A-Theism, the Great Godkiller

Minutes later, a recovered Mary Beth stiffly turned to her side and looked to Ellen's beaming expression. "I love you so much, I'm so glad I told you or I'd never know how wonderful this is, thank you."

"My pleasure," she smiled back. As if alerted, Mary Beth jerked her body and quickly sat up. "What's wrong?" Mary Beth stepped to Ellen's dresser, her cushy ass and waist jiggling slightly with each step. She used her hands to search for something in the morning light amidst the detritus on top. "What are you looking for?" Triumphant, Mary Beth held fingernail clippers between her thumb and forefinger.

"Your pleasure," she replied simply, her eyes glowing with anticipation and excitement for her coming role in their love making. Ellen never did get out to jog that morning, nor that afternoon, nor that evening. Mary Beth spent the night with Ellen in the same bed, locked tightly in a lover's embrace. For many months she had not slept in her own bed, in her malaise favoring the couch in front of the television, but now she would not sleep in her bed for an entirely different and far better reason. It was all so simple now, she thought. She was with Ellen, Ellen was with her, and together they found contentment. Yes, that was certainly enough, she thought to herself in the middle of the night when she awoke with the sleeping Ellen's limp arm wrapped around her waist. "Yes, certainly enough," she whispered softly, nestling her head into the pillow, careful not to awaken her partner.

* * * * * * * *

"Welcome back to the Orly Report, you're watching America's most watched news network, fair and balanced," a sturdy well aged man with lightly thinning hair proclaimed into camera two. "With us tonight is Arthur Zimmermann, Chair of the University of Minnesota's Philosophy department and leader of the commission behind the Atheist Formula that's been on everyone's mind since it was successfully peer reviewed and certified by the liberal academic community in May of this year." Orly turned to his right and the camera switched to number three for a wider shot revealing a cool and composed Arthur leaning forward, his hands folded upon the stage prop disguised as an anchor desk, within spittle distance from cable News' most popular pundit. "So tell me Doctor, why were our tax dollars used to pay for such a controversial investigation?" Arthur chuckled. "Something funny?" he asked, clearly not amused.

"Well yes Will, something is. First of all there was no commission. This was entirely the independent genius of Dr. Yusef Muhammad. I merely encouraged him to publish—which I'm certain he would have done anyway," he laughed again.

"But there was coordinated effort on your part," he replied with a cross-dressed statement; an accusation in word but a question in tone hoping to confuse Arthur.

"Let me answer your first questions Will," he held out his palm to stop him, "I've studied your show and I won't let myself get flustered." Will subtly adjusted in his seat, uncomfortable that his crafted media persona was under scrutiny. "Yusef was paid no more than his salary while he created this. But also, for someone as conservative as yourself you'd think you'd stress the difference between state and national taxes. Most of the University money comes from the Great State of Minnesota and private donors."

"Fair enough," Will cut him off from saying anything more, "but why do this at all? What could have been the merit of this discovery," he cross-dressed his words again.

"You're still making this sound like a conspiracy or something," Arthur chuckled again. "And besides, if science and reason ignored the stuff that made us uncomfortable we'd still think the planets and stars revolve around us. We, and I'm not saying all scientists and philosophers are the same, have a duty to explore everything regardless of whether or not it makes us comfortable."

"Fair enough," he repeated, as much of a concession anyone ever could get from him, "but don't you," he pointed at Arthur, his deep blue eyes set in aged yellowing whites glowering at him, "and scientists have a responsibility for the betterment of mankind?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..."

"So tell me how this betters anyone."

"Well," Arthur shuttered his head once, uncertain if Will had simply misunderstood or out-and-out ignored his preceding sentence. "I stand by my original statement that..."

"So you've got nothing to say in your defense," Will cut him off.

"No, no, no, I did NOT say that," Arthur defended, careful to keep his composure. "First of all, I thought my point was quite good..."

"So you've got nothing else to say?"

"No, I have one more thing."

"Then say it, stop stalling ya pinhead!" Will commanded Arthur like he was the one holding up the conversation. Arthur clenched his eyes in frustration but remained composed as he began speaking slower and annunciating every word.

"One just has to look at all that's done in the name of religion. The Christian and Muslim religions are both Abrahamic and have the Ten Commandments. One of the big ones, and one of just three on the law books in the West, is "thou shalt not murder" yet more people have died prematurely in the name of these two religions than of anything else I dare say. So if you're cynical enough, our moral responsibility was met by proving these deaths unnecessary."

"Alright, let's get Marianne Cartwright of the American Family Association for American Family Values Coalition live via satellite for her take on all this," he said turning to camera two again as a graphic of her video feed neither could see was prompted to the corner of viewers' screens at home.

"Thanks again for coming back, I always love it when honest people from the A.F.double-A.F.V.C. return," he praised the sandy haired woman as he adjusted the blank papers at his desk.

"Well thanks Will yes, it's good to be back," she spoke with a flattened southern accent probably from Missouri or southern Illinois. Despite her best efforts, Father Time seemed to be winning what should be a private war. Her used car salesman smile scrunched her crows feet together, flaking off her caked foundation. A red scarf wrapped around her wrinkled neck.

"Dr. Zimmermann here is making some pretty controversial claims but it's the same song and dance since earlier this year, do you have something new to add?"

"Yes Will, I do. America is in crisis now. As the Christian nation we were founded, God is inseparable from our heritage and even more importantly our morality. Look at a coin or a bank note and it says 'In God We Trust.' With this so called 'logic' gobbledygook, the fabric of society being plucked strand by strand as the academic elite try to destroy us all in their on-going war on Christianity and family values."

"Hold on with that last part. Since when did 'family' become a value? 'Family' is an institution and for some people it's sheer hell," Orly conceded. "But still some tough words Doctor, how do you explain yourself?"

"First of all, this is not a 'Christian nation.' It was founded and is occupied mainly by Christians but I dare say that if it was, and I'm completely wrong, the word 'Jesus' not 'creator' or 'God' would be in our founding documents. Second of all,"

"But Dr. Zimmermann you can hardly..." Orly interrupted.

"Let me finish. I know your strategy and it's not going to work. So second of all, 'In God We Trust,' like 'under God' in the pledge of allegiance was added in the 1950s to differentiate us from the 'Godless' Communists. And thirdly, though not the last one I could make in my defense, religion is separable from morality and ethics. And when morality fails us, we have laws: Do not steal, do not lie in court, and do not murder. The 'Big Three'."

"Well I don't know about you," the woman began again, "but there were times when I was little that the thought of God's non-existence crept into my mind and I couldn't sleep. And if I did, I had nightmares. Now because of your malicious assault I can hardly sleep at all and I know plenty of others who feel likewise," she guilted him like a mother even though they seemed to be the same age.

"I had restless nights about God before too," he nodded emphatically. "Moments of weakness."

"Whoa Doc," Orly butt in, flashing his palms, "Everthing I've read says you're an admitted dyed in the wool atheist most of your life."

"Oh I was, and am. The weak moments were when I feared God did exist and I couldn't get into Heaven—at least the Jewish conception of it. I'm sure if I was a Muslim or Christian I would have had accompanying nightmares about Hellfire and damnation," Art gave a deep belly laugh.

"Oh really?" Orly asked.

"Yeah, really!" Art continued laughing.

"No way," Marianne chimed in. "The true faith will live on as long as it is believed. I and countless other reasonably intelligent people are awaiting Jesus' return and men like you won't eat at the table with him."

"I'm sure you'd recognize him when he came back, wouldn't you? We live in a different day and age, new religions or messiah's can't just pop up anymore. Some guy wanders Death Valley and says he holds the divine word of God and the salvation of mankind, what are we gonna do? If he's harmless, you let him be, if you think otherwise, you lock him in the loony bin! And that's just if he's a loner. With disciples, and maybe with Jesus' example they'd all be I.R.S. agents and ex-cons, he'd probably be holed up in a compound with a personal militia armed to the teeth. What was the last significant new religion? Mormonism—which is just another sect of Christianity. It's like the single person narration in fiction—it's gone as far as we can take it so it's time to do something else."

A quick commercial break and five minutes later, Arthur was finished and went behind the cameras to meet Fanya who accompanied him on his media tour. Clutching a clip board to her breast and as always wearing her hip hugging floral dresses, she smiled approvingly.

"You did wonderful sir,"she complimented, her thin cheeks firm in a rosy tightness.

"Thank you dear," Arthur rubbed the sweat from his brow and scalp with his sleeve when he passed the studio's warm line of light into the comparatively cool, unpolished portion of the studio. "You've no idea how I appreciate you coming with me," the shroud of darkness descended upon his pupils, temporarily blinding him as he adjusted to the new conditions. "I know how all this has hurt you but I couldn't do any of this without you," he lovingly touched her shoulder when he found it.

"I know. Sometimes you have to set aside your own feelings for something bigger than yourself," she resigned. "So do you think you did well?"

"Oh yes, of course my dear, I had a wonderful time." He leaned forward, bringing his mouth to her ear for a whisper. "And that Orly fellow is even taller than he looks on television." Fanya covered her mouth to mask her giggle. "Back to the dressing room, I must get out of this coat and into respectable clothes," he grunted as he loosened his tie.

The dressing room, in contrast to the studio, was wholly filled with brightness and startled both their eyes when they stepped inside. Arthur's age and health did not let him entertain such youthful spurts of activity without relaxing first so rather than change clothes as he'd planned, he laboriously raised his corpulent body and crashed onto the rotating chair used earlier when the make up girl made him look "pretty."

He ventured a look at the sleeve with which he wiped his forehead, noticing a waxy discoloration. It had been a very busy day in New York City. He thanked the non-existent entity that he did not have to leave Manhattan and deal with any more traffic. And now at the tail end of the tour, his gut weighed down his breathing, rending it a labored but soft wheeze sandwiched by audibly deep nasal breaths. Through his mouth whenever he gave a lion's yawn. His feet touched the ground, slowly kicking it until he brought himself into a chair spin. Fanya whimsically smiled that, even at his physical age and tiredness, he was not beyond behaving adolescently.

"Would you like some water, sir?" she asked politely, expertly restraining her laugh.

"Sure, but non-sparkling" he drawled lazily, his head lurched to one side, exaggerating the g-force of his eight rpm spin. Arthur was pained to discover that the East was slowly turning into Europe and it was getting harder to find cold water without bubbles. Fanya retrieved a chilled bottle from a mini-fridge and placed it in his hands when they turned and came to her. "Thanks dear, you're like a wife to me. I don't know what I'd ever do without you."

"Is that a proposal?" she asked in the same manner as the water question. Arthur paid it no mind and kicked the nearby furniture to regain momentum, occasionally raising his head to take a sip from the bottle. "Seriously, sir, is it?" she pressed a minute later.

"Is what?"

"Is that a proposal?" Arthur ceased kicking, his inertia stopping to point him in her direction. His weariness cast aside, Arthur faced her in soberly.

"What?" Newly uncomfortable, Fanya resorted to a weak smile and waved the question away. "Oh no, no, no, no, no, you're not getting away that easily! You think what I said just there was proposal—no wait, you're testing to see how I'd react!" he snapped his fingers.

After a momentary hesitation she declared "Yes!" Arthur blinked. "I want to know if we can be together. I just feel so, so, weak," she looked away, gesturing to an imaginary person at his left, "I don't know where I'm going or what I should do or..." she started blithering as the mascara black tears streamed down her face and dabbled off her chin. With the spryness of a man half his age, Arthur hopped out from his chair and ran to her, pressing her small body against his larger frame.

"There, there," he whispered into her ears as he lightly stroked her back.

"You've always been such an anchor for me and, I've always loved you," she cried into his shoulder. Her light body produced a tremendous weight upon his shoulders, forcing his body lower even as his heart grew buoyant from joy. At last she had said it—she loved him and needed him. He had been certain since he hired her three years ago that he felt likewise but was too scared of losing her to admit it. Her crying ceased and she pulled her head just inches away from her boss, staring into his soul with watery eyes.

Her face, resilient even to the tests of time that befall persons in their twenties, had no hints of crows feet or bags under her eyes. Charmingly beautiful even without make up, she always carried herself with a confident grace until Yusef's formula arrived. Since that moment her dresses grew shorter and she wore unnecessary make-up as her general ease with the world diminished. She even started wearing high heels again. Over time he noticed she reserved her upliftingly kind spirit for Arthur instead of sharing it with the world, a trait that instantly endeared her to the most jaded individuals the world had to offer. Being in the university, there were plenty of those to go around so now no girlish laugher breached his office door when appointments waited. Yet despite all this pain from the formula, he never once heard her blame himself or Yusef. Perhaps more than anyone she urged Yusef on when he considered a worldwide speaking tour to promote his book.

His hand touched her cheek and he made to kiss her. She closed her eyes and readied her lips but the kiss fell delicately on her forehead.

"But sir, I don't understand. What about what I said?" she pleaded in confusion, tears falling again from her quaking eyes.

"Fanya my dear, I can't marry you," he replied calmly, trying not to let every fiber of his body corrupt his higher mind. Marriage, despite what mothers told their children after they waltzed into their bedrooms during sex, was not a requirement for consenting adults. Despite what Bible thumpers across the US claimed, marriage was not a sacred institution but one of contract obligation; a once economic necessity whose newfound religious layer confused its origin. Having been married once before, he knew their intimacy was more meaningful and fulfilling than any piece of paper could claim. And what would their marriage or, failing that, sexual relationship add? He shook his head. Though he imagined blissful days and nights beside, below, and on top his thin nubile secretary, he felt wrongness.

She belonged around the arm of a young professional. A thinner handsome man with a full head of hair who would live a long life with her and, unless something horrible happened, die within a few years of her. He knew that as long as that young man had the good sense to listen to this angel's advice, he would live a long and healthy life. Or if the unlikely happened and she died first, even in their middle age, he would slowly degrade physically and mentally as if suffering from an abrupt withdrawal of some wonderful drug. Or, if the ensuing depression made him disregard his late wife's wishes, he would do himself in.

"I've also loved you, and not like a daughter as I've always said. But I'm just too old and grumpy for you. I'd die long before you and you'd lose that wonderful spark that makes you, well, you, and I can't selfishly take it."

"But but but but but..." she stammered, trying to argue with him. He pulled her face close and smothered her furious mouth with his own, muffling then stopping her protest. As the seconds of their kiss passed, her eye lids closed, her limbs relaxed, and her whole body collapsed upon aged frame. Unable to hold up her uncoöperative body, he slowly relinquished her lips and lowered her melting mass to the ground, making her own body resume the work.

"I do love you Fanya. We just can't be together."

"But what about God? He's not around to stop us anymore," she said snidely, unpleasantly scrunching her face. Arthur shook his head.

"This isn't about God my dear. Even without him, there're many things still true now as they were before. Not everything society discourages has a religious base." Satisfied with his reasoning but in no way his answer, her face returned to moroseness. The tears stopped flowing but continued streaking down her cheek when she bowed her head forward. "Do you understand?" The last of her water splashed onto the floor.

"Yes. And you're right...." she reluctantly accepted as she wiped her eyes with her fingers. He hugged her again, this time just as he would the daughter he never had. Now he would have one for as long as he had the fortune of living.

*

[[This Godlessness and heresy concludes with chapter 2. Don't forget to vote and honest and/or constructive criticism is appreciated.]]