Rumors fly thru cyberspace into churches, synagogues, temples, fields, mountains. God, the Omnipotent, is resigning from his/hers/ its position and will listen to the pleas of those who want the job.
The world goes wild! Millions, billions of ill-equipped fools get on their knees, kneel, prostrate themselves, cover their heads, uncover their heads, pray for guidance, acceptance. Church bells ring, mullahs climb minarets, adjust the loud speakers’ volume to their zenith and call to Allah, ‘Take me. Choose me.’ As god rejects them, each dies on the spot.
Devout Catholics light candles, make donations to their churches, cross themselves, count their beads. God smirks and smites them all. Shamans have goats brought to them. As they slit the animals throats, they chant words their followers don’t understand. The smiters gurgle and drown in their own red blood.
Chickens squawk as they are twirled in dizzying circles. Pounding drums, bare feet suddenly are still. Feathers fall from the birds leaving them naked and dead. Voodoo nights are over.
The Lord almighty sees, hears and fears that the peace he wants on earth is never going to be. He has noone to advise him, knows his plans have back fired, gone awry. Should I cast another plague on earth and let even the innocent die? Should I use all of my power to create a flood greater than Noah overcame? Should another Santorini explode, kill killers along with babies? Or should I let N. Korea, Pakistan, the USA explode all of their atomic, hydrogen bombs at the same time?
Between his thoughts, he sees an infant boy, lying on a soft white pillow. The babe is about to be circumcised. The Mohel stands ready with his sharp knife and practiced hand. Parents, grand parents, circle the scene. The Mohel cuts–cuts too much. The child does not whimper.God knows then he has found his successor. ‘Little One, Little One, hear me thru your silent pain. Your blood flows. Your family grieves. Come, come to me. I have chosen you to take my place. Come sit with me and learn.
After the Apocalypse in 2012, I will be gone. You will have a clean slate. I give you only one warning, BE WARY OF SNAKES.
About Me
- Zela Bop
- It was Christmas Eve, 1924. A baby girl was almost not born. Her umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around her tiny throat. Somehow with magical fingers, and needed knowledge, the doctor managed to save baby, a holiday gift for the waiting family. As years passed, so many memories remained for Zelda Brotman. Yet at age 50, when her older brother told her he always thought of her as “Zela Bop,” she was puzzled. He said when people would stop to say ‘hello’ to the cute little red headed kid and ask her name, she couldn’t say it right so out spurted “Zela Bop!” And Zela Bop she was, until her tongue untwisted.
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