From today on, these posts, come as they may not, are not going to be about my life. Laying down and being lazy all day is my life, and one I like, sure, but it’s not one other people like to hear about. From today on, I shall write small short stories on the writing prompts found at writing,prompt.s on Instagram and its Tumblr profile writing-prompt-s.
Today’s prompt:
“JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEL. SATAN, GET BEHIND ME. BUDDHA… MAN THE .50 CAL.”
“You do know that I am literally the Big Man for a religion that centres on peace, right? They call me Buddharma. You know what that means?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a synonym of Buddha-wuss. C’mon, Steve. Let me man the gun.”
“First, my name’s not Steve, it’s Steph, and second,” I stared down Satan, in all his icy glory. “Would you trust Satan with a gun?”
“Nah, never.” His eyes popped. “Wait. I would. I would trust myself.”
“For a bunch of supernatural beings, you are all goofs.”
“I’ve been saying that to Satan since the first century. I’m alright, though. It makes me special.”
I wasn’t sure what had caused these three religious beings to pop up at my house squabbling like irritable neighbours, and JSB (their boy-band name. Don’t even ask.) were not able to explain anything except for two things: a) the whole godly pantheon was a huge place and basically a neighbourhood, just like in that TV series The Good Place, and that’s why Satan and Buddha were actually neighbours and even good friends- opposite attract- and b) they had dropped into London because something enormously crappy was going to go down. They even have the proper accents pat- it’s horrifying.
So far, the potential crapacity was not even at full, apparently, and here we were, sitting in a stolen Hummer that belonged to the military, running from some Godzilla-kind monster the size of a Tube car.
I’m just kidding. We were playing Call of Duty on an Xbox, and these guys were somehow very good.
We were scattered around my living room in all kinds of lazy positions. Quiet Jesus, in his stained white robe lay in the armchair, munching Cheetos with one hand and the controller in another, a placid look on his face. They didn’t have authentic crisps in the Superworld- only terrible rip-offs. His long brown hair was in a man-bun, and a golden circlet completed his God-son-game-suck look.
Satan was sprawled on the floor, wearing a shiny red letterman’s jacket with an S and a pitchfork (hashtag tropes) and looked about college-going age, with slicked-back black hair and a pair of shades. Once again, an image of the human perception to near perfection.
Buddha broke the cycle. He didn’t look like those statues showed him to be. He was a little tubby and had similar features, yes, but he wasn’t made of metal nor was he forty feet tall. He wore a simple long sleeved t-shirt and white shorts, and surrounding him was a three foot radius of cleanliness. He didn’t do that himself, it just happened. He was a god at FIFA too.
“Look, Satan, Buddha is the only decent shot amongst us. Let him do it.”
“Shut it, Jeebus. Unholy devil, you are so against me all the time.”
“Isn’t that what his holy word dictates?” I asked.
Satan looked at me quizzically. “Since when have I ever listened to this moron?”
“Watch it, Satan. We are all friends here, but that can change. So can the arrangement of your organs,” warned Buddha, beginning to fire the machine gun at the zombies.
“Well, let’s reach a compromise, gentlemen,” I said cordially. “Satan, you can get off and use your MK to cover us. How about that?”
“Is friendly fire on?” He retorted, whip-sharp.
All of a sudden, a shrill ring echoed off the walls of the big hall. Jesus slipped out his phablet from under his butt. (Really, just roll with it.)
“Guys, it’s the boss-man. We gotta go.” Out of nowhere he brought out a strangely familiar yellow cap.
“Boss-man? How do three super-powerful gods, a cumulative control over several billion people, have a boss.”
Buddha slipped his cap on too. It had some weird n-looking character. My eyes widened.
“Is that Pi?”
Buddha nodded grimly. “Pi as in pie, yeah. There’s a reason it’s called a god complex, and it brings no humour with it.”
“So let me get this straight. Jesus, Satan, and Buddha- work for fast food businesses?”
They shrugged together, all at once.
“We need bitcoins, you know. Got to do something for it. The support of the world’s population and thousands of friends has its merits, but bitcoins are bitcoins.”
“Unbelievable. Just break out the fidget spinners and shock me to death.”
Satan grinned. “As you wish.” He raised a hand.
Jesus snapped his fingers. “Hey, bozo. Sarcasm isn’t selective. Let’s fly.” He turned to me. “We guys live a confusing life. Better stay away from it. Thanks for the hang sesh, Stephen. We’ll see you around.”
In a still-stereotypical flash of light, they disappeared.
“Well, that was strange.” With that, I woke up. Nah, I’m just kidding. This story is too weird to bend around more.
PART ONE IS OVER. TUNE IN MAYBE SOMETIME LATER FOR MORE JSB+STEPH ADVENTURES. SEE YOU GUYS!
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