A-Theism, the Great Godkiller Ch. 02

"What? So mah neck's not strong enough?" she pouted sarcastically.

"No, it's plenty strong," Ellen continued to play along, "especially after all that stuff you've been reading."

"So you're finally cool with the book? Even after all that business about how," she screwed up her face and raised her hands to mate finger quotation marks, "'every woman is different'?" She reached into her bag, ready to pull out her cunnilingus method book but Ellen gestured for her to put it back.

"I stand by that. That book's good about general technique and stuff. And it gives you exercises—but that's it. It's right when it says your best sex is when you listen to your partner which," her leg lock tightened and she reached for Mary Beth's hands, "you do quite admirably. You might even get better than me." Mary Beth blushed from embarrassment, turning her fair cheeks a warm crimson—Ellen's touch still sent exhilarating shivers up her spine. Ellen did not notice the fleeting glance from a nearby table but relinquished Mary Beth's hands anyway.

"Why'd you do that? Who cares what those guys think."

"What guys?"

"Those people," Mary Beth nodded in their direction, "they looked. They can't judge us anymore, Professor Yusef proved that."

"It's not about that," Ellen shook her head as she bit into a fried potato wedge, "it's about taste."

"Yeah, but it's not in bad taste to be lesbian anymore."

"You're not getting it, dear. You're still pretty new to all this so you're still kind of like a tourist visiting some friends in a strange city. You want to go out and do everything, right? Make the most of it?"

"Of course, but I'm hardly a..."

"Yes, you are a tourist," Ellen calmly interrupted her. "It's like people in New York City never going to the Statue of Liberty unless someone comes to visit. You came out last Summer. Years ago, when I did, I did everything but tattoo "QUEER" on my fuckin' forehead!" she laughed at the dumb memories of youth. "But when the novelty," she paused to scowl at that last word and struggled to find one better, "but when I got older I realized it was in bad taste to do that stuff."

"So you're hiding?!"

"Of course not. Listen, even in the days I assumed I was straight I never liked kissing boys in public. Even around campus when I see married alumni holding hands it peeves me out a little. And when people practically make-out in public, GROSS!" she cringed. "That's why I told you to put that book away. I don't see straight couples holding out the Kama Sutra or some such thing, you know?"

"But who cares? God's dead and we don't need to worry about that stuff anymore. Whatever they think is just a holdover from the old days."

"Modesty isn't something we necessarily have from God, EmBee. And besides, those people who looked at us holding hands?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever stop and think their eyes just wandered over here while they waited for their food and they've forgotten all about us since then?"

"No, I guess not."

"I love you, honey, and I'll gladly shout it to the world if they ask all at once," she smiled warmly, grasped Mary Beth's hands, and leaned over to kiss her. It was brief but not rushed. They looked lovingly at each other for several seconds before their waitress' familiar footsteps sounded on the floor. The food for the people at the table across for them had come.

"Our food's getting cold," Ellen reminded Mary Beth who sneaked one last look at the lower back tattoo as waitress leaned forward. This had the double advantage of showing her cleavage to the men to possibly warrant a better gratuity and raise her shirt, showing more of her back to Ellen and Mary Beth, also probably assuring a better tip from them as well. Both smiled as the waitress walked away, giving them a knowing wink and a playfully raised eyebrow. Denied the chance to react to her, the girlfriends gave it to each other instead.

"Should we write our home phone in the check's memo?" Ellen asked.

"No."

"Why?" Ellen asked confusedly.

"I'm paying and I only have cash. We'll give her 30% and write it on the bill."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Arthur Zimmermann was still not a very happy man. Though the bomb intended for him merely damaged his then empty office, he still considered himself an unlucky man. Rather than destroy him, the bomb had wrecked his great effort to keep his office untouched by the massive remodeling. Aside from a lone photograph of his mother and favorite nephew, few personal objects survived and the construction crew threw the ashcans out the blasted window. In their stead was new piping, wiring, furniture, and of course, those pesky windows you could never open.

"Typical leftists. Always thinking they know what's best," he grumbled as he tapped his fingers upon his antique Central American desk. "They centralize health care," he stood up from his chair as he began his monologue, "they centralize education," he swept his hand to the side, "they centralize pizza delivery," he humorlessly joked, "and now they centralize the GOD-DAMN AIR!" he shouted, fists raised high. "I'm the best judge of when I need to open a FUCKING window!"

"Sir!" Fanya broke into his office. "Calm down. Yelling at the window isn't going to make it break."

"But my chair might!" he yelled again with no hint of compromise.

"Now sir, we both know you don't mean that."

"Yes I do God-damnit!"

"No, it can't. These windows were specially designed to handle a spray of automatic weapons fire should some nuts try to kill you again," she continued soberly.

"Oh," he blinked with surprise, "uh, right. I forgot," he calmed down. Fanya smiled and stepped closer so she could adjust his bow-tie. He rolled his eyes but vainly raised his first chin to comply, saying nothing for the second one which she worked around. Her tongue protruded from the corner of her closed mouth as she fussed with the knot that loosened in his childish fit.

"Oh sure, what would you even do with the windows open? It's March in Minnesota and I still have your cigarettes from this morning," she padded her dress pocket.

"Are coming over to cook dinner tonight?" Arthur asked as she removed her hands from his neck.

"No sir, remember? I've got a date with Mike."

"Who?"

"You know, Mike. The pre-med."

"Oh! Right, right, right, right, right...." he rapidly trailed off. "I like him. Good prospects, GOOD prospects! Met him only a few times but he seems to have a good head on his shoulders—as well as some dandruff."

"Oh he does not have dandruff, you just made that up," she fussed. "And what about you? You'd think after such a bitter divorce you wouldn't talk about 'prospects' and marriage like I'm some character in a movie. You forget who he is 'til I tell you he's in med school," she humored.

"My darling, it is my firm belief you young people wouldn't ever get married were it not for movies and television idealizing it—albeit after a prolonged sexual affair. But to answer your other accusation, it wouldn't matter if his name was Adolph Stalin Woland so long as he treats you right. You're damn special," he smiled and pointed to her, "and only the best will have a shot for the privilege of being your guy." She blushed and gently pushed his pointing hand back down.

"You have me sir, you always will," she could not bear to look him in the eyes.

Arthur Zimmermann was a very happy man.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yusef Muhammad awoke from pleasant dreams to find himself in the arms of the woman he loved more than any other. Though a few vain men might consider her large, she was by few if any standards a big woman. Despite this fact her presence atop his bare stomach disturbed his sleep. She softly snored as her arms hugged his body and her fiery red hair cascaded across chest. He smiled at one of those cute little inconveniences that made one's relationship either stronger or filled with unending spite; his hand stroked her head as he refuted the possibility of even the latter. Rather than wake her, he resolved to stay alert until his alarm went off and he could pretend he had just gotten up, too. He thought it a sweet gesture despite the other solutions, waking her or trying to fall back asleep so late in the morning with her head upon his diaphragm, were out of the question. Composed, he looked at the alarm clock.

He quietly expressed displeasure at the time. "Fuck..." Tina stirred, refreshing her sleep filled lungs with newly won air, loudly inhaling through her flared and slightly freckled nostrils.

"Again?" she grunted as her hands clenched and stretched on his body, mildly tickling him. "You haven't spent a night at your place for the last two months. Did you ever think I've had enough?"

"You?!" he replied incredulously. "I could get a decent night's sleep if you would stop making me come here."

"Make you?" she stressed the first word.

"Well," he paused to think, nodding his head side to side playfully, "maybe 'coerce' is a better word. Don't you think I miss my bed?"

"But mine is so much nicer," she scrunched her nose and cheeks, her face barely visible but her eyes glinting in the pre-dawn light. "And Jim was frigid. I should count myself lucky we did it at all since he was repulsed by me."

"You know that's not true. Normally I wouldn't defend my girlfriend's ex-husband but you can't help the way you're born."

"Well I don't know much about that. I'm a logician not a biologist."

"True." She looked at the clock then back at him.

"You have a class in two hours. Shower and sh..." she nearly said "shave" but stopped mid word for comedic effect. Yusef could stop shaving for a month and still have as much hair on his upper lip as a peach fuzz teen.

"Har, har, har..." he chortled sarcastically.

"Get dressed," she cheerfully patted his stomach and leapt from bed, eager to get into the shower first. Though she thought this game of hers annoyed Yusef, the exact opposite was true. Throughout their acquaintanceship and continuing into their relationship, he never tired of watching her in action whether in the class room, walking nakedly in her beauty, or slurping joyfully at his cock.

Freed from her burden, he remarkably dozed off for a few blissful moments until a delightful warming sensation stirred him. His eyes opened and adjusted to the dawning sun to see Tina's shoulder length hair spread over his cock, tickling his sides with its fragrant softness, and her oral manipulations sucking and caressing his petrified cock.

"Mmmm...you know the best way to wake a man up," he stretched with satisfaction. She hummed in affirmative, taking his pole out to gently nibble the tender flesh between it and his air chilled sack, quickly filling it with fiery blood and stretching it to the bed. She continued until he came in volumes which she eagerly swallowed with loud smacking sounds and contented sighs.

"NOW you have to shower," she smiled playfully. "But not after I have to go brush my teeth AGAIN!"

"I didn't put a gun to your head; though you did put something else into yours," he winked. She gave a deserving but still genuine laugh, recognizing its quick delivery but obviousness, and gave him a peck on the forehead before rushing off to the bathroom yet again. He followed after her but ushered her out as she continued brushing so he could piss. A half hour later he was fully dressed and ready to go, ahead of his girlfriend who applied modest but wholly unnecessary make up. He lay back upon the bed, his hands tucked under his head, and his eyes following her movements in the mirror.

Especially when she wore her dress suits, he saw her crafted perfection. Of course she was not without physical flaws—an ass smaller than he liked, too slender fingers, and too much height, or psychological flaws like her overly cautious and considerate nature that made her too much of a doormat for a teacher, but these and other traits made her who she was and no one else—a unique figure in the creation of mankind.

Even after the formula, Yusef still had his doubts about God. True, he had proven He no longer existed, and that was exactly what Yusef let the public know, but he still had not the first clue how the equation came upon his board especially since it was clearly in his handwriting. All religions, or at least all the ones Yusef could recall at that moment, claimed to possess some kind of spiritual and immortal truth. When seen through the eyes of a realist like Yusef had been, this certainty was merely their way to explain a mystery far beyond their capacity; claiming certainty for the sake of ones sanity—lying to yourself and others—was preferable to the grim reality of nothingness.

Yusef recalled an argument he had had when he was a teenager. He and a friend argued about religion—Yusef was convinced religion existed to calm restive common folk with tales of a pleasant afterlife. His friend argued against this theory and spoke of an ancient religion where the adherents ritualistically ate dirt and feared an inevitable afterlife filled with horrible suffering—and yet more dirt eating. Only later did he have a counter argument-- "And I suppose that's why those dirt eaters still have that local chapter on 37th Street and Elm?"

Forty-five minutes later they were dressed. As Yusef stood by the doorway and put his coat on, he wondered just how long his formula-turned-religion could last amidst a race determined to believe in the supernatural. He had no doubt the Stephen Kings would continue to write about ghouls, the Frank Herberts with fictional religions based loosely on Earth ones, and the L. Ron Hubbards with their self-help-turned-religion philosophies. Man was instinctively creative and the most fertile grounds for imagination often were based on what we knew the least. He smiled as Tina's arms slid down his broad shoulders and her cheek rubbed against his back. Yes, man always went to what was most comfortable to him.

As Yusef opened the front door, the crisp air piercing into his warm bundle of wool and goose down, his heart flooded seemingly superheated blood through his veins. He no longer cared what the world thought of him or his formula because in the long run, he knew it did not matter and only the most adamant atheists would still believe, just as the most adamant spiritualists would not. No one of course could predict what form the scrapped religions and philosophies would take. Religions have replaced religions throughout history; would there be more? Maybe a lot less?

The Sun was higher now, reflecting its wintery glow upon the reflecting snow, temporarily blinding their eyes.

"Excuse me sir," a blur in a trenchcoat and bowler hat said as he stood out on the walkway.

"Can I help you?" Tina asked incredulously at the man she found on her property.

"Yes actually. My name is Saul Spritzell and I work for the Mason and Dixon University. I was wondering if you could give me a few moments of your time," he spoke to Yusef.

"No, no," he smiled, not bothering to ask how this man knew to find him at Tina's house, "I'm not interested in recruiters. I like it just where I am," he chuckled, his breath fogging the space before him. The man removed his hat, revealing brown slicked back locks, humbling placing it in front of him.

"Well at least hear me out," the smile never leaving, "Call me 'Spritz,'' he placed his left hand inside the hat and offered his right for the shake. Yusef conceded to at least the handshake and reached out.

It happened quickly. The loud bang came first, then Tina's horrified screams, and finally the horrid pain in his palm, blood steaming in the frigid air as it quickly dripped onto the freshly fallen snow on the footpath. He hunched over and grabbed his wrist, searching into the stranger's eyes for an answer. The gunman's waxy smile remained, his appearance unchanged save for the bullet hole through thin felt that steamed like Yusef's panicked breath and spilt blood;. Yusef used his remaining hand in vain to shove the gun away, but this palm too was blasted. Tina lunged for the man but was struck in the temple with the butt of the withdrawn gun. Tina fell hard to the man's side, unnerving him and cracking his composure. Hastily he fired again, but his poor balance aimed the next two shots directly into Yusef's foot and shin, crumpling him back in pain.

Tina groaned as she clenched her head in pain while Yusef, in a state of shock, his body laced with epinephrine and endorphins, smiled ambiguously as the reality of his wounds refused to sink in. He spread his body on the ground, arms stretched broadly to the side. The gunman glanced nervously down to Tina, then back to Yusef as his finger reached for the trigger another time.

"If God punishes me for doing what's needed," his voice quaked, "I'll see you in Hell!" He knelt down and fired into his belly at a low angle. The bullet punched up through his lungs, piercing every blood vessel until stopping just below his heart. Yusef coughed, spitting blood into the air, while the man nervously scanned the street before fleeing. "Do you see how easy it is to destroy!?" he turned his head to shout one last time like a petty eight year old trying to one-up a peer. Still dazed, Tina crawled the salted cement yard to Yusef, crying uncontrollably as she hovered above his blood streaked face.

She was saying something, he could tell because her lips were moving. Her voice disappeared like a skyscraper in the horizon behind him, and his vision narrowed so all he could make out was her crying face. She slapped his cheek as if to wake him up. He nearly chastised her for hitting so hard, but he felt almost nothing and found he could not speak to her. His body twitched slightly and his lips moved indiscernibly, Tina seemed adamant to hear them even through her determined shakes and cries for help would have drowned them out anyway. His own death was assured, but as for God's, Yusef had his doubts.

He never did discover how the formula in his handwriting came upon his chalkboard. Though this mystery did not unsettle him too greatly, he knew such events might have inspired others, perhaps more spiritually inclined persons, in similar situations. But just as it was easy for him to diminish God rather than prove He exists, it was far easier to destroy Him and Others with tools of man than it must have been to create the universe and all its complexities. But, he started wondering just as life's grip gave way, in the end did all he do really matter?

Ancient mathematicians invented the number system, just as logicians invented formulae, and continue to pat themselves on the back when their equations repeatedly play within the rules they established—everytime 1 + 1 = 2 and mankind reaffirms its seemingly infinite capacity to understand; he'd only disproven God as far as contemporary humans could understand Him or Her, and the sooner the people realized it, the sooner they accepted that their acumen was finite and their comprehension just another rung in the universe's ladder, they would, perhaps in time, actually comprehend the unseen universe that quite possibly enveloped them. But even then, considering all that, an insolvable mystery was always more interesting than the whole picture.

Despite his arrested heart, a surge of warmth spread throughout his body. Smiling just as the frantic Tina disappeared behind his closing eyes, he patiently waited to see what would greet him when or if they ever opened again.

Thanks for reading. Honest and/or constructive criticism is appreciated and welcomed. And if you haven't already realized I don't have an agenda, you simply scrolled to the bottom of the last page to vote and/or complain.