EXCERPT FROM PASSION FOR TINNON BY CUPIDEROS

CHAPTER 50: ROLITH AND HIS PROTÉGÉ.

© Cupideros, Thursday, June 04, 2009.

…Rolith propped his feet on his desk. His bum leg twitched. “Damn. Leg.” He laughed. He loved reading, The Last Prophet’s fairy tales. That bastard. Even he couldn’t resist writing one or two.

The Tale of the Hungry Man by The Last Prophet CE.

There once was a man who lived an average life. He went to work, did a decent job, and paid his bills. He got married, had two point five children, and raised them until they went off to college, into the big wide world. The man went on working, eating, living—doing no extraordinary things. He didn’t participate in politics. He didn’t join any movement. He occasionally donated to charity. This man was not rich by any means. In fact, he lived a lower middle-class existence. One day he passed by an Italian restaurant and saw a couple gorging on a delicious, sumptuous meal. The man, hungry, wanted to go in and sit down and order something. He had the funds. He pondered this. A shabby-looking man walked by. His face seemed starved. Though, he seemed neither happy nor sad. To the hungry man window shopping, potentially buying an Italian meal, the shabby man circumstances were worse. So, the hungry man reached out and gave his $27 meal money to the shabby man. The Hungry Man went home and took out a large roast beef and cooked it. He had plenty of food at home. Life went on. The Hungry Man’s life never changed much. He did take in a meal at the Italian restaurant a month later. He lived on some years and died.

***

The Hungry Man went to Abyssarianism Heaven. In a pleasant surprise, he was made a God! He existed all alone in the heavenly plane, in his own mansion. His own place. All dark except for the light the Gods provided him. At first, the Hungry Man didn’t understand. He felt rather lonely. Then he realized by his thoughts he could create things. He created a long table. The table was as long as a soccer field. A white tablecloth appeared on the table, as he thought it fitting to eat in style. Then food. Food appeared from all over the earth, places the Hungry Man wished he could have traveled to and enjoyed. Food from China, Japan, Malaysia, Norway, Iceland, Arabia, Peru, Ecuador, Mexico, Argentina, North America, and the Polynesian Islands. The man laid these out in five-star style on clean silverware. He began to eat and eat and eat. He drank and drank and drank.

For he couldn’t conceive of exotic food without their accompanying exotic drinks, too. This Hungry Man suddenly had thoughts about all the different foods in the heavens and all the earth worlds under them. “What are the Goddess and Gods eating?” No sooner than he thought it, those foods began to appear on the table. The Hungry Man waved his hand and removed all the earth foods, replacing them with the Gods’ foods. He did keep a few earth foods; he found great joy in chocolate, eggnog, pumpkin pie, and codfish dipped in celery sauce.

Neither did the Hungry Man get sick or full or tired of eating. Whenever he wanted to eat food from the far end of the table, he merely thought of the spot. Immediately, he was there. In this way, he ate and ate, sometimes at the far right end of the white table full of delightful food. Next, at the far left end of the white table, he did eat some more. But he always ended up at the middle of the white table. He eventually realized that he could place the food from any position—whether it was at the far end, middle, three-quarter end, or anywhere else—directly in front of him, within arm’s reach, to either his left or right!

And so he ate night and day; only no sun or moon let him know the time. He shrugged. He had his light. This went on. The Hungry Man was having such a wonderful time until one day, a nine-year-old Caucasian girl showed up before his table and chided him:

At first, the Hungry Man heard her voice but could not see her. “You did my master a small favor long ago. He rewarded your kindness by making you a God.”

The Hungry Man kept eating. So great was his joy. He had heard voices before. Questions like, “Did he want to do anything else?” He responded by continuing to drink and eat, eat and drink. He turned his head left and right. He saw no one. Soon it will stop, he thought. It always does. He hadn’t heard anything in years since the last time.

The nine-year-old Caucasian girl showed her five-foot form. “You have been eating for some fifty years—you vile Hungry Man!”

The Hungry Man was shocked. “Little nude girl, where are your angel wings?”

“What has this to do with your vileness?”

He kept eating a huge piece of Quodarian Fowl, which had gone out of existence from Tinnon by the time earth’s people arrived. “I don’t—” Then, he realized again he was a God, and so waved his hand to send her away.

“You cannot send me away, vile Hungry Man.” She stood her ground unchanged about ten feet from the long soccer field-length table. “Don’t you know I wield more power than Goddesses and Gods in their mansions, even though I am merely an angel?”

“You’re a child. Shoo. Go away!”

She pointed accusingly at the Hungry Man. “My master did you a favor. And you return it by eating for fifty years!”

He picked up a huge golden goblet brimming with red wine. He drank deeply. “That long?”

“You gave him money for a meal—27 dollars.”

The Hungry Man thought back. This required some effort. For he lived a long time after helping the shabby man that day in front of the Italian restaurant. “Ah. Now, I remember him.” He nodded. “Good fellow.”

“Yes. He is Lord of all the Mansions,” said the nine-year-old, nude girl. “Since, I am his messenger, one of many to the Goddesses and Gods in their realms, he said, ‘Tell that Hungry Man to stop eating and do something productive. For there is much to be done in the earth planes. People need guidance and hope, inspiration, and charity.”

The Hungry Man stopped eating. “Did he say that—that shabby man I gave twenty-seven dollars!”

“He did indeed.” The nine-year-old girl pointed. “My master sent you thoughts and dreams over all these years to contribute. No single thing escapes his attention, even if he gives the impression it has. For you have much to give, and you received it all freely. What cost is it to you to wave your hand and support some good soul in need of a friendly turn of fate?”

The Hungry Man turned his eyes from the food to his hands. “Where are these people I can help?”

“That’s your problem, Vile Hungry Man! My master controls all things. All manner of beings answer to him. He is the final Judge-King. If you do not know how to pray or ask his help, you may find yourself in the earth.” The little girl narrowed her eyes and lips. “There you will find eating rather challenging, indeed.”

“No. No! I’d rather stay here!”

“Then contribute to the whole.” She waved her hand, removing all his food. The exceedingly long table covered in white cloth remained.

He started to make his food reappear but quickly reconsidered. He found the little girl’s eyes, hard and powerful. He pushed himself away from the table. He waved, removing the table. He waved another hand, removing a veil, and saw the earth he remembered, slightly changed in fifty years. He nodded. “Tell your master—my master—I shall contribute. For that is the least I can do to return him his favor.”

The little nude girl disappeared into a diamond sparkle of light.

Rolith pondered this. Was he, too, a vile, hungry man? Was he squandering his powers to help others? This is the story the Last Prophet told to XI.I and she thought he was chastising her. The Last Prophet had said, “I tell you this story so that those after you, in the future, may consider their actions. You have done well, Queen XI’I.

–THE END–