Wednesday, 5 October 2011

Lesley Meets God

There was a time when he liked the sunshine, when happy songs were beautiful, when people didn’t break his heart, and that was when he was happiest. He broke, stumbling through the door, out of the dark bar and into the blinding sunshine. Wiping the alcohol stained sweat from his brow he walked slowly and surly as only a drunk man can, towards his car, scrapping his keys in the lock adding more scratches before he realized it was unlocked. Dizzy and drunk he swayed, nearly slamming his head into the door. Fumbling with the keys in the ignition, he prayed silently for rain. Turning on the crooning gruff old drunkard and rolling slowly out of his parking space. A police officer was parked near by, saw the car sway and flipped his lights on. And that was the night that Lesley O’ hAthairne met God.
He had jet black hair and no facial hair. Lesley had fire red hair and a beard that nested several Irish Setters. God leaned down and looked through the window, almost falling backwards on his ass at the stench of liquor flowing from the car. He held his breath and asked for Lesley’s license. Lesley sifted through a pile of papers on the floor of the old ‘55 before finding a small, piece of plastic between a bill for electricity and a receipt for a flesh light. “Here ya go off-” he breathed deep “officer.” God smiled and looked that the plastic, it was an expired credit card, but he knew who the man was. He is fucking God after all. “Sir, you are quite drunk.” “Siirr” Lesley mocked “I’m a drunk, its what I do.” God chuckled and walked back to his cruiser.
God’s cruiser is not anything like a regular police cruiser, so deal with the random shit that he knows about our friendly, Irish drunk, Lesley.
Lesley was in the army. He was a grunt. He drinks to forget the faces of the people that he has killed and because he believes that he should have died with his platoon when they were ambushed in Kandahar. Lesley believes that God hates him and that one of these days he will kill him and send him straight to hell. Lesley was once a brilliant poet until love broke his heart. Lesley once married the woman he loved, a gorgeous brunette with fire in her eyes, because her boyfriend got her pregnant and ran away. Lesley still missed the touch of the first girl he loved. Lesley once saved a life. Lesley is the son of a bastard pastor. Lesley is dying man, and he is chasing the bullet that missed him in that small valley in the middle of bumfuck Afaghanistan. Lesley wants nothing more than to fall in love and be happy, but he believes that love has forsaken him. Lesley is a broken, repulsive man with his heart on his sleeve, tears on his streaming down his face and he hopes that the officer will impound his car, throw him in jail where he will be murdered by the British.
But the officer is God, and God let him go with a warning.

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