The Great Divorce

The sky wept. Hard. I couldn’t feel any one individual droplet, for it was like one giant slab of water gushing from the clouds, as if God had turned on the heavenly flood waters from the time of Noah just to see what the puny humans would do. Would they scatter and build underground shelters? Or build a large sea faring ship? Fuck. I had never stood in a torrent of cloud tears this intense in my life. What was I doing standing in front of my old house spying on my ex-wife and our children? I’m nuts. I have to be absolutely nuts.

There’s something cold, metallic in my hand. Why am I holding a cold, metallic object in my hand in the middle of a raging storm replete with thunder and lightening? I’m practically standing in a goddamn pool of filthy, muddy rain water. One strike of God Almighty’s magical electricity, and I’m toast. Literal fucking toast. I’ll be fried like that one guy from Tim Burton’s Batman when the joker electrocutes some asshole with a funny palm buzzer.

As I tighten my grip on the metallic object that I seem to be holding in my hand, God knows why, I look to see what it is that I’m gripping ever so tightly. Oh, fuck. It’s a gun. Shit, shit, shit. It’s happening all over again. Like that time in Guam when I woke up in some bitch’s apartment holding a knife to her husband’s throat.

Ok. This is bad. This is really bad. I can feel the muscles, the tendons, the sinews flexing and pulsing. I can almost hear the synapses in my brain firing off all the necessary command codes to raise the arm with the gun and shoot. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.

Why? Why oh God why? Fuck, fuck, fuck. My eyes narrow as they look down the barrel, through to the target. But who’s the target? I don’t recognize him. Is he her lover? And what the bloody hell does it matter? We’re divorced. She can do whatever the hell she wants. I shouldn’t give a damn…

“But you do, John.”

My head snaps up, and I pivot on the heel of my right foot in one fluid motion, my aim shifts from my ex-wife’s douchebag lover to whoever the fuck is now standing in front of me. My thumb cocks back the hammer, and my index finger readies itself to pull the trigger at the first sign of a threat.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Are you intending to shoot me as well, John?”

My mind seemed to mull this prospect over, chewing on the idea for a while as if it hadn’t thought that that might be an option.

“I might. It depends.”

“Depends on what, John?”

Shit. What would it depend on? I suppose any number of factors. But what the hell do I know? I’m not even a violent person. The irony doesn’t done on me.

“I…I don’t know. It just depends.”

“Well, why don’t you put that gun down while you have a thinkaroo about it? Yes?”

I thought yes, but neither my mind nor my body seemed to give a fuck about what I thought would be reasonable.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t, son?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t.”

The expression on the strangers face seemed to soften but also there was concern in his eyes. But not for himself.

“Alright.” The stranger said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “How about this. You just stay where you are, and I’ll take this little ol’ gun right gentle like from your hand? Think you can let me do that?”

My mind whirred and turned like a barrel of butter being churned by one of those weird Amish people.

“I suppose.”

“Good.”

And before I even realized it, the gun was no longer in the grip of my now cold, sweaty hand. My fingers spread apart and my arm still raised to eye level.

“There. That’s much better. Now, why don’t we sit down for a cup of coffee?”

“The nearest coffee shop is twenty miles from here, and I don’t drive. Do you drive? Mr…Uh, sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The stranger smiled a placating smile and raised his right hand to meet mine, which was still outstretched as if it still intended to do someone harm. Gun or no gun.

“Call me Pa.”

“Like short for Paul?”

“No, like short for Pa.”

“Ha, ha. Funny. Fine, you don’t want to tell me your name? That’s just fine.”

The stranger took my hand in his and that’s when everything faded. Like that moment when you wake up from a dream or in my case a nightmare and try so hard to remember even just one detail of your dreamy existence but try as you might, you just can’t.

My muscles began to relax. I couldn’t even feel them anymore. My vision began to blur. The stranger was still smiling, still holding my hand. The strangest part though was that I could no longer feel the torrential downpour of rain. I couldn’t feel anything, actually. Holy shit fuck. Am I dead?

“You’re not dead.”

What the fuck? Are you in my head?

“I’m in everyone’s head. Sometimes, I’m even in their hearts.”

That last statement hit me like a gut punch by a skilled MMA fighter in one last ditch effort to take out their opponent.

“Who are you?”

“Whoever you need me to be. Listen I don’t have much time. So, I’ll cut to the chase friend. I’m here to help you find a way out. You’ve been looking for it your whole life, which is why you find yourself in little sitches such as this. You’re looking for the big exit sign. And I’m here to give it to ya. No questions. No need to return the favor. Consider this an unconditional gift. Whaddya say, partner?”

My hapless brain took a moment to think about this. It seemed to consider the angle and all the possibilities. Images began to emerge in my mind's eye of all the times I’ve found myself in this exact predicament. Or all the times I watched life pass by behind the slotted view of a jail cell. And then, one day this guy shows up at this moment in my story as I’m about to murder some douche I’ve never met and don’t give two fucks about. Why? Why now? Why me out of all the sad, sorry fucks in this bleak world, why me?

“Why not you?”

I snapped from my revery. Startled once again by this man’s Jedi mind trick.

“Who are you?”

“I’m here to rescue you. Does it matter who is here to save you?”

“I suppose not.”

But it did matter, and he fucking knew it. I don’t know how I knew that he knew that I knew. But it fucking mattered.

“Are you some Alien or some shit?”

“Some shit, yes. Alien? Perhaps, to a conspiracy theorist.”

“Ok. Whatever. How do you plan to rescue me?”

“Ah, that’s the question, ain’t it? You’re gonna work for me.”

I could feel my eyes squint in consternation as I absorbed the ludicrous notion.

“Thanks pal—”

“Pa.”

“Whatever. I don’t work for anyone—”

“But yourself. Yes, I know. Think of it like this. Work for me or die. Your choice, but I warn you. There’s only one right answer.”

At this, I panicked and wished the guy, whoever he was, would disappear like everything else had.

“I know when I’ve been had. Deal.”

“Alright, alright, alright.”

“Did you just do an impression of—”

“Yeah, I suppose I did. Now, I’ll need ya to just sign this here contract. Don’t bother reading the fine print. You wouldn’t understand it anyway. Bunch of legal jargon. You understand.”

I felt a sharp prickling pain in the tip of my right index finger. I put said finger in line with my eyes only to see a single crimson droplet poised to drip onto the awaiting piece of parchment that the stranger had extended towards me. Presumably the contract.

“Sign here please.”

My index finger hovered over the line at the bottom of the contract. The droplet of blood swelled before it dropped down onto the line next to the “x”.

“That’ll do just fine, John. Welcome aboard. Glad to have ya.”

I watched, disbelieving, as the strangers mouth upturned into a crooked, toothy smile. His eyes glowed now a sinister blaze red. His teeth sharp like a wolf’s fangs.

“You’re…you’re the Devil.”

“I really hate labels, but did you think I was God? Pssh, please. I divorced Him a long time ago. Perhaps you’ve heard? We’re no longer on speaking terms…Right then. You’re to report to work first thing in the morning. In the meantime, get some sleep ol’ chum.”

And once again I was standing in front of the window of my old house, arm outstretched, gun in hand, hammer cocked and bloody finger on the trigger. So, it had happened. My muscles tense once more. He had lied. Pa had lied. Lied about rescuing me. He’s gonna use me like he always has. The muscles in my finger tense. My finger curls in, pulling the trigger. The rain is still pelting my body, imploring me to submit.

Crack. Everything falls silent. And all I can feel is the numbness of sleep overtaking me.

“Fuck.”