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.