An Atheist's Vigil, Part I

For every series, there is a part in the beginning where the last episode was summarized for those too lazy to read the previous one. This is that part in the beginning. If you haven’t read the first one, you are a lazy ass, but certainly I, the author, will go about summarizing several pages’ worth of story just for you, the reader.

The man in the denim jacket with the Metallica T-shirt behind Customer Service is Nicholas Earthenwhare, who has recently been rejected by his home planet’s society and was forced to travel many millions of light-years to search for another planet that would accept the fact that he had ten fingers. His search for a way back to his planet has been fruitless, and, as a result, he has committed suicide. He is not alive, as he appears to be. This is all, in fact, a figment of your imagination and must be immediately discarded before more harm comes to your mind.

The man walking into the store now is what is known as A Customer. He is typically a person who is completely clueless yet egotistical, which is never a good combination. He is looking for A Book. He has been abducted by aliens just the other day and was turned into a five-year-old whining girl.

If you really believe that’s what the last story was about, you are sadly mistaken and quite possibly have poor taste in books. Don’t worry. So does Bob over there. Let us watch Bob as he wanders through the store. He is a middle-aged man, slightly overweight, and is, hold on, yes, one of those people that try to look smart by flipping through the book before they buy it.

This is what was running through the bored mind of Nicholas Earthenwhare as he mourned the loss of his Customer Service computer, which, although did not assist in actually finding a book, really helped with getting through the day sane. However, some people did prove entertaining. Bob was buying a For Dummies book. Bob also seemed to be glancing around every thirty seconds or so while trying to hide the book’s title from whoever might be spying on him.

Oh dear. One of those.

Nick moved out of Customer Service over to an empty register.

Bob A. Customer moved over to said register, considering that it had no wait. He presented the book face-down to Nick, who took it and flipped it over.

“Cooking Basics for Dummies,” said Nick. “Very nice.”

“Hey, wha’d you do that fer?” Bob said quickly. “I mean. It’s really all simple stuff, really. Cooking. Hah! Aced that class in high school, you know? I mean, you know? I mean, it’s not like this is like, you know, some basic book I need—”

“Really? Cooking Basics, now correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that have the word Basic in it? Granted, it’s plural.”

“Look, it’s not like—”

“Is there an English for Dummies back there somewhere? Or maybe an Idiot’s Guide?”

“Hey! Hey! I’m not stoopid!”

“Pronounced with a ‘u,’ you know,” Nick murmured under his breath.

“It’s just, you know, I need a refresher course, you know?”

“You know, did you know, you know, that my job is just to scan this damn bar code right here, on the back, and not me, nor her”—he indicated the cashier next to him—“nor anyone else in this store gives a crap about what book you just bought. You coulda bought Sex for Dummies back there. No. Body. Cares. Now take the book, discover you can’t cook for your life, and beg someone else to actually teach you. Have a nice day!”

Bob A. Customer snatched the book and stormed out.

“Oh, pwned!” said Nick, slapping his palms on the counter. “Well, that was fun. Gotta go.”

***

Down the sidewalk strolled Dalyn Blackpool, the world’s most determined poet. Well, America’s most determined poet. America’s most determined poet, that was walking down a sidewalk. Let us say, actually, America’s most determined poet that was presently occupying the same cubic few meters of space the Dalyn Blackpool was occupying. This is much more accurate, because the only other person in these few meters of space was a teenager who was wondering where to find more pizza, and was very much not focused on poetry. And a rat.

Dalyn liked the city, and at the same time, didn’t. He didn’t like it because of the extremely small amount of nature that was in it, save for cemeteries and the trees on the street; he didn’t like it because of the pollution; he didn’t like it because of the noise; and most importantly, he couldn’t stand the Hummers. He liked it because it had soft pretzels.

Something was bothering him. Dalyn had known a lot of psychological disorders. His mother had pretty much the lot. At times this made him wonder about himself, and one symptom in particular was nagging at his subconscious. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall it.

He stopped and looked up at the tree next to him. It looked well enough, but he could tell that it was dying. Its roots had very little room to grow, he noted, and wondered how it must be to try to exist in a world of concrete and asphalt. And there, on the street, was a squirrel’s motionless body. What was it doing there? How had it got here? Who killed it? Was it an accident that could have been avoided? Did the driver even care?

Dalyn sighed. He bowed his head and said a little prayer, silently, then went on his way.

***

Jameson, a senior citizen who was a regular in the bookstore, was checking out the Comedy section. Wondering where the next Bathroom Reader rested, he paced up and down the bookshelf. At this time, more or less, he discovered a small black-and-white cat asleep in a gap on the shelves.

“Mm,” he said to a passing employee, pointing to the kitten. He didn’t hear him, or quite possibly chose not to. No matter. He would go find his favorite person… what was his name… Mike something, or something. Nick, that was it. Yes, he was always helpful.

Nick was restocking a bookshelf when Jameson, with as much politeness as possible, gave him a “Mmm.”

“Yes, Jameson?” Nick said cheerfully, giving an internal sigh.

“Mmm, there seems to be a kitten, in the store,” said Jameson. “Do you, mmm, know about it?”

“Oh, yes, Jameson. That’s mine.”

“Mmm, I guess that’s all right then.” He walked off.

Well, he had always wanted a cat. And he was often in the bookstore. It only seemed logical that the two should meet. At least, it seemed perfectly logical to him. Something told him that his manager wouldn’t quite see it that way.

He took out his iPod and switched over to Panic! at the Disco. The author thinks he should be shot, but then again, what power does he have?

***

Dalyn decided to give the Internet a chance. He opened up his laptop at home, which he promised himself he would only use for writing. Today, he was using Google.

He crossed his fingers, then typed in “Color.” Nothing good came up.

“Color and psychological and condition.”

Still nothing, except something about America’s threat level system. He rested his forehead against his hand and tried again.

“Seeing colors.”

Nothing.

A half-hour later, the Internet had still failed. Still, he wasn’t discouraged. He rose and resolved to go to the library.

***

It was only after the library failed that he re-entered the bookstore. Well, it hadn’t exactly failed; now he knew what book it he wanted, it just wasn’t in. After ten minutes, he found the bookstore had failed too. The book was in. It was, however, sixty dollars.

Dalyn sat in a chair and opened it. Well, that was half the battle, he decided, and began reading.

***

The human race, collectively, is afflicted with degrees of a particular disability. It is the lack of the ability to stay the hell out of other peoples’ business.

Nicholas was afflicted with a high degree of this disability, which was why he was keeping an eye on Dalyn from across the store.

An Atheist's Vigil, Part II

One of the problems with the law system is the kind of people that it applies to. There are certain people that obey the laws. Then there are those that bend them. There are those that break them. Yet, the most dangerous are those that find loopholes.

Loopholes make laws scurry away to hide in a corner. They’re what lawyers make their living on. It was also why there was a small kitten in the bookstore.

There was nothing that said there couldn’t be one. The contract didn’t say, “No pets.” Therefore, nothing was wrong.

The logic of humans is nearly impossible to follow sometimes. This is because all logic bends towards whatever it is that a particular human wants, warping time, space, and memory of a lot of people until he is successful.

But anyway, there was a cat in the store, if you haven’t noticed.

It was in the seat next to Dalyn, curled up into a ball, fast asleep.

It was very, very cute.

It snored.

It was this last quality that made Dalyn turn around to see what was causing all of the racket (considering that anything going on when you’re trying to read can be defined as racket).

“Oh, hello,” he said softly, wondering what it is you’re supposed to do when you find a cat in a bookstore.

It woke up for a moment and stared at him, decided he wasn’t going to pet him or feed him, then went back to sleep.

Dalyn returned to his book, still keeping one eye on the small furball and trying to ignore it while at the same time watch it. He didn’t even notice Nick take the seat next to him until he greeted him.

“Oh, hello,” said Dalyn for the second time. “You again.”

“Yep, me, here,” said Nick. “I think, therefore I am.”

Dalyn mentally commented that he probably had no idea what it is that he just said. It bothered him for a moment, then disappeared into the depths of his mind. He was good at ignoring the ignorant these days. He simply gave a quick, hallow laugh.

“What’cha reading?”

“Oh, it’s kind of odd,” said Dalyn.

“Interested in psychology, are we?”

“Somewhat, but not why I’m reading this. It’s fascinating.”

Nick nodded. “Right, so you find it interesting, but you’re not interested. That makes perfect sense. Somewhere.”

“Mmm,” Dalyn said, then readjusted himself to return to reading.

“So what is it? Scared of having it?” Nick asked, noting the cover.

“Well, not so much scared,” said Dalyn. “More so, I’m pretty sure I do have it.”

“Oh, so the words in the book are different colors for you then?”

Dalyn opened his mouth to ask how he knew anything about it, but decided he didn’t want to go in this direction. “No, it’s just that, well, sometimes, when I’m fatigued, I tend to see color where none exists. Or, at times, when I concentrate enough, you see. It’s rather hard to describe.”

“Hmm, might be,” said Nick. “So it happens when you’re tired?”

“Yes.”

“Tire yourself out, then.”

“Oh sure, I can do that,” Dalyn murmured. “If only I could concentrate on these studies, perhaps I’d understand more.”

“Problem?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m not exactly adept at wading through all of these numbers.”

“Gimme.” Nick took the book from Dalyn and glanced at it. “Ah, statistics. Fun.”

“Also, are you aware that there is a cat in your store?”

“Yes, actually,” Nick said without looking up. “He’s mine.”

There are times where the fundamental nature of things in general is so perfectly avoided that it seems hopeless to draw reality back into where it should be, at least, reality in this case according to Dalyn. Any attempts at doing so would more than likely made him look stupid.

“I see. And does he, or she, perhaps, um, have a name?”

“Nope.”

“Disappointing, a cat without a name.”

“Well, name him.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m afraid that’s not my cat,” Dalyn laughed. “I can’t name him. Or her.”

“It’s a him”—he, corrected Dalyn mentally—“don’t worry about that. Go on. He doesn’t care.”

Dalyn looked at the feline, which was stretching its tiny body and silently yawning.

“Perhaps, I could name him based on his appearance?”

No response.

“Well, he is comprised of black and white. Maybe, he could be named Tao, after the Chinese philosophy.”

“Tao,” said Nick to himself. “Yeah, that seems good.” He returned to reading.

Dalyn was somewhat surprised that he had named a creature with such ease, and gently stroked Tao on the head. He began to purr.

“I’m hungry,” said Nick.

“Go eat,” suggested Dalyn, who tired of such obvious comments easily.

“Sure. Wanna burger?”

An Atheist's Vigil, Part III

Having just served them a few moments ago, he found himself continuing to stare despite himself. There were several kinds of people he ran into, all within the same general mentality, which was: I want food, but don’t want to cook. Yet there are certain kinds of people you do not typically expect in McDonald’s, including people in suits.

Or rather, one person in a suit. The other was in a rather nice, normal T-shirt. However, he was reading a very thick book with print small enough to give the man a headache. He shrugged and dismissed the two.

“So,” said Nick, as a way of getting Dalyn to look up from his burger that he was examining with something just short of interest.

“Yes?”

“Looks like if we want an answer, we’ll just have to wait until you’re tired.”

“That sounds reasonable,” he said, glancing around the fast-food joint. A few tables away, some kid was happily unwrapping whatever toy he found.

“Doing anything tonight?” Nick asked, returning to wading through paragraphs in the hope of finding something of meaning.

“Not really, why?” Dalyn took a bite. He heard several of his brain cells scream in rejection.

“Let’s give it a shot.”

“You’re suggesting I force myself into mental fatigue again?”

“Yeah, like before. When you couldn’t write.”

“That was stress too, if you recall.”

“Stress,” Nick murmured, picking up a few fries and stuffing them into his mouth.

“I hate fast food,” said Dalyn.

“Why ’at?”

“It’s ridiculous. People can’t go and cook, they have to come here”—he looked around the room—“and be given something that just barely makes the definition of food.”

Nick swallowed and shrugged. “They want it, they got it. You don’t like it, you don’t have to come here. Oh, lookee here! There’s even more types of synaesthesia. Do you think numbers have personalities?” He continued as if speaking to a toddler: “Is the number three a happy number? Does the number seven look scary? Is one an orphan that lost its parents in a car accident and makes regular visits to nine, the psychiatrist?”

Dalyn’s mouth stretched nearly to the verge of laughing, but stopped. “No, I’m afraid not. On second thought, I’m not quite afraid, I’m glad not.”

“Then there’s this whole bit about hearing colors. Any of that?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “This won’t be much longer, will it?” he asked.

***

A cloud of smoke followed one of the final cars out of the frigid parking lot. The only warmth came from the light flooding from the building—an invitation to enter. In a moment, the light plunged into darkness, joining the rest of the area; only streetlights and the irregular pattern of headlights on the street gave it a flicker of light. Outside of this sphere of darkness, light continued to shine from stores, houses, lines of cars—and in the darkness, a watch steadily ticked on.

“Well, it’s eleven,” said Nick cheerfully; Dalyn stopped attempting to stare at his watch. He groaned internally—the more tired you were supposed to get, the more cheerful Nick got. They sat on the curb just outside of the bookstore, and a door opened.

“Ah, Alyssa! Closing today, I forgot. Go well?” Nick asked the woman walking out.

“Very,” she said. “Thanks for the help,” she added sarcastically.

“Well, sorry, I’m busy here.”

“You’re sitting in front of a bookstore you work in. Sitting. Least you could have done was stop in—”

“Yes, well, sorry, see you tomorrow, toodle-oo, go. Go! Away!” he added when she showed no signs of moving.

Alyssa folded her arms. “Also, I seem to have found a cat.”

“That’s nice. Adopting?”

“In the store.”

“Oh, that’s just Tao.”

“Dow? You—” She shook her head, and succumbed to the idiocy of the situation by sitting down next to Nick. “You’ve gone and—you’re—you have a cat.”

Nick nodded. “Mhmm.”

“In our store.”

He opened his mouth with a soft clicking sound, thought for a moment, and then answered, “Yeah. Basically.”

“Is the cat cared for?” Dalyn broke in.

“Who’s this?” Alyssa asked.

“Ah, terribly sorry. I’m Dalyn. I’m a”—he hesitated a moment—“an acquaintance of Nicholas, here.”

“Good to meet you. Ah, terribly sorry you’ve run into this man,” she said, indicating Nick.

“Thanks!” Nick exclaimed. “Well, answer the nice man’s question, Alyssa.”

“Someone thought the cat was ridiculously cute,” she said, “and bought the thing food after her shift was over. And a few other things. So it’s now sleeping quite comfortably in its own little bed with its own little food bowl and its own little toy mouse. In our own, little, employees only room.”

“I’m so glad you bonded with Tao,” said Nick.

“Not me!” Alyssa stood and held up her palms. “I’m not getting anywhere near the little hairball if I can help it.”

“See ya later!” Nick called to her as she walked away.

“Happy person, is she?” Dalyn asked.

“Usually… no. Doesn’t mean she’s not entertaining. So, how you feeling?” he asked, trying to get back on track.

“Tired. How much longer? I need to get up for church tomorrow.”

Dalyn felt a small change come over Nick at this comment.

“Church?” Nick asked, with a hallow laugh. “You’re one of those go-every-Sunday types, aren’t you?”

“Well yes, I think it’s important to keep in touch with the spiritual.”

“Of course, of course. But did you ever consider”—yes, his voice was definitely changing now, going faster—“that there isn’t anything spiritual?”

“No, I believe what I want to believe. That’s all,” Dalyn said softly yet firmly.

“No, no, no, no, I’m not saying there isn’t,” Nick said hurriedly. “I’m just saying… you ever wonder if there isn’t?”

“Of course not. Well, it never crossed my mind, actually.”

“Really? Well maybe you should let it. It’s quite amazing. For an instant, you realize that maybe, just possibly maybe, all this worshiping you do is totally meaningless and your hopes for eternal life in the sky or whatever are totally destroyed.”

“Well, I don’t believe that. You believe what you want to. I don’t care if you’re atheist, or Catholic, or anything! My religion is my religion.”

Nick smiled inside. It was too late. Now there was a small doubt, whether he wanted to admit it or not, plaguing Dalyn’s mind. It was there, he could sense it. And that was all he needed to upset Dalyn’s delicate balance of emotion.

“That’s odd,” he heard him say.

“Hmm?”

“Turn towards me,” Dalyn said quietly. He did, and Dalyn shouted triumphantly: “There! There it is! I can see a little bit of color around you! I’m probably insane! But that’s okay!” He laughed.

“What is it?” Nick asked.

“Indigo again! It’s… I… that’s it! Yes! I can see it! I can see it!”

And suddenly a new dimension, one of color, burst open for Dalyn.