A well filleted soul

The Dance

 

 

“Are you coming in Maude?” said Bast through the passenger side window of the old VW.

 

Maudes uncertainty, whilst palpable, gave way to the excitement of inclusion. Her Mother-in-law Death had never invited her anywhere. That, coupled with the immense fun she had had chatting with the two young women, lasses roughly her age in looks and cynicism, albeit thousands of years apart in time had her in a fantastic mood. Plus, as her husband had passed away during the Hyskos invasion of northern Egypt, roughly 1600BC, Death had kept her under her wing, and had looked after her since, albeit beratedly. So, with the opportunity to get amongst scantily clad men with washboard abdomens, and the idea that she would be taken as an equal with Cat and Bast, instead of the virtual slave of Death, Maude jumped at the idea.

 

Roll forward 18 hours.

 

‘What Gods’ despised with no less than Godly intensity, ha ha, is the touchy-feely-love-one-another, do-good, hand-holding, hallelujah-eliciting, soft-willed set.  And, they particularly detest organists.  Passionately.  Another thing ‘The Gods’ hate more are people of the belief that they, ‘The Gods’, owed them something, or that ‘The Gods’ should perform at least 80% of prayers received.  “A get off your bum, and sort your own problems out.  We gave YOU life, food, shelter, and a place to live didn’t we?” was the attitude ‘The Gods’ took.

 

Lastly, ‘The Gods’ could not abide those fanatics being sold ‘God’ by men with ill non-Godly intent, always done without God’s obvious approval, or acknowledgement.  Resultant actions lead to wanton loss of life, all with the false lure of reward in the hereafter.  A reward that after the fact, amounts to a short stint for all eternity in that God forsaken country of bad old lady jokes.  A place that is apparently confused with ‘Hell’. In actually fact, it is more of a transit lounge than the end of the line. It begins by staring into the face of Death immediately after death, and ends by being blasted to dust, also looking into the face of Death. The whole process takes no more than 20 seconds; Death has got it beautifully down pat these days.

 

It’s God’s joke.

God, currently posted to “The Now – Arab Sector – 5000 to 500 BC Common Deity Office”, staggered through the detritus of a party from the evening before.  Fractured memories washed over him.  Wearing only a pair of well-worn, much-loved undies, the sight of the lounge room sends a scant shiver up his spine as He vaguely recalls inviting the entire pub home after closing; horror-struck as He remembers the fuzzy image of Mrs. God in her pink dressing gown meeting them at the door to the sound of drunken revelry.  Apparently she had been sleeping?

 

Outside a bird chirped.  Sneaking suspicions thumped Him between the eyes, alluding to the fact that the noisy bloody bird was probably an emissary from God, “Then – Arab Sector – 100,000 to 100 BC Water to Wine and Hangover Affairs Office”.

 

The bird, whilst deploying evil head-splitting chirps soaring to what he guessed to be around 192dB, had strategically positioned itself on top of the wheelie bins near God’s driveway, offering a perfect position to send waves of sound at God’s front window.  Window status – ‘Open’.  Once inside, the sound now trapped indoors does its best to get out.  It reverberates around the lounge room, across a cigarette and beer can littered dining table, over a recumbent post pub reveller (God, “The Now” – European & Near East Sector – 600 to 1900 AD – Plagues, Pestilence, Poor Health Office”), via the ground floor toilet.  Status – ‘Occupied’; Maude, unconscious daughter in law to Death, seated on toilet, skirt and undies on the floor, tangled around her left foot.

 

As far as an unfair cacophony insinuates its way through time, space, and cranium, this beastly sound moves in a fluid, cunning and wavy motion. The ‘chirp’ sped on, finding a possible escape route; the main passage to the master bedroom, via an open window.  Bedroom status – “Occupied”; Mrs. God.

It struck her with the fury of God “Then – Norse Sector – 1 to 1500 AD Rape, Pillage, Plunder, and Burn Office”; she awoke in the manner of angry Mrs. God’s the polyheaven over.

 

Lying in wait, the now very awake Mrs. God remained in the soft folds of the marital bed; relishing the bollocking she was about to inflict, but waiting long enough to text Mrs. God “The Now – Christian Sector – 500 BC to 1500 AD Common Deity Office”, to bring her up to speed on the fun she was due to have.  That done she had a quick look at DeityBook, allotting one or two pictures of cats; cats with not particularly humorous captions, but worth an ‘allot’ to everyone on her ‘really just acquaintances’ list.  From there she went on ‘bleeter’, and ‘bleated’ about the state of God’s House; with stele and poise, she rolled out of bed, and stalked after God.  Mrs. God’s anger now honed to optimum levels for God bothering and pain infliction.

 

Cat awoke face down in the geraniums in the front garden, sunlight and sound inspiring nausea and swearing; Bast, wakes in the bath. She is groggy and there is a naked jackal headed egyptian God, Office Unknown, snoring beneath her; he is trying to roll over, and has farted. Bast gagged, and left the previous evening’s contents of her stomach on the bathroom floor.

 

 

Click the groovy ballerina above, a wee bit of unexpected blues follows.

 

N.

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