“Just play the fucking video already.”
“We’re gonna take a moment of silence now,” said Pastor Ian Foster into his wireless microphone. “I got prayer requests this week from… let me see…” He took an index card from his suit jacket. “We got requests from Mindy Thomas. She’s in the hospital again with back trouble. She’s gonna go into surgery on Tuesday. Here’s a request for Ryan Wilkes, Mark’s son. He’s getting ready for his second round of chemo. Then, we’ve got one for Louise Anderson’s family. One of her relatives is battling substance addiction.” He put the card back into his jacket. “If you would all bow your heads, I’ll lead us in today’s prayer. Then, we’ll have a few moments of silence so that you can address anything else that might be on your mind.
“Heavenly Father, we ask that you just touch the lives of Mindy, Ryan, and Louise’s family. Lord, they’re going through some tough times, and we ask that you just bless them. Bless them and their families, Lord. In our dark times, Lord, we turn to you; we know that you’re just there for us, Lord, and we ask that you just touch their lives with a bit of your brilliant radiance so that they can feel reassured. Now take a moment for silent prayer.”
“Jesus Christ. Did you hear how many times he said ‘just’?”
“Shut your fucking mouth. Listen.”
“………………”
“I don’t hear a God damned thing, Alan.”
“Fuck, Wilson
“Every time you call my name, I heat up like a burnin’ flame. Burnin’ flame, full of desire; kiss me baby, let the fire get higher.”
“Who gives a shit? It’s just someone’s mobile going off,” Wilson
“Did you even pay attention to the song?”
“It’s old, Alan. You can tell it’s old. I’m sorry, but I’m just not into the music. Why are you even showing it to me anyway? Everyone else, myself included, saw this video yesterday. It’s a fucking tragedy, okay? Get over it.”
“First off, ‘Abracadabra’ came out in the 80’s. It was right about the same time you were sliding out of your mother’s trash compactor of a vagina, so be careful what you call old. And yeah, I know the entire nation saw this yesterday, but did you hear the fucking lyrics? Christ Wilson, I feel like I’m talking to your brother’s dildo.”
“If that’s an insult directed at my intelligence, I’ll let it slide. If you’re insulting my little brother’s latent homosexuality, my dark vengeance will know no bounds. Besides, we were never able to confirm that he had one hidden away.”
“Lyrics, Wilson
“It’s a funny coincidence. Some lard-ass golf player stuck in the 80s just happens to forget to silence his phone. Then bam! Three minutes later a sea of fire devours all of the Jesus freaks. Whatever. It happens.”
“I’m telling you, it fits. It’s pyrokinesis, and you know very well that only Pastor Ian bought the farm. This guy is cocky—you know… like a serial killer. He’s hiding in plain sight, but he’s dropping little hints. You just have to follow them.”
“Alan, this is just like the time you were convinced that the FBI was owning up to Roswell
“You’re fucking blind, man. Take the fucking red pill for once. There’s a fire in Philadelphia that levels seven blocks of gangland, a fire in a VIP suite in Las Vegas that takes out a human trafficker-“
“And now a fire cleans out kind yet misguided Bible thumpers? It doesn’t fit the bill. The human trafficker and the gangbangers are obviously bad seeds. How can you complete the connection? You can’t. It’s not possible. Correlation is not causation. It’s mere coincidence, and it’s certainly not some warlock opening up a can of firaga. You can go ahead and put that out of your mind right now.”
“I’ll say it again. All but three people got out without so much as a slight burn, and only one of those three died. …And I resent your crack about a warlock using firaga. Only black mages can do that, and it just so happens there’s something else you need to hear,” Alan said. He forwarded through the footage on his computer. “This is it.”
“It’s impossible to stay clean in a world that’s nothing but dirt,” a voice said next to the camera.
Alan gloated. “I think this may help my case.”
“Okay. I’m not saying that I’m a believer or anything, but this is right before the inferno comes rolling through. This sounds a lot like a holier-than-thou complex, and that can certainly drive a person to murder.”
“Precisely…. Wilson
“So what do you think? This is something, right? I mean… I should take this to someone, yeah?” Alan asked.
“I don’t know, man. It seems a bit farfetched. It’s the whole pyrokinesis thing. I can’t get beyond that. I think if you provided a plausible theory as to how the fire was started and controlled, then your story would make more sense. But in the end, it’s still just a story. You’re manipulating the facts to support your fantasy instead of manipulating the story to suit the facts. It’s not very scientific of you.”
“I changed my major today. I’m not doing the biology thing anymore. I think I’m going to do philosophy instead.”
“That’s your third change, and we’re only sophomores. Retarded as that may be, it’s neither here nor there. What you have is conjecture. If you’re going to take it to anyone, I suggest taking it to some tabloid. At least then you won’t get laughed away.”
“Fuck you, Wilson.”
“Hmm. You’re talking about fucking me? Maybe you’re the latent homosexual.”
“Shove it up your ass.”
“You’re not helping your case.”
“Dinner?” Alan asked.
“Nah. Jessie wanted to meet me after her class. She and I are going to Rico’s Pizza tonight. I’d invite you to come with us, but third-wheels aren’t welcome.”
“Jessie’s kind of a bitch to me, anyway. Maybe I’ll try visiting the paper. I know one of the journalism students here that has an internship there.”
“Okay. Good luck with your conspiracies. I’ll catch you later. I’m going to go meet Jessie, now.”
“Later.”
No comments:
Post a Comment