from the sky. It looks to be a cloud, but, normally they don't behave that way.
Jesus looks over the side of his cloud car to find a place to land.
"Mother ****er!" He thinks to himself.
"This guy is still alive; I flipped the switch too soon."
He wonders how he's going to fix this.
"Well he's gotta be dead to take him to heaven right?"
Jesus pulls in low and floats towards Gordon at ground level.
"Oh Man, he's all agitated."
When Gordon realizes that the cloud car is honing in on him he panics and sprints towards the nearest building, a church. Jesus sees what's happening and tries to speed ahead of him to cut him off. The last thing he wants to do root around in some church basement for this guy.
"My Son, please be still." Jesus says into the microphone attached to the cloud car's sound system.
Gordon hears this and freezes.
"Oh my God it's Jesus Christ himself." He Thinks.
Jesus steps out of the cloud car which he has pulled up a few yards ahead of Gordon. At the same time Gordon drops to his knees.
"Well this will make things easier." Jesus mutters under his breath.
Gordon is now sobbing. He looks up at Jesus.
"Am I dead?" He asks.
"Um, well, not yet." Jesus replies.
"What?" Asks Gordon.
"Ah nothing, actually um, I need to talk to you for a minute." Jesus fumbles.
"Why I... What have I done?" Stammers Gordon.
"Nothing, I just... follow me." Jesus begins to stride across the park to where the baseball is floating.
Gordon stumbles to his feet and follows. He is in shock.
"Could I just get you to stand here for a second?" Jesus asks as he positions him under the ball.
"Here? OK." Gordon replies his whole body now shaking.
"Oh wait, I forgot something in my car. Don't move OK?"
Gordon is planted where he stands. Jesus strides back across the lawn. When he reaches the cloud he stretches to reach something inside.
Jesus hears a loud THUNK behind him as he momentarily flips the time switch and turns around to see Gordon lying in the grass.
…………
"Another Party!?" Shae, a demon, complains to himself overhearing a conversation going on in the same room.
Shae hasn't gotten any sleep for the last three days because the frat brothers at Epsilon house, where he lives, are on spring break all week. This is especially troublesome because he has a review coming up next month, and his numbers aren’t where they should be. What better chance to redeem himself after getting passed over for a promotion last year? To add insult to injury he is In effect responsible for overseeing all operations on the Clairmount University campus in addition to his normal job because Abraxas, his boss, is incompetent.
Shae half heartedly attempts to telepathically suggest to Jeremy, the ring leader of the party idea, that perhaps tonight it would be better to go bar hopping.
“Dude, maybe we should just go out to the bars.” Jeremy utters a few seconds later.
“No man, what are you talking about? We’ve already got beers and girls on the way” Says Eric, another frat brother.
Shae sighs. If only he were allowed to visually manifest himself. He’d have all the time in the world to finish double checking the D-393 forms that have been piling up in his inbox. Of course that’s silly, everyone would freak out. There’d be no more promotion, or job for that matter.
Or?
"A performance evaluation?! Why now? I've hardly even begun to implement anything!"
Shea, a demon, exclaimed half to himself.
"I couldn't say, it certainly is unusual, apparently someone took notice of you. anyway here's your replacement for Mr Curtis," the receptionist replied.
"This is the last thing I need right now," Shea thinks as he takes the new work order and hurries out of the office.
"I am still cleaning up Abraxis's messes." Abraxis was Shea's predecessor, an incompetent as far as he's concerned. He was promoted, of course, but to a different district thankfully, answering to him might be more then he could take.
Later at home Shea is laying on his couch talking on the phone with his friend Naberius, considering the situation. It seems the best option is to begin work on something new.
"You're right, I need to give them something positive to focus on. I haven't made any progress with my other charges. Abraxis still had people from the 19th century reassembling porcelain dishes. What's the point?"
"...No seriously, all he did was walk in the room 150 years ago, dump a box of plates onto the floor and tell them to reassemble the pieces perfectly."
"...I know it's impossible, that's what I am saying."
"...Sure it's hell, but to what end is the plate smashing thing? All it does is clog up the system."
"...Well they're all complete lunatics now, I can't even carry on a conversation. I think it's so old fashioned. And do you know what else?... Oh OK, well I'll talk to you later..."
Shea hangs up the phone and settles back to think. His new client is is a minor offender, but that's nothing new. Shea's position is technically entry level, his most serious case is a level two; and he was only assigned that one because it's a lost cause. An unrepentant gluttonous taylor who died in 1847; his duties in regard to him only amount to paperwork really, status checks and the like. Eventually he'll be transferred to another department.
"Never a scuff on my hat, never a spot on my cuff." He would often say to himself.
Besides, he didn't think that it was his appearance that bothered people. No, he definitely thought it had more to do with the way he shimmied down the trunk of his tree. The problem was that building any sort of structure to ascend or descend from the tree always led to trouble. He tried to simply nail pieces of wood to the trunk to make a ladder, but that seemed to invite unwanted visitors. Once he hung a rope from a branch and slid down, but that brought problems of its own. For one thing it was nearly impossible to climb back up when carrying anything more than a trifle. As it was he already had resorted to carrying his plastic bag in his teeth. When on the rope ladder, the taxing nature of the climb often made him begin to breathe heavily, which in turn caused him to emit a loud wheezing sound as his breath escaped from between his lips and the strap of his bag. This, compounded with the way he inevitably began to swing violently back and forth made him quite a spectacle to the people passing on the nearby sidewalk. In the end he found it was best to use the low branches of the tree as footholds. It seemed that since they were actually part of the tree they had a sort of natural camouflage. No one ever suspected that they actually constituted an ingenious climbing apparatus.
Climbing down wasn't as difficult as climbing up but witnesses obviously found it far more disturbing, thus creating his image problem in the mornings. You see the branches of the tree were set too far apart to use as a natural staircase. Lincoln clung to the trunk of a tree like a bear, his cheek pressed firmly to the bark and his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he scooted downward inch by inch. Often times this was quite slow going, and, as you might imagine the whole thing appeared quite awkward. Lincoln always kept his eyes firmly closed while traveling downward as it was best not to make eye contact with the people below. Everyone always looked at him like he was crazy, and that's hard to bear while concentrating on not falling. Sometimes someone would offer to help him but Lincoln always told them to go away. At least he could have the dignity of reaching the bottom on his own.
Upon reaching the turf Lincoln always took a moment to rest. He would recline on his back, propped up on his elbows, with his knees bent and his long legs spread wide. Most days he would let his head fall backwards to let the morning sun warm his Adam's apple. After gathering his thoughts for a moment he would sit up to take in his surroundings. The first order of business for the day was to find something for breakfast. Since the park was normally fairly busy at this hour of the morning it usually wasn't too difficult. When Lincoln approached people that had witnessed his emergence they tended to make hasty retreats, sometimes even leaving useful items behind.
Today wasn’t one of those days though. The only person around was a woman jogging and she didn’t appear to be carrying anything substantial. In this case, the best course of action was to make the rounds of the local trash receptacles. With that in mind Lincoln headed off to Washington Street where there were many restaurants. That’s how Lincoln found himself behind Rose’s Bakery.
Unfortunately it wasn’t the proper time of day to find vittles. If he intended to find anything to eat he’d have to wait until later in the day when the owners of the establishment inexplicably threw away large clear bags of food. With that in mind Lincoln found a perch on a nearby fire escape where he could spy the area without being seen.
The afternoon dragged on. Lincoln had in the past attempted to while away the day reading periodicals he found on the street; but was forced to stop because most of what he read was inexplicable or struck him as needlessly vulgar. Ever since he woke up in the park a fortnight ago the world was confusing and frightening. What was worse he couldn’t remember a thing about how he had gotten there, or anything else for that matter, just his name, Lincoln. With these thoughts in mind Lincoln dozed. When he stirred the sun had begun to set. Perfect timing he thought. Or not, a fat man seemed to have beaten him to his bounty. Lincoln climbed down and approached him. Surely there would be enough to share.
“Excuse me sir, may I join you in your search?” He inquired.
The fat man turned to address him, he was filthy.
“Why you certainly may.” The man replied with a thick accent.
Lincoln stuck out his hand, a mistake. The man’s hands were even dirtier than the rest of his body. His finger nails were encrusted with a blackness as dark as coal ash. Lincoln feigned a sudden urge to sneeze and retreated long enough to make the issue of shaking hands moot.
The fat man didn’t seem to care. He had begun eating a pastry out of one of the bags.
“Name’s Elvis.” He said between mouthfuls.
“I am pleased to meet you, my name is Lincoln.”
…………
As Jesus lays in his bed staring at the ceiling he tries to come up with something to do that day. Nothing seems very productive to him. Having spent the last evening carousing with his friends he has a distinct urge to be useful. Unfortunately his options are limited; heaven becomes boring after a couple of millennia. Perhaps it would be amusing to go pick up a dead person from Earth, but probably not. After another half hour he finally wills himself out of bed and soon he's standing at the desk of the immigration department.
"I guess I am gonna go pick someone up." He says to the clerk.
She hands him an assignment ticket and he heads off to pick up a cloud car. He thinks that it's silly that the glorified golf carts that are used to transfer the newly dead to heaven are called cloud cars, but, whatever, they do look like clouds. Perhaps Gordon Sanders will have something interesting to say, but probably not. Apparently Gordon is scheduled to be fatally hit in the head with a baseball as he walks through a park, better get a move on.
Jesus navigates through town blowing stop signs and swilling coffee. He's still trying to decide what music to play to set the mood when he arrives at his exit, Lincoln Nebraska... ok. He flips the switch to stop Earth time and begins his decent.
Gordon Sanders has been having a reasonable day. Today is the first day of the year that's been warm enough to go without a coat. With that in mind he decides to walk home from work, cutting through the park. He's only vaguely aware of the baseball game being played on the field he just passed. A moment ago he registered the crack of a bat. Suddenly everything around him freezes. A perplexed look comes over his face and he turns around to take in his surroundings, about six inches behind his head a baseball hovers in mid air. He stands staring at it for a moment before music begins to play. It's not loud but it seems to be coming from all directions. It's an oldie, "Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum?" Just as he's registering this he sees a shape descending from the sky. It looks to be a cloud, but, normally they don't behave that way.
Jesus looks over the side of his cloud car to find a place to land.
"Mother ****er!" He thinks to himself.
"This guy is still alive; I flipped the switch too soon."
He wonders how he's going to fix this.
"Well he's gotta be dead to take him to heaven right?"
Jesus pulls in low and floats towards Gordon at ground level.
"Oh Man, he's all agitated."
When Gordon realizes that the cloud car is honing in on him he panics and sprints towards the nearest building, a church. Jesus sees what's happening and tries to speed ahead of him to cut him off. The last thing he wants to do root around in some church basement for this guy.
"My Son, please be still." Jesus says into the microphone attached to the cloud car's sound system.
Gordon hears this and freezes.
"Oh my God it's Jesus Christ himself." He Thinks.
Jesus steps out of the cloud car which he has pulled up a few yards ahead of Gordon. At the same time Gordon drops to his knees.
"Well this will make things easier." Jesus mutters under his breath.
Gordon is now sobbing. He looks up at Jesus.
"Am I dead?" He asks.
"Um, well, not yet." Jesus replies.
"What?" Asks Gordon.
"Ah nothing, actually um, I need to talk to you for a minute." Jesus fumbles.
"Why I... What have I done?" Stammers Gordon.
"Nothing, I just... follow me." Jesus begins to stride across the park to where the baseball is floating.
Gordon stumbles to his feet and follows. He is in shock.
"Could I just get you to stand here for a second?" Jesus asks as he positions him under the ball.
"Here? OK." Gordon replies his whole body now shaking.
"Oh wait, I forgot something in my car. Don't move OK?"
Gordon is planted where he stands. Jesus strides back across the lawn. When he reaches the cloud he stretches to reach something inside.
Jesus hears a loud THUNK behind him as he momentarily flips the time switch and turns around to see Gordon lying in the grass.
…………
"Another Party!?" Shae, a demon, complains to himself overhearing a conversation going on in the same room.
Shae hasn't gotten any sleep for the last three days because the frat brothers at Epsilon house, where he lives, are on spring break all week. This is especially troublesome because he has a review coming up next month, and his numbers aren’t where they should be. What better chance to redeem himself after getting passed over for a promotion last year? To add insult to injury he is In effect responsible for overseeing all operations on the Clairmount University campus in addition to his normal job because Abraxas, his boss, is incompetent.
Shae half heartedly attempts to telepathically suggest to Jeremy, the ring leader of the party idea, that perhaps tonight it would be better to go bar hopping.
“Dude, maybe we should just go out to the bars.” Jeremy utters a few seconds later.
“No man, what are you talking about? We’ve already got beers and girls on the way” Says Eric, another frat brother.
Shae sighs. If only he were allowed to visually manifest himself. He’d have all the time in the world to finish double checking the D-393 forms that have been piling up in his inbox. Of course that’s silly, everyone would freak out. There’d be no more promotion, or job for that matter.
Or?
"A performance evaluation?! Why now? I've hardly even begun to implement anything!"
Shea, a demon, exclaimed half to himself.
"I couldn't say, it certainly is unusual, apparently someone took notice of you. anyway here's your replacement for Mr Curtis," the receptionist replied.
"This is the last thing I need right now," Shea thinks as he takes the new work order and hurries out of the office.
"I am still cleaning up Abraxis's messes." Abraxis was Shea's predecessor, an incompetent as far as he's concerned. He was promoted, of course, but to a different district thankfully, answering to him might be more then he could take.
Later at home Shea is laying on his couch talking on the phone with his friend Naberius, considering the situation. It seems the best option is to begin work on something new.
"You're right, I need to give them something positive to focus on. I haven't made any progress with my other charges. Abraxis still had people from the 19th century reassembling porcelain dishes. What's the point?"
"...No seriously, all he did was walk in the room 150 years ago, dump a box of plates onto the floor and tell them to reassemble the pieces perfectly."
"...I know it's impossible, that's what I am saying."
"...Sure it's hell, but to what end is the plate smashing thing? All it does is clog up the system."
"...Well they're all complete lunatics now, I can't even carry on a conversation. I think it's so old fashioned. And do you know what else?... Oh OK, well I'll talk to you later..."
Shea hangs up the phone and settles back to think. His new client is is a minor offender, but that's nothing new. Shea's position is technically entry level, his most serious case is a level two; and he was only assigned that one because it's a lost cause. An unrepentant gluttonous taylor who died in 1847; his duties in regard to him only amount to paperwork really, status checks and the like. Eventually he'll be transferred to another department.