Negotiations With God

by R W Sowrider

  Negotiations with God

  by R.W. Sowrider

  6.8 Books

  While in part based on actual historical events and figures, this book is, for legal purposes, a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. With respect to the Gods, however, it’s a totally different story. All divine characters herein are based on actual supernatural beings. Fortunately for the author, though, they don’t have the balls to appear in court and sue him for libel. Pussies.

  Copyright © 2018 by R.W. Sowrider.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express written permission except in the case of use by a member of parliament or congress when filibustering a proposed piece of legislation that is total bullshit. Like if they tried to outlaw jaywalking at the federal level. Nuh-uh, son.

  First Edition: December 7, 2018

  ISBN: 9781731108791

  Praise for Negotiations with God

  “The force and energy of this book could power a tricycle.” – Brick Ricker, Literary Muscle Magazine

  “A transcendental work of lyrical beauty and emotional heft, this stunning achievement dares to satisfy us in a way that stories of an earlier age used to. Which is to say, missionary style.” – Ralph Johnstone, AARP

  “Sowrider reveals the terrible beauty of human nature and divine influence with the skill and precision of a six-year-old on Ritalin.” – Walter Willingsby, The Philadelphia Pedophiler

  “Although this novel is not about vampires, all the while I was reading I couldn’t stop thinking about vampires.”

  – Harold, Goodreads member

  “A triumph … but not like one of them winning-the-Escape-From-Alcatraz -Triathlon triumphs … more like a walking-up-a-flight-of-stairs-without-getting-winded triumph. – Wendy Seargrass, The New York Times

  “A bounteous miracle that transforms the way you experience life; everything becomes freshly energized and of vivid importance; infused with humanity, vitality, and pathos. I’m assuming of course that you begin each chapter with a chilled glass of Red Bull and mescaline.” – Scott Dillinger, Reader’s Digest

  “This book will without a doubt be taught in universities someday. Not so much the four-year kind, but more likely the two-year kind. In particular, the two-year kind where they teach you how to change car transmissions yet for some reason have an English requirement.” – Zen Whitesmith, Barely Legal Review

  “Could Bill Walton be the worst announcer ever? Guy is a fucking clown.” – Big Steve’s Boston Sports Blog

  Acknowledgments

  Tim Ferriss is annoying.

  Scott Maltby is the 2000-2050 edition of Grays Sports Almanac .

  While cheeky and irreverent, Ben Franklin’s essay entitled Fart Proudly is not his best work.

  Randee is that being so stalkingly attractive that you gun down a music legend just to impress her.

  Lick My Arse, a symphony by Mozart, is good but not great.

  Pat Aguirre is the program you upload to your brain that lets you instantly know Kung Fu.

  Religion is man-made.

  Anselm Bensch-Schaus is the Spearmint Rhino stripper who did everything in the Champagne Room gratis.

  Dick pics do not work nearly as well as I thought they would.

  M.F. is that rare one-night stand you don’t instantly regret.

  Passing out early and pissing yourself sucks.

  Dedication

  This book is for you. Everything I’ve ever done has been for you.

  Well, I guess not everything. I mean, I’ve done a lot of stuff for money. And a lot of that money has been for Big Macs, Exotic Berry wine coolers, and strippers. But other than that stuff, pretty much everything I’ve ever done has been for you.

  I guess it probably goes without saying, but just in case, I’m not talking about any of the delinquent stuff that I’ve done. Like when I drunkenly charged the field in the 4th inning of an exhibition game at Yankee Stadium … or when I switched out the Baby Jesus doll in our church’s nativity scene with a Funshine Care Bear doll … or when I tried to take a dump on the hood of a taxi cab in Tokyo. That stuff definitely was not for you. Just the good stuff.

  Just the good stuff has always been for you.

  “Success is not final. Failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.”

  - Winston Churchill

  I’m not gonna lie to you people, I got that quote by watching the movie, The Darkest Hour. They displayed it right before the end roll credits. The movie itself was meh, but the quote is damn good. I just hope that it somehow ties into this story or I’m gonna look pret-ty stupid.

  Verixion

  “Is the abomination finally awake?” a gruff voice sounded as Rowen regained consciousness and began to take in his surroundings.

  He was lying on a silk carpet but was unable to see it as a cloud of cool mist hovered over the entire floor, flowing gently through the room.

  The walls, while he couldn’t quite make them out, seemed to be made of gold and decorated with silver sculptures, busts, and reliefs. And the ceiling seemed to sparkle with diamond chandeliers.

  “Sit up!” the voice boomed as Rowen felt a sudden sharp pain in his left calf, as if a venomous snake had just sunk its fangs into his flesh. But no sooner did he begin writhing in agony than did the pain disappear.

  Confused, Rowen slowly adjusted his body so that he knelt in the direction of the voice.

  As he lifted his head toward the voice, he couldn’t help but wince and shield his eyes from the radiating light.

  “Look at me, you vile creature!”

  As the voice roared, Rowen heard a loud crack as if someone had slammed a fist down hard upon a table.

  Rowen again endeavored to look up and this time was able to see an ornate table at chest height. Behind the table sat the owner of the voice. Rowen struggled to adjust to the blinding light, but he saw what appeared to be the muscular, hairy torso of a man with the head of a great crocodile.

  From behind this being’s head, the glaring light beamed in a circular pattern.

  “Have you nothing to say, you filthy louse?” the being thundered.

  Stunned and wincing, Rowen struggled for a reply. “ Who are you?”

  “I am Delemor, you half-witted piece of rotten garbage.”

  “… Where am I?”

  “You are in my chamber. In Verixion.”

  “Verixion?”

  “Know you nothing, you ignorant pile of horse dung?”

  “…”

  “You are in Verixion. You can think of it as a lower level of Heaven where we can look back at your life on Earth and decide whether you will be advancing to Empyrean. And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘I.’”

  “Empyrean?”

  “Yes. Empyrean, you braindead cow’s fart. The highest Heaven. The goal of your existence. What you’ve unwittingly been fighting for entrance into. So tell me, vile creature, what do you think of your effort?”

  “My effort?”

  “Yes, your effort, you scurvy dog. What do you make of your life?”

  “What life?”

  Delemor’s jaw dropped in shock. “Your ignorance never ceases to amaze. The life you just lived, you skid mark. Do you not recall? Perhaps this will jog your feeble memory. Arr, matey, is it treasure ye seek?!” Delemor wailed in a deep, sarcastic voice.

  Suddenly, images from the life Rowen had just lived fluttered through his mind. Treasure … an earthquake … Sera!

  “Oh my God, Sera!” Rowen shrieked. “What happened to Sera? Is she okay?”

  “She’s dead,” Delemor replied, flatly. “Like you.”

  Rowen’s entire b
ody slumped as he fell into a stupor.

  “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. She’s dead. You’re dead. Everybody’s dead. It’s not that big a deal. More important is what comes next. So tell me what you think of your life?”

  Rowen remained fixated on Sera. His heart ached, but if she was in the same situation as he was, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

  Delemor roared again. “I said tell me what you think of your life!”

  Rowen was flustered. “Ummm … I don’t know. It was pretty good, I guess. I think I lived a pretty decent life.”

  “So you think you deserve to ascend to Empyrean?”

  “Ummm … Is Sera there?”

  “Don’t worry about Sera. We’re discussing you!”

  “Well then … ummm … I guess I think I do. I did my best to be a good and loyal son, mate, and lover.”

  Delemor burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s cute. A good and loyal son, mate, and lover. Absolutely adorable. Access to Empyrean granted.”

  “Really?” Rowen replied, timidly.

  “No. Not really. Access denied! You know why?”

  More images of Rowen’s life flashed through his mind. “Was it the pirating? All the fighting, stealing, and killing?”

  “Wrong again, you braindead maggot. It was that stupid pink shirt you wore all the time. The loose-fitting blouse with the lace-up front and ruffled sleeves.”

  Rowen couldn’t believe his ears. “But those were made with the finest silk from China.”

  “You’re only digging yourself a deeper grave. It’s like you were trying to make me hate you. And I really wanted to like you because you engaged in some very entertaining endeavors.”

  “Well, can’t we focus on those?” Rowen pleaded.

  “No. In fact, there were some other atrocities that you committed. Like the way you convinced your captain to change his trademark flag. It took a lot of the fun out of it.”

  “You can’t be serious. His flag was too ridiculous for words.”

  “And your sword-fighting style left a lot to be desired. Just block, block, stab. Block, block, stab. Quite boring, really. ”

  “I was fighting for my life in the most effective way possible.”

  “No, no. You were boring me to tears is what you were doing. Long, drawn-out action-packed fights are where it’s at. I want to hear swords clanging as you duel with your enemy on your pirate ship’s railing. I want to see you swing recklessly on the boom from one side of the ship to the other. And I want to see the surprise and awe in your enemy’s eyes as you stab your dagger into the main sail, zip down it from the crow’s nest to the deck, and then stab that dagger deep into his chest. Have you no sense of showmanship?!”

  “But nobody fought like that.”

  “Didn’t they?” Delemor replied, giving Rowen a condescending you-know-they-did-so-just-admit-it look.

  “No, sir. No one fought like that.”

  “Well, that’s not the point. The point is, your shiny, fluffy pink shirt was an outrageous offense! I mean, really?! A pirate dressed in pink?! Really?!!!”

  “I honestly don’t know what to say … I’m sorry you didn’t like my shirt.”

  “Well, no worries, you retarded little scamp. I’ll give you another chance. We’ll discuss soon, but first you need to wash. With that stink you’ve got all over you, I’m having a hard time not vomiting.”

  A door opened behind Rowen and a cool breeze blew in over the cloud of mist.

  Delemor pointed outside. “The bathing facilities are just on the bank there.”

  Rowen stood up slowly, still unsure of exactly where he was and what was happening, and staggered outside.

  He found the showering facilities a few paces down a stone path on the edge of a body of water. A flowing mist filled the air making it difficult to take in the surroundings, but the water seemed to be vast, like a lake, yet flowing in different directions, or swirling, or maybe both .

  Sitting down on one of three stools, Rowen pushed a lever and warm water began gushing out of a detachable showerhead.

  On a counter below the mirror were three transparent bottles of shimmering, viscous liquid. One crimson, one chocolate, and one cream-colored.

  “Use the cream-colored one!” Delemor shouted from his chamber.

  “What is it?” Rowen called back tentatively.

  “It’s for you to wash with. It’s unicorn urine.”

  “What?!” Rowen shrieked.

  “It’s shampoo, buddy, okay? It’s just shampoo.”

  As Rowen massaged the shampoo into his scalp and rubbed it all over his body, he felt a tingling that started at the surface of his skin and slowly worked its way to the core of his being.

  When he had finally rinsed it all off, he found himself basking in a glow of warmth, levity, and luminance.

  “Care for a drink?” A sultry voice inquired, bringing him back to his senses.

  Holding a pearl goblet filled with a golden beverage was the most beautiful creature Rowen had ever laid eyes on. He was overcome by her flowing blond hair, emerald eyes, teardrop beauty mark, button nose, naughty smile, caramel skin, and voluptuous breasts.

  She was the epitome of Rowen’s ideal woman even though he had never known it. It was as if someone had stolen into his subconscious to design her.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing him the drink. “Enjoy!”

  He remained dumbfounded as he watched her saunter out of view, slowly disappearing into the mist.

  Not surprisingly, the drink was the most delicious thing that had ever passed his lips. As he savored each sip, in an effort to grasp his surroundings, he did his best to peer through the mist .

  In the water, there appeared to be a few resplendent beings who, much like Delemor, seemed to be emitting rays of bright light. Further, there seemed to be iridescent orbs floating here and there as well as islands of various sizes.

  On the shore, next to the showering facility, Rowen noticed a perfectly manicured miniature evergreen tree [1] . Branching out from its thin, zigzag trunk were seven branches, each with a dense cluster of pine needles at the end. The clusters formed a staggered pyramid with the largest ones at the bottom and the smallest one on top.

  Eyes seemed to peer back at Rowen from atop the lowest cluster. As he took a closer look, he realized that the eyes were patterns on the wings of a moth, which promptly took flight out over the water and headed in the direction of one of the luminous beings.

  “Have you rid yourself of that odious stink yet, you filthy dung beetle?” Delemor roared from his chamber.

  “Yes, sir,” Rowen replied, bolting upright.

  “Then bring your filthy pig carcass back in here.”

  Rowen dutifully returned to the chamber and sat obediently on his heels across from Delemor. The light radiating from the divine creature was almost unbearable.

  “So,” Delemor began slowly. “What can I do for you so that you live the right life?”

  “Ummmmm…”

  “What kind of person would you like to be?”

  Rowen’s brow creased as he considered what kind of life he would like to lead. What kind of person he would have to be to earn entrance into Empyrean.

  “Well, I think I would like to be pure of heart,” he ventured.

  “Oh, very interesting,” Delemor replied, almost gleefully.

  “And faithful.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And … and I would like to be a leader. ”

  “Oh. Perhaps you’d like to deliver your people?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But if I could lead others to be pure of heart and faithful too, I think that would be wonderful.”

  “Done, done, and done. It looks like you’ve caught me on a day where I’m particularly generous to wretched abominations.

  “And what of your appearance, boy? What would you like to look like? Based on your first requests, I suppose you’d like to be tall, dark, and handsome?” Delemor leaned over the table such that
Rowen and he were cheek to cheek. Or cheek to side snout as it were. “Perhaps with eyes as blue as mine?”

  For the first time, Rowen was able to catch a clear glimpse of Delemor. Albeit only an eye. A frightful, reptilian eye with a long black slit surrounded by sparkling sapphire blue. Further, welling in the corner of the eye was what looked like a diamond tear.

  Rowen was taken aback by the divine being’s proximity and could only manage an answer once Delemor sat back in his throne. “Well, I suppose that physical appearance isn’t everything … but if being tall, dark, and handsome isn’t too much to ask …”

  Delemor clapped his hands together gleefully. “Oh, no. Not at all. I live to give. And for the finishing touch on our statue of David, how about a beauty mark?”

  “A beauty mark?”

  “Indeed. A distinguished mark for a distinguished human being. Perhaps it will help spread your name among your followers and beyond.”

  “What kind of beauty mark? … Where?”

  “Right above your lovely smile.”

  “That has a nice ring to it.”

  “Indeed it does. Sometimes, I am nothing if not charity incarnate. One can only hope,” Delemor continued, switching to an eerily sinister tone, “that you’ll be able to do the same, hmmm?”

  Rowen felt a shiver run down his spine.

  “Meng Po!” Delemor shouted abruptly. “Let’s have that drink!”

  Before Rowen could grasp the situation, a sweet old lady with a hunchback was at his side holding what appeared to be a cup of tea. She wore coke-bottle glasses which were framed by salt-and-pepper curls dangling out from underneath her lily-white bonnet. “Here you go, sugar,” she said with a pleasant smile.

  “What’s this?” Rowen asked as he received the drink.

  “The negotiations are over!” Delemor barked. “No more questions from you. Drink and be gone!”

  Rowen took a quick glance at the bubbly beverage. It was a thick olive green with silver flakes floating in it and had a pungent aroma which made him gag.

  As Rowen dutifully downed the bitter concoction, Meng Po leaned in close. “Don’t be takin’ no candy from strangers!” she said, unnecessarily loud. “Unless you wanna be eatin’ needles and razor blades.”