“Time is an illusion–a myth, a creation concomitant with our sense of The Creation. In your sense of the story–” she paused to slap me after I failed to keep her gaze–“As I said, in your sense of time, you meaning All Y’all, you believe that God had a very busy week, then reappeared periodically to punish his most devoted people, then only settled down when His Son showed up in the Roman Empire. The way you’d tell the story, it was God who had the midlife crisis and not every writer of the New Testament.”
She kept staring into my eyes while day and night began to melt on both sides of her auburn hair. “No offense to Paul, but he was a bit of a longwinded bitch. Letters and letters and letters and letters and letters. Who has time to read any of that? Who has time for anything but time? Who can read unless aware of their own sense of passing time? What is the Good Book but the passing illusion of single authors? I’ve met Matthew, and it turned out it was a collection of eight men who all lived under the same name.”
She held up her hands, the fingers now hissing asps. “Anyway, my point is simple: if time is an illusion, then eternity is just a thought.” The snakes started to lunge as she laughed. “Which means maybe this will hurt less the longer it goes on.”
Keegan Shepherd 