God is a Teenage Dirtbag

Emily Townsend

Runner-Up of the Junior/Senior Creative Writing Prize for Prose

Jane Finkelstein

“Next!” Michael yelled, ushering a plump, scowling old woman into the white courtroom. “Doris Hartford?” he asked, glancing at a strange glowing notepad that appeared to be writing by itself.

The woman looked Michael up and down, her eyes shooting daggers at the smiling gentleman who interrogated her. “Who wants to know?” she replied with a voice colder than ice as she reached up to touch the cross pendant that dangled from her neck.

“He does,” Michael replied calmly, gesturing towards the back of the courtroom where there sat a teenaged boy engrossed in a video game. Littering the floor around him was a sea of discarded chip bags, candy wrappers, and half-empty cans of lukewarm energy drinks and Mountain Dew. The boy looked to be about seventeen, and his attire starkly contrasted with Michael’s tasteful suit: he wore a stained white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and an aroma of stale cheese puffs that somehow permeated the entire room. Michael chuckled to himself as he looked at the old woman and said, “Doris, meet God.”

Doris’s reaction was quite unexpected considering this bizarre situation. Unlike most recently deceased individuals, she didn’t question Michael’s shocking proclamation; in fact, her face remained quite neutral despite the interesting circumstances. She simply asked God, and rather forcefully, “I’m going to heaven, right?”

“Nope,” he replied shortly, without even looking in her direction.

Doris began to laugh. She glanced at Michael, assuming that he was a part of the gag, but he merely stared absentmindedly at the marble walls. Her smile began to fade, and she inquired, “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” God said once again, this time rather crossly, as Doris was interrupting his very important Call of Duty match.

“That’s impossible!” Doris whined. “I spent my whole life as a devoted Christian and I lived my life according to Go--, well, your will.”

The lanky teenager put down his video game controller and folded his arms. “Doris,” he said, “I was just bored one day and decided to make a new little world to keep me entertained. ‘God’s will’ is literally a human thing that I had nothing to do with.” He placed his arms behind his head and reclined his chair. “If you’re looking for answers, I don’t have any. There isn’t heaven, or hell, or the ‘Holy Spirit,’ or whatever that communion thing is. I don’t even care what you do now. Plus,” he chuckled, “even if I did write that bible, you broke the literal first rule of it.”

Doris was dumbfounded. Every rule she had lived by, every bible verse she had memorized, every single Sunday spent at church, it was all fake? This is what she’d devoted her life to? This- this scrawny, stuck-up teenaged a-hole? Her head swam as she realized exactly what this meant. There were no tears to be shed, no managers to talk to, no strongly worded Yelp reviews to write… she couldn’t even dial 911. She just stared at God, unable to form a coherent sentence.

A slow grin spread across his face. “But hey. Love thy neighbor, right?” He turned his attention right back to the game, effectively shutting out Doris in all her confusion.

Having turned as white as the marble surrounding her, Doris was escorted out by Michael, who returned to God’s chair and produced a profound sigh.

“What?” God inquired innocently, side-eyeing Michael.

“Don’t you ever get tired of explaining all of this to every person that comes through the courthouse?” Michael asked.

God, for the first time in his eternal life, looked genuinely taken aback. “Michael, you’ve said maybe three full sentences to me in your entire life. Why are you asking me this now?”