Dream With God is a collection of inspirational and visionary fiction short stories. Topics:
Adam complains about paradise.
That bloody reincarnation business again.
Why are feet on the floor?
Good luck drives a bum crazy.
A light particle falls in love with a black hole.
Justin goes to war for paradise.
Saline buries her heart under a tree.
The lost key to enlightenment.
A young man resents being a dream.
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The edges of the administration desk are fortified with steel. It holds an ancient quantum computer whose fan blows into my face like a hairdryer on hyperdrive.
A green-bearded gnome sits at the desk, his facial expression closed like a century-old book. His nose has a mega mole with two long hairs that swing when he says, “Certificate, please.”
“Which one?” I ask.
“Ugh, the Soul Health Certificate for Rebirth?”
The gnome seems too lazy to look up. “The Psychological Attest of Accomplished Past-life Recapitulation.”
“Here you go.” I present the barcode on my soul arm.
He scans it. “Allergies?”
“Yep. Politicians, more than four siblings, and farms.”
“I got a family for you in England with two kids, daddy’s alcoholic, mom’s a hooker. Also, a childless couple in Zimbabwe, middle class, but high probability of early child death and…” He lowers his glasses and looks up at me. “A family with eleven kids in the Philippines. You said you’re allergic but—“
“Why only bad options?”
. . .
Corner Bar, 26th July 2016, 22:15
Susie’s mind: Check out Brad Pitt over there. Curly hair.
Her ego: Where?
Her mind: At the bar. Blonde. Juicy lips.
Ego: Ralph Lauren shirt, well-shaven, balanced body posture. I sense a good income, manners, and low maintenance.
Mind: He’s smiling at us.
Ego: Body, smile back.
Her body: As you wish.
Mind: OMG, he’s coming over.Brain: Cool, I’m bored.
Mind: But we just broke up with Jim.
Desire: I miss company.
Brain: The fastest way to get over a man is to get under another.
Mind: That’s so gross.
Desire: Maybe Mind is right. We’re not ready yet.
Brain: I’ll just have a chat.
Body: How do I look?
. . .
Brigitte is out of her mind. Or rather her mind is out of her. It has left her, not like one walks out on a date, but like one runs from a killer.
And Fred does go for the kill. “It’s over.”
The words hit her like two bullets, one to the head and one to the heart. Her brain stops thinking, her heart stops beating, and her soul enters a near-death experience.
Fred stands, his expression loaded with loathing. He picks up his jacket and leaves the restaurant without another word.
The fiancé part of Brigitte wants to run after him, grab his arm, and beg him to stay. But not her boss part. Her boss part wants to visit him later at night and skin his balls.
. . .