I ate ink and threw up words.
He was an inquisitive man, always seeking answers and ends. It was only natural that he made a living as a detective; moreso that, given the opportunity, he would take the knowledge of the future as his own. It could only make things easier.
A feeling of weightlessness encompassed him entirely; he felt lucid, stark, and perceptive. He was dreaming, but what he was experiencing was quite real. As he opened his eyes, a feat that felt quite surreal in spite of its simplicity, he took in his surroundings. Perhaps, rather, the lack thereof. There were no walls, no ceiling or floor, just himself and a light that outshone any landmarks he might have noted in the absence of the oddity.
He tested his voice by clearing his throat, and finding it in working order, he spoke. "Where the hell am I?"
The question was directed at noone in particular, which is why he was quite shocked to hear an answer. "You are nowhere, Jack."
"Fuckin’ hell!" He instinctively fell backwards, and the irony of the action was lost on him. There was nothing to push off of, nor was there a place to land, and yet he had fallen on his rear. His stopping point was thin air, and he was stopped only by the force of his own mind; his logic had told him he would land as such, and so he had.
A breath of disbelief escaped his lungs, but he could only mumble a brief and incoherent set of words before the light spoke again. "Relax."
He did. Whatever spoke to him was an empath’s antonym, and the force of its will, however neutral, was unmistakably powerful. His silence bade an explanation; he didn’t get one. "Jack Rinson, you are going to be yet another fruitless ambassador to humankind."
It was a statement, a demand, and it didn’t sit well with Jack. "You ca–"
"I will." The voice was a man’s, strong and evenly pitched, though favoring a higher octave than this explanation would propose. It echoed off of invisible walls, Jack thought, but the truth was that this voice traveled with perfect acoustics from its inception unto wherever its owner would have it end. Jack could not fight in spite of himself.
"You are a seeker of knowledge, " the voice continued, "and knowledge you will be given."
Jack’s voice shook slightly as he responded. "What are you going to tell me?"
"What it is I would grant you to hear."
Jack twitched nervously; he didn’t enjoy being on the defensive, but his combative nature failed him. It showed on his face, in his demeanor, and through his silence. In his ignorance he found himself afraid, as is natural for humans. He gauged, as the dumbest could in his shoes, that he could not fight, and as there was nowhere to escape to, he was without options. He could only sit, scared, and await the voice.
"You are a lonely man, Jack Rinson. You have never been married, never conceived a child, you have few friends whom you don’t make time for. You will remain this way until your death, which will occur in eight years, four months, seventeen days, two hours, five minutes, and forty two seconds as of two and a half seconds prior to the completion of this sentence. You will not attain the raise you asked for last Monday, your dog’s cold is in fact an early signifier of cancer, and if it could speak it would tell you that hard dog food tastes worse than its own ass. The woman who was looking at you in the bar last night was, in fact, checking you out; shame you didn’t ask for her number, as she would’ve turned out to be just your type. You’ll see her again next week at ten thirty-two p.m., but you will again pretend not to notice her gaze because you are a coward. You haven’t visited your father’s grave in five years because you have truly moved on from his death; you haven’t so much as given him a passing thought in six months. In this, you have shown the slightest bit of conviction–truly a feat for one such as you, but you keep with your failures in that that is quite possibly the last place one should ever find such complete and utter closure."
Jack was in shock, but he found enough bearing to interrupt the speech. "What the fuck!?"
"Eloquent, Jack Rinson."
"Who are you!? How do you know all of this, and where the hell am I!?"
"I am God, I just answered that, and I already told you."
"This...this isn’t real. This is a dream. This can not be real. This is, I, my subconscious, I’ve read about this kind of thing, I, I, I..."
"I assure you, everything you are experiencing is quite real. If you don’t believe me, wait until you die. Or, perhaps, next week, at The Lonely Suitor, when Amanda eyes you on five separate occasions–her name is Amanda Lewis, by the way, and her bra is not a push-up–or, to satiate your impatient and voracious curiosity, go to the store and by your dog soft food. He’ll bark happily, lick your hands, devour his meal instantaneously, and you’ll notice he has magically become potty trained. Amazing what a little complacency will do to an animal."
"This, it’s...this isn’t possible. How, why?"
"Again, I assure you, this is as real as the Redskins missing the playoffs for the next nine years– a side note; I’d invest in a new favorite team, because you won’t live to see their successes. I really wish you’d stop with the redundancy; I’m a patient man, to phrase it in a way you can comprehend, but you’re wasting your time with your doubt. I am God; I do what I wish when I wish to do it. And you, you are an ambassador to your race, living proof, as of tonight and the nights of your life thereafter, that while the pursuit of knowledge is a virtuous endeavor, being a know-it-all is quite a drain on happiness, not to mention pretty annoying."
"I don’t believe you. It’s that simple. I just don’t. I can’t, and I won’t."
"Oh, you will. You will, and you’ll see how hard it is to get anyone to understand anything. I have spent centuries sending countless messengers to Earth in an attempt to open the eyes of the collective human race to the simplest of facts that your children seem to easily understand as being tenants of a happy life, not just for the self, but for all. Things such as equality, open-mindedness, satisfaction, and nap time. As you grow you are taught to keep ambition in the forefront of your mind; and where has that gotten you? Nowhere! Ahahahahaha...oh, forgive me. I shouldn’t laugh right now. But this is the knowledge I give to you foremost: you are the perfect example of my one mistake."
"No, no, don’t be silly! That was the best idea I ever had! I speak of a terrible marketing decision; higher thinking."
"You...what? You should’ve made us dumber?"
"Oh, no, it’s not something as big as that. I’m God; I don’t screw up that bad. I just gave it a bad name."