Currently Reading The Gay Science (Philosophical Classics) By Friedrich Nietzsche see related

Nietzsche said that God is dead – that we have killed him. Although I obviously do not agree that He is dead, I do agree that areas of work such as science can sometimes be harmful and can continually attempt to lessen Him as a divine being.  This brings me to my latest short story…
 

“Profession of No Faith”
© Ryan Fleisch
January 23, 2007

Years of rigorous research, reading, and unsuccessful attempts were all paying off as the professor’s thoughts outran his pen.  Stabbing the paper with that final period invoked a moment of surreal disbelief.  “I’ve done it,” he thought to himself as he whipped off his glasses and curtained his mouth with one hand, “I’ve finished the essay which will rupture all reasons for belief in a divine being.”

The hours passed as he found no logical fallacy, no missed step, not even the slightest grammatical error in his work.  Whether they were ready to embrace it or not, the arms of science had wrapped themselves around the torso of every theist.  A smile crawled onto the professor’s face as he thought of his many encounters with evangelists.  They had promised him Hell as they called out, ‘Blasphemer! Heretic!’  Still smiling, he thought, “Oh how I would love to revisit each of them with my newfound evidence – how I would love to see their faces fall apart in disbelief.  Their reading my essay would awaken them from a dream which they had fabricated for years.  Some might thank me for finally admitting them to reality; others, however, would surely become angry with me for disturbing their sleep and would want nothing more than to fall back into it.”

Many hours had galloped by before the professor finally released his grip from the pages.  Reclining in his chair he retired his glasses and rubbed the last notion of doubt from his eyes.  His work was done; crossing his office he swung open the door.  Morning was already in full bloom as the orchestra of trees swayed to the lead of the wind.  A million thoughts began to stampede through the professor’s head, but his concentration was broken as a single droplet landed on his cheek.  Taking his middle finger he wiped it off and noticed that not only was the liquid red – it was blood.  Confused, he cocked his neck back and realized there was nothing above him except a barren and empty sky.

Currently Reading Atlas Shrugged By Ayn Rand see related

Why did they have to be so protective? First it was home schooling, then it was Christian music only, and now it was that I couldn’t have a girlfriend. The thoughts swam through my mind; no, they merely treaded water in my mind. I climbed out my window and sat on the roof. My last crumpled cigarette would hardly even light; guess that’s what I get for hiding them under my mattress. Who knows what my parents would do if they ever caught me…I don’t even want to think about it. I watched the congregation of smoke escape my mouth and part their separate ways until they became nothing more than the air we breathe. People tell me that smoking kills…please…you are smoking with every breathe you take. Every time you inhale that air filled with the smog of confinement and the second-hand goals of others, you are one breathe closer to dying.  All I’m doing is lending the process a helping hand.

I lay back on the roof and stared at the stars. It was like the blue-grey canopy was trying to cover an infinite light, but had rips here and there…Oh well, I’m sure they’ll get it patched eventually. I sighed out that last puff of smoke and flicked the butt off of the roof. At this time I would usually crawl back in and go to bed, but not tonight; my mind was restless. I grabbed my coat and shimmied down the drain pipe. Maybe my life isn’t all that bad. I’ll go for a walk down by the pond; that’ll fix me right up.

I shook hands with all the tree’s as I moved their branches out of the way. One of these days I’ll get down here with a machete and make myself a path, but that’s the same thing I said last summer. I was still a good half-mile away from the pond, but I was already thinking about it. On the surface it’s so tranquil, but inches below, there is an entire world at work. The fish don’t understand they are simply in a cosmic puddle; to them, that puddle is their entire universe. They are born there, and they die there with no greater knowledge. Wait, why am I even thinking about this? They’re stupid fish. They serve no purpose to me unless they’ve got gravy on top. I was getting closer now – only a little further over the rocks.

I hurdled the last bush and saw it up ahead. Running up to the edge I peered into the blue inkpad. I was hoping I’d be able to see down to the bottom, but the starlight was too bright – it was bouncing off the top of the water. Ugh, all I could see was my own reflection treading its place in the water and staring back at me. I zipped up my jacket and headed home.