It seems like there are so many disasters nowadays that it is easy to overlook some of them. When a cruise ship recently ran aground resulting in a number of deaths and people who are still unaccounted for, I have to admit it seemed like a blip on my radar. The only aspect that really drew my attention was the fact that the captain had been arrested, reportedly for abandoning the ship with passengers still aboard. As a former Navy sailor, I am very aware of the notion that the captain is supposed to go down with the ship, but it had never occurred to me that there could be legal ramifications if they lacked the fortitude and accountability to do so. This got me thinking that, indeed there are particular jobs that do warrant this level of repercussion when those who take on these responsibilities fail to have the courage to fulfill their callings or there oaths.
How sad it is that our government officials are not likewise held to account for their failings to act appropriately while our country is arguably sinking under the weight of decades of mismanagement. To add insult to injury, many are actively stoking the fires of class envy as a distraction or slaving to satiate their corporate overlords. Meanwhile, they are insulated within their financial lifeboats and government indemnity as we face a very uncertain future. Oh, how different the political world may be if our leaders were held to the standards of a cruise boat captain. If they faced the prospect of being locked up for failing in their sacred assignments and always passing the buck to someone else, we may find that the disdain that people feel toward their government may evaporate and we may find some unexpected buoyancy as a nation under true leadership...I know, wishful thinking!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Images from the Farm
I am quite overdue in sharing pictures, so I figured I would post of batch of recent favorites.
First off is Ricky. As you can tell, he is quite a noble gentleman with the carefully groomed beard of a prince.
There is only one Molly! Here are a couple of pictures that show off her beautiful face.
If Ricky is a prince in training, Buddy here is content to be a semi-retired duke lording over his pastoral paradise.
Cecil is Ricky's wingman and has the cutest "la mancha" ears (These are naturally like this).
Melvin (a.k.a. The Horned Avenger, a.k.a. the Goatfather) letting his bouffant do the talking.
Oh my Baby Madeline, how quickly she has grown up. Here are a bunch of pictures of her along with her new goat family. She is just too darn cute for words! Many of her pictures are mid-bleat (When I say "Baby", she will call back).
Here we have my first picture of Norman steer. He and his mini-herd have recently started making more public appearances in the Cattle Hill pasture and I was lucky to catch him in a candid moment.
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 3
His first memory after the kidnapping was that of gliding amongst the clouds. It was exhilarating - at least up to the point where he realized that he had never flown before and couldn't make sense of how he was doing it now. In addition, the sky was a lot dustier than he had imagined and the clouds, while fluffy, weren't as soft as he had expected. Like a chalk mural on the sidewalk being washed away by the rain, the dreamy qualities began to evaporate and he was left with just the stark reality.
He determined that he was alive, but he was definitely not soaring anywhere. His hooves were firmly planted on terra firma and his legs felt like he hadn't been of them in days, if not weeks. When exposed to the light of scrutiny, the "clouds" weren't as white as they had first seemed and they seemed to have faces. In some cases he had to look longer than others in order to determine which end was the front and which was the back since these unfortunate creatures seemed to lack the tail that would have made it elementary to determine which end was coming and which was going. Their faces looked surprisingly similar to his, but these were like no goats he had ever met. Out of desperation, he tried to communicate with them, but they ignored him and he couldn't make sense of any of the sounds that they were making. He hated them for stealing him and snorted with a mixture of anger and fear.
Beyond the clouds, there were windowless walls with small cracks through which sunlight entered. These rays of light served to highlight the dust in the air; as if he needed a reminder - he was sneezing constantly. The dry dust - he hoped it was just dust, stuck to the back of his throat. He looked for a way out, but could see no door in the available light.
After days of this uneasy torment, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. There was a flood of light and he saw several of the two legged creatures that he had noticed when he lived with his mom. He couldn't tell if these were the same ones or not, but he hoped that they were here to bring him back home. Perhaps this had all just been a big mistake. He was a kind goat and would be happy to forgive and forget.
Feeling their rough hands grabbing his horns, his dreams of reunion seemed to be slipping away. A noose was slipped over his head as was cinched tight. It must be the walking clouds' faults! They must have said something mean about him and it made him hate them ever so much more. Days passed, that much he knew, but the events have been masked by his brain's coping mechanisms. The memories would sometimes come unbeckoned in nightmares, but he could never summon them on demand. It was probably for the best.
Suddenly a loud chattering from behind him returned him to the moment. At first he was startled and tried to look tough in case it was a surprise attack, but just as he was starting to puff out his chest he recognized the face of Bazzle. Bazzle was his personal assistant and he had been working to provide continuity for the Goatfather's various enterprises while he as in lockdown. At the moment he seemed very frazzled and Melvin had to remind him that he needed to talk slower since squirrelese was not his native language. As Bazzle started over from the beginning, Melvin felt a rush come over him. He had never received an order this large before and if he could deliver, it would mean taking his business and profile to a whole other level.
To be continued...
He determined that he was alive, but he was definitely not soaring anywhere. His hooves were firmly planted on terra firma and his legs felt like he hadn't been of them in days, if not weeks. When exposed to the light of scrutiny, the "clouds" weren't as white as they had first seemed and they seemed to have faces. In some cases he had to look longer than others in order to determine which end was the front and which was the back since these unfortunate creatures seemed to lack the tail that would have made it elementary to determine which end was coming and which was going. Their faces looked surprisingly similar to his, but these were like no goats he had ever met. Out of desperation, he tried to communicate with them, but they ignored him and he couldn't make sense of any of the sounds that they were making. He hated them for stealing him and snorted with a mixture of anger and fear.
Beyond the clouds, there were windowless walls with small cracks through which sunlight entered. These rays of light served to highlight the dust in the air; as if he needed a reminder - he was sneezing constantly. The dry dust - he hoped it was just dust, stuck to the back of his throat. He looked for a way out, but could see no door in the available light.
After days of this uneasy torment, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. There was a flood of light and he saw several of the two legged creatures that he had noticed when he lived with his mom. He couldn't tell if these were the same ones or not, but he hoped that they were here to bring him back home. Perhaps this had all just been a big mistake. He was a kind goat and would be happy to forgive and forget.
Feeling their rough hands grabbing his horns, his dreams of reunion seemed to be slipping away. A noose was slipped over his head as was cinched tight. It must be the walking clouds' faults! They must have said something mean about him and it made him hate them ever so much more. Days passed, that much he knew, but the events have been masked by his brain's coping mechanisms. The memories would sometimes come unbeckoned in nightmares, but he could never summon them on demand. It was probably for the best.
Suddenly a loud chattering from behind him returned him to the moment. At first he was startled and tried to look tough in case it was a surprise attack, but just as he was starting to puff out his chest he recognized the face of Bazzle. Bazzle was his personal assistant and he had been working to provide continuity for the Goatfather's various enterprises while he as in lockdown. At the moment he seemed very frazzled and Melvin had to remind him that he needed to talk slower since squirrelese was not his native language. As Bazzle started over from the beginning, Melvin felt a rush come over him. He had never received an order this large before and if he could deliver, it would mean taking his business and profile to a whole other level.
To be continued...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 2
There were certainly times when he wished that he could go back to being just "Melvin". Things were much simpler back when he was younger. According to his mother's accounts, he was named after his father, which would technically have made him Melvin Jr, but he didn't mind the fact that most people didn't know that. Maybe it would have been different if he had known his dad, but he had no memory of him at all, not even fleeting ones. When he was very young, his mother would tell him that he looked just like his father, but strangely this included both before and after he grew his horns. When his hair was short, he looked like his dad, but the same was true when his hair was long. Sometimes, Melvin wondered if his mother had really known his father or if it was a one night stand or something more tawdry.
In any case, Melvin had always been a "mama's boy" growing up. He lived with his mom in a small dusty stall that she rented from one of the local farmers. It wasn't much but it kept the rain out, unless you made the mistake of sleeping in the north east corner, and even the minimal straw was better than the cold ground when it came time to sleep. It was a little small, probably six feet by four feet, but at least it had a yard. In the spring time, they even had a view of some grass off in the distance. Legend was that there used to be grass in their stall, but that was years ago if at all. The neighborhood was okay too, although it could be a little loud. It must have been a pretty sprawling housing area, because when he looked left and right, he could see other goats in their little yards. Occasionally he could hear his mother talking to them but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was almost like it was a different goat dialect and she would never answer his questions about those conversations.
Melvin often wondered how his mom made the money for rent. When he woke up, she was often gone and the time of her return varied. The best that he could glean was that she worked for the farmer in some capacity. He wished that she would teach him more about her job so that he would have a skill of his own, but she would always find a way to change the topic and since she was normally tired, he didn't press her on it.
Melvin loved his mom. She had always tried so hard to take care of him and more than anything else, it was the memory of her face that he clung to when the hardships associated with his multiple personalities threaten to destroy him. He wished he knew where she was and how she was doing. The last time he had seen her was when he was only three (Author's note: Goats calculate their age in month's and not years as this forces them to focus more on life's passage).
(To be continued)
In any case, Melvin had always been a "mama's boy" growing up. He lived with his mom in a small dusty stall that she rented from one of the local farmers. It wasn't much but it kept the rain out, unless you made the mistake of sleeping in the north east corner, and even the minimal straw was better than the cold ground when it came time to sleep. It was a little small, probably six feet by four feet, but at least it had a yard. In the spring time, they even had a view of some grass off in the distance. Legend was that there used to be grass in their stall, but that was years ago if at all. The neighborhood was okay too, although it could be a little loud. It must have been a pretty sprawling housing area, because when he looked left and right, he could see other goats in their little yards. Occasionally he could hear his mother talking to them but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was almost like it was a different goat dialect and she would never answer his questions about those conversations.
Melvin often wondered how his mom made the money for rent. When he woke up, she was often gone and the time of her return varied. The best that he could glean was that she worked for the farmer in some capacity. He wished that she would teach him more about her job so that he would have a skill of his own, but she would always find a way to change the topic and since she was normally tired, he didn't press her on it.
Melvin loved his mom. She had always tried so hard to take care of him and more than anything else, it was the memory of her face that he clung to when the hardships associated with his multiple personalities threaten to destroy him. He wished he knew where she was and how she was doing. The last time he had seen her was when he was only three (Author's note: Goats calculate their age in month's and not years as this forces them to focus more on life's passage).
(To be continued)
Sunday, October 16, 2011
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 1
The arid wooden planks of the cell seemed to be closing in on him a little more every minute as he sat in the corner wondering what he was going to do next. Being in isolation was really beginning to cramp his style and mess with his routine. As his ears perked to scan the sounds all around him, he felt his first sense of calm. The only noises were the skittering of rats in the walls. It sounded like Monica may have had another litter of pups and she was running back to their distant squeaks along the rafters. He could tell it was her because of her distinct gait. It hadn't been that long ago that they had first met when she was being assaulted by a cat and he had intervened. She would carry her battle scars the rest of her life, but she had made it back to her family that night and every night thereafter, at least so far.
None of them knew that he was the Horned Avenger. That secret had to be maintained. It would be far too dangerous if anyone knew. Coco, his on-again-off-again lady love, had come close to catching him coming in late from one of his many adventures, but he had played it off masterfully by distracting her with some special mix that he just happened to be holding. For almost two years now, he had inhabited this complex web and he had to admit that it was exhausting work.
The caregivers, of course, knew none of this. To them he was just Melvin. His meek persona was a perfect foil to them finding out what was really going on. No one would ever suspect sweet little old Melvin with his slow strut and sleepy eyes. They would never dream that he walked the way he did because of the custom "sub-fur" holsters that he had strapped to each hip or that his sleepy eyes were the result of his nightly vigils. No, lucky for Melvin, the caretakers were too absorbed in the barn cleaning to see what was really happening.
That was the problem. Without easy access to the full barn area, it wasn't possible for him to make his constant patrols. Sure, he could get out if he needed to, but then his secret may be revealed. That would be disastrous. There were way too many souls who depended on him, even if they didn't realize it.
As he thought about his conundrum, he stifled a brief chuckle. Superman had it easy. He had only two alter egos; Superman and Clark Kent. It was the same with Batman and all the others. But, here in his world, the real world, it was far more complicated. He didn't have their Kryptonian bloodline and he wasn't born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. In order to fund the heroic exploits of the Horned Avenger, Melvin had to create a third alter ego; the Goatfather. The Goatfather was the main man in the Sheep and Goat Barn, the Original Gangster, who made his fortune in the black market. If you needed a fix of Top Goat or a little extra forage pellets, he was the one to go to. Every sheep and goat knew this, even the geriatrics since it is hard to keep secrets on the Farm. 
None of them knew that he was the Horned Avenger. That secret had to be maintained. It would be far too dangerous if anyone knew. Coco, his on-again-off-again lady love, had come close to catching him coming in late from one of his many adventures, but he had played it off masterfully by distracting her with some special mix that he just happened to be holding. For almost two years now, he had inhabited this complex web and he had to admit that it was exhausting work.
The caregivers, of course, knew none of this. To them he was just Melvin. His meek persona was a perfect foil to them finding out what was really going on. No one would ever suspect sweet little old Melvin with his slow strut and sleepy eyes. They would never dream that he walked the way he did because of the custom "sub-fur" holsters that he had strapped to each hip or that his sleepy eyes were the result of his nightly vigils. No, lucky for Melvin, the caretakers were too absorbed in the barn cleaning to see what was really happening.
That's not to say that there hadn't been any close calls. In the last few months, his skirmishes had left him with some major injuries. He had to draw on all of his drama and counter-intelligence training in order to convincingly play those off as "accidents". It was hard for the humans to believe that even goofy old Melvin could be that clumsy.
(To Be Continued...)
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Pariah Gambit
It was only supposed to be a short stop off on the way home to pick up some groceries, but things never quite go as smoothly as you would like. After walking past the item you were looking for three times, one of the employees pointed out where it was. Maybe it was just your internal monologue taking over, but you could swear that there had been a smug gleam in her eye when she pointed to it. Maybe she had watched you walking back and forth and thought that this was her chance to show her superiority. Then, just like always, you found yourself in the slowest moving of all the lines. "Express my ass", you said under your breath as you moved to the next line just in time for the cashier to place a lane closed sign on the conveyor. The only other open lane beckoned to you since you couldn't exactly reverse course having invested yourself in your initial misfortune. "Price check", said the third cashier, and you resolved yourself to another loss.
Having finally paid for your one item, you walk out to the parking lot. Bucking the recent trend, at least you remember where you parked. As you approach your car, you see a tall thin young man standing behind your car. His clothing is somewhat retro chic, but even from a distance it appears a little musty. You can almost taste it, but the word for the smell eludes you. You expect that he will dismiss himself as you get closer but he does not. You click your unlock button on your remote expecting that the chirp will break him out of his apparent trance, but it fails to do so. As you get within ten feet, he speaks in a somewhat smarmy and exotic accent. "Nice bumper sticker". "Oh, thanks", you say, now more than ever hoping that this interlude is coming to an end. "Do you really want it?" he asks. Well, at least now you know which bumper sticker he is talking about. He has apparently been eyeing your "World Peace" sticker. "Sure, who doesn't", you reply as you reach for your door handle. "If what you say is true, I have a proposition for you", he says, and you find yourself reaching for his outstretched hand despite all of the objections of your conscious brain.
As soon as your flesh makes contact with his cold skin, your reality melts away and you find yourself in the "dream sequence" so prevalent in the media. The colors aren't quite right and there is a general haziness around the edges. You try to look around, but it is clear that there is a particular scene that you are meant to observe. In front of you, in what appears to be a deserted park, you see a picnic table. The ground around it is scattered with what appears to be leaves, but these are all green and not the typical fall bouquet, Across the table from each other, you can see two figures. The first is instantly familiar as your new "friend" from the parking lot, but the second is not known to you. He has a paternal appearance and is evidently the older of the two. You ponder whether he is your host's father, but then your attention is drawn to their conversation.
"God, it feels like we have been playing forever", says the younger man. You hadn't noticed this before, but his words suddenly make you aware that there is a chess match in progress between the two. The older man seems to reflect on the comment, but says nothing in reply. Slowly, your vantage point begins to shift. Soon, you are no longer watching from the sidelines, but instead you are seeing the scene from behind the eyes of the younger man. As he speaks his next words, you have the weird sensation that these foreign words are coming out of your detached mouth. "It is clear that I have the advantage, but I am tiring of the game." "Your" gaze is drawn to the board where you see that there are indeed more black pieces than white. Across the table, you see your opponents weathered face more clearly now as he seemingly acknowledges this imbalance without looking down at the board. You can see in his eyes the acute awareness of his losses. Even the best chess masters lose pieces, both pawns and greater pieces, through deliberate sacrifices and errors, but there is a pain in his visage that transcends that. He looks as if he is about to speak when you hear the next words from inches below your line of sight.
"I have a proposition for you". Having just heard these words yourself in the parking lot, you are starting to wonder if your new acquaintance is a car salesman or a greasy politician, but he continues. "I am willing to cede the game to you if there is one among your creation who will take my deal". The older man shifts his gaze from the table to your eyes and you can see that he too is tired of the game and there is an apparent opening for this concept. When he speaks, his voice has a somewhat unnatural, but not unnerving timbre. "And what is this deal of which you speak?"
The younger man goes on to layout the deal.
Unending world peace will be granted if but one person, hereby referred to as the pariah, will accept the following conditions:
In a stomach wrenching transition, you find yourself suddenly back in the parking lot with a slight itching sensation all over your body. Your hand is no longer clenched in the strong handshake, but the man is still standing in front of you. He explains that he and God had agreed to some additional terms and that he had been required to offer the deal to ten people as a test of humanity's progress. You are, in fact, the tenth and final person to be asked, the previous nine having declined the deal. You are advised not to make any rash immediate decision, but instead to take the rest of the day to think it over and to meet back in this parking lot in twenty four hours. With that, you part company and spend the next twenty three and a half hours in alternating incredulity, denial, and sober thought.
Do you take the deal? If not, you can stop reading here and skip to the part in red text at the end. If you do take the deal, you show up in the parking lot the next day as directed. You even park in the same spot. By now your commitment is such that you wouldn't want to screw it up by not explicitly following directions.
The Devil arrives right on time. For all of his reputed faults, he is at least prompt. He seems sincerely surprised to see you there and is taken aback at first. Once he has gotten within customary speaking range he asks whether you are sure that this is what you want to do. "Yes", you say and he takes your hand as if to seal the deal - except something else happens.
Suddenly you are back in the deserted park looking out through the Devil's eyes. God is speaking now in his sombre voice. "I have faith in the innate goodness of my creation. While free will has allowed for many flaws and contagious outbreaks of immorality, they are basically good when faced with grave situations." He clears his throat and the table shakes violently. "Besides, the faithful would recognize that their eternal reward for such a sacrifice would far outweigh the finite suffering that would be inflicted upon them."
"Yes", says the Devil, apparently having anticipated this response. "That does seem to stack the odds in your favor, if such a person does indeed exist. Why don't we up the ante."
While the suffering of the pariah is guaranteed on Earth, his eternal disposition will be determined by the flip of a coin:
In either case, if the pariah accepts the deal, all other humans that have ever lived will have a heavenly eternity in the company of friends and loved ones (Including pets) and none will have to suffer eternal damnation.
The next twenty four hours seems a lot longer than the first and this forces you to imagine the concept of eternity. You cannot really wrap your mind around this. Do you accept the deal? If you don't please skip to the section in red at the bottom of the story. If you do accept, you find yourself back in the same parking lot the following day.
As you mill about in the minutes before your meeting, you wonder if the parking lot cams are picking any of this up. You wonder what security must be thinking as they see you and this stranger in the same spot for three consecutive days. You find yourself suddenly self conscious. Maybe they don't see the stranger and just figure that you are a crazy person with an outstretched hand who likes to talk to himself. You are suddenly snapped out of this when the Devil arrives. He seems even more surprised to see you today. He reaches out to take your hand but today it seems like more of a formal greeting than "sealing the deal".
It takes a couple seconds of hand to hand contact before you are back in the park. It is apparent that you are picking up exactly where you left off yesterday. You look down as you/the Devil take a coin from your pocket. You spin it to show that it is a normal coin and not a trick. The coin is flipped with a high trajectory and lands on the back of the Devil's hand with a smack that sounds like a rifle shock. You want to squint your eyes, but the Devil never squints and you see what he sees. It has landed on tails.
Do you still take the bargain?
One of the things that I enjoy about my job is the time that it gives me to think. The other day I was reflecting on the concept of selflessness. I like to think of myself as generous and kind and I would aspire to be selfless as well. In order to aspire to it, I felt the need to really define it. Dictionary.com defines selflessness as "having little or no concern for oneself especially with regard to fame, position, money, etc.; unselfish". This was a little too abstract for me to wrap my head around, hence the "Pariah Gambit". As it progresses, it transcends some of the ways that we may traditionally view this and ends in true selflessness. Anyone who takes the full bargain would truly be able to give everything for others without expecting any karmic rewards. I guess I have a long way to go!
Having finally paid for your one item, you walk out to the parking lot. Bucking the recent trend, at least you remember where you parked. As you approach your car, you see a tall thin young man standing behind your car. His clothing is somewhat retro chic, but even from a distance it appears a little musty. You can almost taste it, but the word for the smell eludes you. You expect that he will dismiss himself as you get closer but he does not. You click your unlock button on your remote expecting that the chirp will break him out of his apparent trance, but it fails to do so. As you get within ten feet, he speaks in a somewhat smarmy and exotic accent. "Nice bumper sticker". "Oh, thanks", you say, now more than ever hoping that this interlude is coming to an end. "Do you really want it?" he asks. Well, at least now you know which bumper sticker he is talking about. He has apparently been eyeing your "World Peace" sticker. "Sure, who doesn't", you reply as you reach for your door handle. "If what you say is true, I have a proposition for you", he says, and you find yourself reaching for his outstretched hand despite all of the objections of your conscious brain.
As soon as your flesh makes contact with his cold skin, your reality melts away and you find yourself in the "dream sequence" so prevalent in the media. The colors aren't quite right and there is a general haziness around the edges. You try to look around, but it is clear that there is a particular scene that you are meant to observe. In front of you, in what appears to be a deserted park, you see a picnic table. The ground around it is scattered with what appears to be leaves, but these are all green and not the typical fall bouquet, Across the table from each other, you can see two figures. The first is instantly familiar as your new "friend" from the parking lot, but the second is not known to you. He has a paternal appearance and is evidently the older of the two. You ponder whether he is your host's father, but then your attention is drawn to their conversation.
"God, it feels like we have been playing forever", says the younger man. You hadn't noticed this before, but his words suddenly make you aware that there is a chess match in progress between the two. The older man seems to reflect on the comment, but says nothing in reply. Slowly, your vantage point begins to shift. Soon, you are no longer watching from the sidelines, but instead you are seeing the scene from behind the eyes of the younger man. As he speaks his next words, you have the weird sensation that these foreign words are coming out of your detached mouth. "It is clear that I have the advantage, but I am tiring of the game." "Your" gaze is drawn to the board where you see that there are indeed more black pieces than white. Across the table, you see your opponents weathered face more clearly now as he seemingly acknowledges this imbalance without looking down at the board. You can see in his eyes the acute awareness of his losses. Even the best chess masters lose pieces, both pawns and greater pieces, through deliberate sacrifices and errors, but there is a pain in his visage that transcends that. He looks as if he is about to speak when you hear the next words from inches below your line of sight.
"I have a proposition for you". Having just heard these words yourself in the parking lot, you are starting to wonder if your new acquaintance is a car salesman or a greasy politician, but he continues. "I am willing to cede the game to you if there is one among your creation who will take my deal". The older man shifts his gaze from the table to your eyes and you can see that he too is tired of the game and there is an apparent opening for this concept. When he speaks, his voice has a somewhat unnatural, but not unnerving timbre. "And what is this deal of which you speak?"
The younger man goes on to layout the deal.
Unending world peace will be granted if but one person, hereby referred to as the pariah, will accept the following conditions:
- The world's new unity will be founded on their disdain for the pariah. He or she will immediately find themselves the object of the population's residual hatred. All relatives and loved ones will immediately turn on them and they will never hear another kind word or feel love from another person for the rest of their lives.
- The pariah cannot take any medications or drug which will dull the effects of his condition.
- The pariah will live to at least ninety five years of age and his or her life cannot be shortened by the pariah's own hand.
- As long as the pariah works diligently, they will be able to afford the necessities, but they will live a pauper's life for the rest of their years.
- The world will never know of the pariah's sacrifice on their behalf and he/she can never speak of it (Who would believe them if they did).
- Once accepted, the deal is unbreakable.
In a stomach wrenching transition, you find yourself suddenly back in the parking lot with a slight itching sensation all over your body. Your hand is no longer clenched in the strong handshake, but the man is still standing in front of you. He explains that he and God had agreed to some additional terms and that he had been required to offer the deal to ten people as a test of humanity's progress. You are, in fact, the tenth and final person to be asked, the previous nine having declined the deal. You are advised not to make any rash immediate decision, but instead to take the rest of the day to think it over and to meet back in this parking lot in twenty four hours. With that, you part company and spend the next twenty three and a half hours in alternating incredulity, denial, and sober thought.
Do you take the deal? If not, you can stop reading here and skip to the part in red text at the end. If you do take the deal, you show up in the parking lot the next day as directed. You even park in the same spot. By now your commitment is such that you wouldn't want to screw it up by not explicitly following directions.
The Devil arrives right on time. For all of his reputed faults, he is at least prompt. He seems sincerely surprised to see you there and is taken aback at first. Once he has gotten within customary speaking range he asks whether you are sure that this is what you want to do. "Yes", you say and he takes your hand as if to seal the deal - except something else happens.
Suddenly you are back in the deserted park looking out through the Devil's eyes. God is speaking now in his sombre voice. "I have faith in the innate goodness of my creation. While free will has allowed for many flaws and contagious outbreaks of immorality, they are basically good when faced with grave situations." He clears his throat and the table shakes violently. "Besides, the faithful would recognize that their eternal reward for such a sacrifice would far outweigh the finite suffering that would be inflicted upon them."
"Yes", says the Devil, apparently having anticipated this response. "That does seem to stack the odds in your favor, if such a person does indeed exist. Why don't we up the ante."
While the suffering of the pariah is guaranteed on Earth, his eternal disposition will be determined by the flip of a coin:
In either case, if the pariah accepts the deal, all other humans that have ever lived will have a heavenly eternity in the company of friends and loved ones (Including pets) and none will have to suffer eternal damnation.
- If it is heads, the pariah will know rewards without measure and will be like unto a god him or herself.
- If it is tails, the pariah will spend all eternity invisible, watching the happiness of others but without the ability to interact or participate. In order to ensure that this suffering never ends, all memory of the pariah will be stricken even from the mind of God.
The next twenty four hours seems a lot longer than the first and this forces you to imagine the concept of eternity. You cannot really wrap your mind around this. Do you accept the deal? If you don't please skip to the section in red at the bottom of the story. If you do accept, you find yourself back in the same parking lot the following day.
As you mill about in the minutes before your meeting, you wonder if the parking lot cams are picking any of this up. You wonder what security must be thinking as they see you and this stranger in the same spot for three consecutive days. You find yourself suddenly self conscious. Maybe they don't see the stranger and just figure that you are a crazy person with an outstretched hand who likes to talk to himself. You are suddenly snapped out of this when the Devil arrives. He seems even more surprised to see you today. He reaches out to take your hand but today it seems like more of a formal greeting than "sealing the deal".
It takes a couple seconds of hand to hand contact before you are back in the park. It is apparent that you are picking up exactly where you left off yesterday. You look down as you/the Devil take a coin from your pocket. You spin it to show that it is a normal coin and not a trick. The coin is flipped with a high trajectory and lands on the back of the Devil's hand with a smack that sounds like a rifle shock. You want to squint your eyes, but the Devil never squints and you see what he sees. It has landed on tails.
Do you still take the bargain?
One of the things that I enjoy about my job is the time that it gives me to think. The other day I was reflecting on the concept of selflessness. I like to think of myself as generous and kind and I would aspire to be selfless as well. In order to aspire to it, I felt the need to really define it. Dictionary.com defines selflessness as "having little or no concern for oneself especially with regard to fame, position, money, etc.; unselfish". This was a little too abstract for me to wrap my head around, hence the "Pariah Gambit". As it progresses, it transcends some of the ways that we may traditionally view this and ends in true selflessness. Anyone who takes the full bargain would truly be able to give everything for others without expecting any karmic rewards. I guess I have a long way to go!
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