Sunday, April 1, 2018

419. Fear

If you could only see C.W. in his actual form, it would … it would … well it would put you off your feed, really ruin your appetite. I’ve seen him. Trust me.

Sometimes we go walking early. Real early. Before sunrise. We decided to give it a shot today. Left Head had heard that a lot of people were getting up way before sunrise and he wanted to see what they were doing.

“I think it has something to do,” Right Head said, “with all those male enhancement ads we’ve seen posted in front yards.”

We all looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Middle Head said.

It dawned on me. “I don’t think that is the context indicated by the word ‘arisen’ on those signs,” I said. I explained it to them.

“Oh,” said Right Head.

“Let me ask you something,” Middle Head said.

“Not too complicated,” I said. “Nothing about politics. It’s too early. I can’t even begin to explain current evens this early in the morning.”

Middle Head went silent. “Go ahead and ask him,” Left Head said. “We’re supposed to report on it.”

“Yeah,” Right Head said. “Remember the last time we failed an assignment?”

I remembered. The Falloonian Elders had cut off their supply of a favorite magazine-type transmittal that they love so well. “You,” I said, “didn’t get your feeds of ‘Naughty Triple-Heads,’ for several months.”

“Ask him,” Left Head said to Middle Head. “I need to finish this week’s report.”

“Well,” Middle Head said,” swiveling toward me, “it has to do with this thing so many of your species has about threatening your young children so horribly.”

“We don’t do that,” I said.

All three heads snapped toward me. It scared me a bit. “We love our children,” I said. Then, on further thought I said, “Some individuals love them a little too much, and in the wrong way, but we punish those if we catch them.”

Left Head, shook back and forth, Middle head rolled three of his eyes, and Right Head chuckled in amazement.

“What?” I said.

Middle Head spoke. “Why are all these people getting up so early today?”

“You mean besides us?”


“For a religious service,” I said.

“And that service celebrates what?” Left Head said.

“I’ve told you before,” I said. “They celebrate the death and resurrection of a beloved religious figure.”

“Who did what?” Left Head bore down on me.

“Who died for their sins, arose from the dead, and ascended into glory to wait for the true believers.”

“True believers,” Left Head said. Middle Head leaned out toward me. Right Head smirked the way he does when he senses mental carnage about to erupt.

“Yes,” I said, “the true believers will join their leader in a place called ‘paradise.’ They will be with that leader forever, you know: the Galilean. Don’t tell me you don’t know who the Galilean is.”

“We’re not talking about the Galilean,” Middle Head said. “We’re talking about those who claim that they speak directly to him.”

“Yes,” Right Head said, “the Chetedidcherltans,” using a Falloonian term I can’t translate in a family-oriented blog.

“Think about it,” Left Head said. “What do those folks promise to young children who don’t necessarily accept the concept of a person dying, then arising three days later, and wafting away in a cloud? Those kids that might analyze things a bit differently? Those who believe thinking is a free gift and should be enjoyed? What’s in store for them?”

“Hint, hint,” Right Head said, “torment, pain, suffering, flames, fire … am I getting warm?”

Left Head continued. “Why would a civilized and benevolent society implant such primal fear into young minds … images of their little bodies burning in a place called ‘hell’ for thinking about things on their own?”

“Yeah. Why?” Right head said.
The true believers have chosen some
strange figures to lead their religion. - C.W.
“Now just stop it,” I said. “We love our young folks. We would never, as a society, wish danger, disparagement, or punishment on them for what they believe or don’t believe.”

The three heads looked at one another in turn. Finally, two of them nodded at Middle Head, and he spoke.

“I don’t think you’ve been paying attention to things lately.”

 I stopped and listened. I swear that, far off in the distance, along Wattensaw Bayou near a place they used to call "the baptizin' hole," I could hear the soft strains of Softly and Tenderly.

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