Short Story: Havoc at the Moebius

Short Story: Havoc at the Moebius

Words: Charles Olafare 

You wake up in your bedroom. It is empty. It looks as though you’ve been robbed because all your possessions are gone. There is a knock at your bedroom door – a delivery man in brown shorts and a matching hat presents to you a package. Opening the package you see that inside there is a phone. The phone rings, the number “777” flashes on the screen. You answer the call.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello Michael, this is God,” replies the voice.

At first you are not convinced, you ask if this is some kind of a practical joke. Angrily, you ask where your possessions are. You ask how a delivery man managed to knock at your bedroom door without getting in to the front door of the house first.

God cuts you off mid-sentence.

“Yeah…mate, listen. Last night whilst you slept I sold all of your worldly possessions and destroyed everyone that you know and love. All you own now is the phone you’re speaking to me on, but the battery is dying and I didn’t include a charger with it so as not to incur a higher than usual fee when I had it delivered. I’m sure you can understand that it costs lot of money to have an item couriered from the heavens, I’d even go so far as to say the prices are astronomical,” God lets out a hearty and booming laugh, “Get it? Astronomical?!”

As he continues to laugh even harder, you pull the phone away from your ear but the disembodied echo of his laughter somehow fills the room. You wonder why God even bothered to call you on a phone when it appears as though at least his voice is quite omnipresent. Growing tired of the whole situation you once again demand more answers, why on earth did God decide to get rid of all your possessions and loved ones? What kind of a cruel joke was this all, is there a lesson to be learned from all this? And just how did the courier get to your bedroom door without first knocking on the front door of the house?

God’s laughter dies down to a few lingering chuckles, he clears his throat and begins to answer your question:

“Michael, I did all of this because you’re a prick and no one likes you. Fuck off.”

God hangs up the phone, you stand confused and alone in your empty bedroom. You approach and open your bedroom door, there is a vast expanse of whiteness and nothing else.

You enter it and close the door behind you.

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