Write as many paragraphs as you like using the words above.
Entries may be poetry, prose, fiction, essays or interviews.
(or any other form of creatively written expression.)
Just be funny, clever and theological...
and please give your piece a TITLE.
A MESSAGE FOR GARY
ReplyDeleteGary heaved a sigh as he watched the line of traffic that stretched in front of him. It was at a dead stand still. And he had a meeting to get to in 15 minutes. Drat.
He tapped the steering wheel impatiently and tugged at his collar. It was a hot day to be sitting in the car, even with the air conditioning cranked up.
Suddenly, his eye caught movement in the rearview mirror. A man was zig-zagging through traffic, his wild mop of hair bobbing up and down and getting in his eyes. He seemed to be heading straight for Gary's car. Closer, closer, closer...
The man yanked open the passenger door and hopped into the seat, sucking in huge gulps of air.
He turned to Gary, eyes crazy with excitement. "You're Gary Demar, aren't ya?"
Gary was flabbergasted by the suddenness of the man's address, but managed to sputter, "N-no, no, my name's Lamar, Gary Lamar. I don't understand -"
But the wild man cut him off. "Drat, drat, drat!" he gurgled with disappointment. "I got a message for that Demar fella, and figured you was him. Drat!" he exclaimed again.
"What message?" Gary asked hesitantly, scared but curious.
"That the world's gonna end... tomorrow!"
"Are you a follower of Camping?"
"I am!" the man said excitedly. "What's more, I gotta tell Demar that his eschatology is all skewed. All skewed, I tells ya!"
There was obviously vacancy where this man's brain should be.
"I must convince him of his error, push him to join the ranks of the Campingites! I must go and find him!"
With that, the man threw open the door and was off, dodging through the traffic jam once more.
"What a way to start the day," Gary muttered, shaking his head. "My boss is never gonna believe this.."
While My Rag Mop Gently Sweeps
ReplyDeleteI look at the traffic of doubt from the Beatles
While my rag mop gently sweeps.
The vacancy where God should be stabs like needles
While my rag mop gently sweeps.
I don't know why they push agendas
And their vendettas of doom.
Life's sad enough without dreamers imagining
World with out heaven, such tragedies.
I mop up the gore caused by selfish drug users
While my rag mop gently sweeps.
The revelers, pro-choicers, lost child abusers
While my rag mop gently swee-ee-eeps.
The brutal purge continued. The fear that a Calvinist would be called to fill the vacancy at Garden Church was all too real.
ReplyDeleteAlready, several members had gone. Caterpillar, Fred and Baby Bird were now distant memories. Careless, they had been discovered at home Bible Study studying Romans 9.
Sleepy Bird had been the easiest purge. A mop had been used to push Sleepy's nest from the tree.
Alas for the others, there was no traffic on the road. No one saw their walk on the zebra crossing. Their carefully planned alibi had already started to go wrong.
Sorry, forgot the title.
ReplyDeleteThe best laid plans