Drug-induced folklore

Um…okay. This is a little doohickey that I wrote in about three minutes while under the influence of Ibuprofen, Zoloft, antibiotics, and iron. Here we go:

The Story of Infinity: How it Came to Be

Once upon a time, long ago in Wisconsin, a lonely Anglo-Saxon whitesmith named Raphael was sitting in a field, waiting for a message from his African-American blacksmith friend, Pete.

While waiting for Pete, the whitesmith felt a feeling. He leapt to his feet, immediately fell to his knees, and began to pray.

“God,” he said, looking up to the sky “if you really are God, please kill Pete and let me have his blacksmithing business, for he is much more profitable than me. Thank you.” He sat back down in the grass, and, after another moment or two, fell asleep.

Suddenly, a great rumble came from the sky above. Raphael awoke. He looked up into the sky, and before him hovered God. God was wearing pink. Raphael questioned this, saying, “Almighty one, why have you chosen such a feminine color?”

God replied in a manly voice, “God has no gender. God is a wonderful being of unquestionable holiness and awesomeness. God is also a sheep. Look closer.” And it was revealed that God was truly a sheep.

“God,” said Raphael “You heard my prayer. Will you kill Pete?”

“Why?” God asked. “Pete is your friend. He is a successful black blacksmith.”

“That is the point,” Raphael said. “He is more successful than me. I do not like it. Plus, his wife is more attractive than mine, and it would be much simpler to have an affair with her if Pete were out of the way.”

God considered. “Alright,” came the answer. “Here is how it will work: I will leave you and you shall sleep. In the dream, a beautiful woman will appear. All you have to do is reach her and kiss her. As soon as you have done that, Pete will be dead.” God then leapt from the field and, with his mighty sheep legs, reached the Kingdom of Heaven in a single bound.

Raphael relaxed in the grass and instantly fell asleep. As he slept, he began to dream. In his dream, he was in a wide field of wheat. A sign was posted next to him that read Finity Field. As he looked around, he saw a beautiful woman in the distance. He judged the length between them to be about a mile. “All I have to do is run to her,” Raphael reasoned “and Pete will be dead.” So he began to run. An hour later, however, though Raphael had run over five miles, the beautiful woman still seemed to be the same length away from him. He kept running. Two hours later, he was exhausted and nowhere closer to the beautiful woman than he had been before.

Irate, he awoke. “God!” he called.

God appeared. “Yes, Raphael?”

“Why have you deceived me? It is not possible to reach the beautiful woman in Finity Field.”

“Why Raphael,” God replied “it is most certainly possible. Just be patient. Run for a longer period of time.”

God left Raphael and he went back to sleep. In his dream, he took Gods advice and ran for two days straight. Still, however, the beautiful woman remained the same distance away from Raphael she was before. But Raphael would not give up. He was determined to kill Pete. So he ran, and ran, and ran, and ran.

Meanwhile, Pete reached the field in which Raphael lay dreaming. “Raphael?” He shook his friends shoulder. Raphael did not awake; he was deep into his dream. So Pete turned to God.

“God?” he said to the heavens. “What is wrong with my friend?”

Again, God appeared, and though Pete wondered about God being a sheep dressed in pink, he said nothing of this and pointed to the sleeping Raphael. “Raphael is being punished.” God explained to Pete. “You see, Raphael wished death upon you because you are more successful than you and your wife is more attractive than his wife. I told him that in his dream, if he would reach a beautiful woman and kiss her, his wish would be granted. However, since I am the Almighty one, I can trick him with my power. He will never reach the beautiful women because of his selfish thoughts. He is in Finity…forever. “

And so, infinity became the word for forever. Also, whitesmithing became unpopular and was virtually destroyed a month or so after Raphael’s demise. Pete flourished, and so did blacksmithing.


The disturbing part is, though, that this story isn’t nearly as whacked out as the stories I come up with when I’m not on drugs.

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