My godfather

I shoved the twig into the ground, again, again. I made a small hole in the gravel. There was no grass in our back yard, only gravel. Better for the environment, my mom said, no pesticides no fertilizer and no water. Oh well, it made it easier to dig. I wanted my hole to be big enough that I could slip through and find myself in china. Did they have Leslies in China? Probably not. A window opened. “Hey, are you looking for treasure Georgie,” jeered Wallace, one of my sisters many boyfriends, and as thick as a plank. I closed my eyes and continued digging, and turned a deaf ear. I hated being called Georgie, and Georgia, my real name. I am George, I don’t know why, but even though it’s a guy name it’s instinctive.

“Whacha digging for?” giggled Kirsten, my very unidentical twin sister.

My nostrils flared. My branch pounded into the gravel.

“I think,” Wheezed Braden, a red rectangular boy who resembled a human brick, “That she’s digging for a life.”

“Sticks and stones will break my bones...” I muttered to myself. Wait, I thought, stones break bones. that gave me a great idea. I picked up a rock, one of the bigger pieces on our gravel lawn. I rubbed it in my hand back and forth, back and forth. I caught a glimpse of Kirsten’s ass length Barbie blonde hair through the window. I smoothed the stone again. Aimed for the window and threw. The rock ricocheted off the stucco siding pathetically, missing the window by a mile. I sighed, just as well.

I ambled to the down the driveway. I wanted badly to get away from my sister, her stupid friends, who after all weren’t invited by me to come to my house. A chocolate brown curl fell in my face. I didn’t even bother brushing it away.

I paused at the end of the driveway, and wondered where to go. Identical houses stretched for miles, as the crow flies, and longer as the girl walks. I did not want to go anywhere, but I didn’t want to be home either.

I just stared down the road. Kicked some gravel around. It started to rain.  I still looked ahead. I refused to go inside. Down the street I saw a figure coming towards me. No, please, no people. It could be Mrs. Fathom, the jogging fanatic. But the stride looked like it belonged to a male. Mr Just sometimes took his over sized poodle for a walk, but I could see no dog. I just stared down the street.  The rain was so thick, he probably couldn’t see me. Nobody notices me anyway. But the Man got closer. I saw a frizzy beard poking out of his hood. Wait, this was no place for homeless people. He didn’t appear to be drunk though, his strides were full and purposeful. a little to purposeful, he was walking like he wanted to go somewhere, but there is nowhere to go in this neighbourhood except someone’s house.

“Hello, could you tell be where Kirsten Vary is,” The man’s voice was hoarse, steady and in a thick Scottish accent.

H e pulled down his hood. He looked like he was about mom’s age, which meant he had wrinkles like a ninety year old. His hair was streaked with grey, and a his birds nest beard erupted from his mouth. His face was not nicotine stained like a homeless person, in fact if he shaved off his beard he would look as normal as a creep who was looking for my sister could. I don’t know why, but I wanted to find out more about this strange man before I called the police.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “Kirsten is on a five week vacation to china, but I may be able to help you.”

“No, no you won’t, aren’t you some kind of a house sitter.”

Ok, now I was offended, “Excuse me sir, but I am Kirsten’s twin sister, I have a right to know what you wanted to tell her.”

“What! This changes everything.” His beard quivered.

“I would like you to explain please, before I call the cops.”

“Well then, I guess I am your father. What’s your name?”

I stared at him, “George,” I guess his frizzy hair sort of resembled my dark curls, and the shape of our faces where similar. But him, my father? I almost sighed with relief. I wasn’t related completely to Barbie girl Kirsten, or hippie queen mom. Who cares that he looks like a street person, I now had a dad, and he cared enough to find me. Sort of.

“George, that’s a pretty name, even though it’s usually used for boys. I suppose it’s short for Georgia. George is nice though, short and crisp.” he rambled on. “My name is Lenard, would you like to take a walk?”

I looked at him blankly. I really wanted to believe he was my father, but he was still a stranger. Who would notice if I was gone?  That’s what I had a twin for. “Fine, let’s go to the right, mom drives in the other way.”

I almost had to run to keep up with her father’s enormous stride.

“Do many sports,” he laughed.

“I tried a few,” I shrugged, “Except mom thinks that competitive sports are bad for my karma.”

“Hmm sound like Kate hasn’t changed a bit. Nice lawn by the way.”

“Do you still love her?” I asked abrubtly

“Yes, I do, but I’m afraid she doesn’t love me anymore. After I told her what I am. Well I guess she was finished with me.”

“Who are you?” I asked, possibilities soared through my head. A drug offender, a convict, superman.”

He walked a few steps more.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” I almost shouted.

“Sure you’re sure.”

“Stop that, and tell me.

“I am God.”

I froze. The man beside me was either my father, god,  both, or a stone cold crazy street person.

“Let me explain,” he continued brusquely, “I am not a Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, or Greek god. or any of those other  gods you may have heard of. I am Lenard. A god of a new religion.

“Uh huh.”

“You see, every few millennia, it is time for a new crop of religions. New gods replace old gods. But these new gods can only survive if there are people who have faith in them.  I need believers, and I need help.”

“But why me.”

“They say blood is thicker then water,” he shrugged, “I need the help of a heir to survive, or I guess in this case Heiresses, and I guess I sort of wanted to see my daughters.”

“Ha, no you do not want to see Kirsten, she would never believe you.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I want you to prove it.”

“Oh, well,” he stuttered, “I’m not really that powerful, not with lightning bolts and stuff, but here it goes.” he clapped his hands twice. I cringed with anticipation. A cookie fell out of the sky and hit him  on the head. He fumbled and pulled it out of his hair. He handed it to me. I ate it. It was slightly burnt.

“Is that all you can do,” I chewed the cookie.

“Well I can do the same thing with fish, tennis balls, and paper clips.”

I frowned. “This is going to be real hard convincing people to believe in a god that only makes chocolate chip cookies. Can’t you make lightning bolts or cinder blocks come out of the sky.”

“No, It’s up to you to convince people, I’m counting on you George, my daughter.  Well look at the time, I better go.”

sure enough we were at our driveway. I grimaced at the pink stucco and the gravel lawn. Somehow, I would way rather be walking in the rain with my father who I just met, then in the warmth and familiarity of my home.

“Good by George, Good luck.” He pulled his rain hood over his head and trudged away. I thought that gods could just vanish into thin air. It looked like dad was taking the bus. I opened the door and scampered up the stairs.

“Tofu steak is ready Georgia. where were you?”  Called my mother.

I ignored her. I had no intention of dealing with the hippie queen.

I ran up to my room and opened my word processor, the only thing that worked on the beaten up laptop. I bought it for two bucks at a garage sale so beggars can’t be choosers.  I started writing.

Lenard said “There shall be chocolate cookies” and there were chocolate chip cookies.”...

“George, honey, are you ok up there,” called the hippie queen.

I made a grunt that sounded like a yes. Darkness fell around my room. I jumped up to switch on a light and continued with my work.

Thou shall love the cookie as you love yourself

If thou shall hath faith in Lenard thou shall be rewarded with cookies.

Those who sin shall be given no cookies for the rest of eternity....

It was the weak hours in the morning when I finished Lenard’s Bible. I had to make it sound a little more intimidating so I stretched the truth,

Lenard has the power to make anvils fall on the heads of his enemies.

I knew my task was not finished. People had to read this work of art. My mom’s printing station was down stairs. She’s the manager of a vegetarian magazine. I printed off 2000 copies of my bible, enough for the area. While I waited the printer chugged away. I glanced at my mom’s computer. Her magazine, The Organic Vegetarian, web page was open. I added my bible in the bottom corner. Maybe some devout Hippies would find it. I took a stack of magazines out of the printer. They were glossy black with a golden cookie on the front. I put them in a duffle bag, downed a cup of instant coffee, which I nearly choked on, and checked my watch. It was 4:37 in the morning.  I hopped on my bicycle and pedaled into the navy morning.

It became a repetitive motion. Reach in, pull out a magazine, and chuck it into someone’s driveway. I made it to the church. It always left open for homeless people. I snuck in through the door. It was pitch black. I heard some snores. I found the shelves in the backs of the pews. Perfect. If I stuff them in here then the churchies will think it’s some promotional thingy. I made It almost to the back when I felt a hand grasp my shoulder.

“George.” It was my dad. His voice was urgent. “George, I’m so sorry I got you into this, But we have to leave, now.”

I looked up at him. “Why? what are you doing here.”

“I was following you. Protecting you. As I feared, my enemies have associated me with the panflets you’ve been tossing around town. They’ve been trailing us.

“You have enemies? who?”

“I’ll explain in the car, come on.”

I took one look at the car and knew at once why mom fell in love with this strange man. It was a lime green smart car, covered with flowers and peace signs.

“It’s not really my kind of car,” Dad winced, “but It’ll have to do.”

“You stole it?”

“I’m God, I can do whatever I want, get in.”

Before I had a chance to do up my seat belt, the car swerved away from the parking lot.

“You could have chosen a faster car,” I remarked, “this thing doesn’t go above 60.”

“Well, let’s say this one stood out for me, look there they are.”

“Who? Your enemies?”

I heard the revving sound of a motorcycle, and I cringed. What kind of people had my dad upset?”

I slowly turned my head around.  A group of bikers wearing  golden jackets v-lined around the car. I saw no faces, only visors which reflected our smart car. A golden gloved had increased the speed of the bike.

“Who are they?” I hissed, “What do they want?”

“They see you as a threat George.”

“How did all that gibberish about cookies upset them, I mean, really, most of it was fiction.”

“The bible was mostly fiction.” my dad stared ahead.

“I don’t get it dad.”

“They are religious fanatics George. How do you think they feel that the rein of their god is at an end? They joined together to fight the new religions that are cropping up everywhere at the turn of the millennia. They want to finish our Ideas, and hunt down any revolutionists.”

A motorcycle came closer. I read the words “Shredding Saints,” on his jacket. I almost laughed out loud.

“They could have chosen a more intimidating name,” I chuckled.

“George, this is not something to joke about.” my dad warned.

As if to prove his point, a gunshot resonated from a motorcycle. something cracked the back glass.

“Holly crap, they’re armed,” I screeched, “That is so illegal!”

“So are we, open the glove box George, we are not going to be hunted.”

I did. I saw the black of a pistol. In a trance, I  pulled it up to shoot and aimed it out the window. I just couldn’t pinpoint a golden jacket. My finger went numb. I imagined I couldn’t move it, no matter how hard I tried to pull the trigger.

Thud!  something dented the car.

“George, shoot.” Dad yelled.

I heard sirens. I looked in the mirror. A police car screeched beside us. The Shredding Saints had scattered.

A policeman walked out. He was short and stocky. His faced was red, and his eyes squinted at us suspiciously. My dad jumped out of the car.

“Hello, I am Lenard Willow, and this is my Daughter Georgia.” He said in his soothing Scottish accent.

I winced at what could have been my last name. Georgia Willow, ew!

“I am Officer Roger. I would like to ask you a few questions. Do you have a criminal record?”

Before my dad could answer a helicopter kicked up dust as it landed in a farm adjacent to us. A lanky man with long greasy hair, and a pencil sticking out of his mouth like a cigarette walked up to us.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting things?” He asked. Officers Roger’s face bulged with anger, but before he could say anything the man continued.

“You see usually I am doing the traffic watch in the morning, but I sometimes do a little free lancing when I have the opportunity. I got the whole chase on camera, but could I interview you?”

I looked at my dad, curious to see his reaction.

He winked at me. “We’d be delighted.”



We told him the whole story. Our religion, that my dad was god, everything.  When he doubted us, dad made a cookie fall from the sky. On Camera! we gave him a free bible. It actually looked like he believed us in the end.

“So there you have it watchers,” he spoke to the camera, “That was god and his daughter, hunted for their beliefs. Be a supporter. This is a once and a few millennia opportunity. Lenard says free cookies for all believers. Who can turn down an offer like that?”

It was about mid day when Dad drove me home. I yawned in the as the car wobbled up the driveway. I dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten or slept for since before I met my dad. Already, I felt closer to him then my mom, and I was not looking forward to facing her.

“You better go.” I told Lenard from the front step.

“Oh,” he hesitated, “Do you think Kate would want to see me?”

“Definitely not now.” I answered harshly, “But maybe after all this mess is sorted out.”

He nodded his head reluctantly, and hopped back into the car.”

“And shave for your next press conference,” I yelled.

I opened the door, hoping to sneak up to my room again. A mop of blonde beaded hair stuck right at my eye level when I opened the door. Mom’s blue eyes looked at me piercingly and disappointed.

“To the kitchen.” she said briskly, “I know where you’ve been. I watched the news”

My head hung as a meandered at a pace that was not low enough.

“George, you were in a car chase, you missed school, and you’re babbling nonsense on TV, and you missed school. But I don’t care about that. You were with your father.”

“I and if I was,” I looked at her defiantly.

“Georgia, he is very dangerous.”

“Well at least he cares about me. He calls me George, my real name unlike you. He cares about me.”

“Is that why you were in a gun fight. I saw you on TV Georgia. You had a gun in your hands. You were going to shoot. Do you know what that can do to your karma?”

“Look mom. I don’t care about karma, I don’t care about your stupid hippie magazine. I have someone too look up to know. Do you know what it means to have a dad?”

Mom looked at me hurt, “I never left you George, he did, isn’t that enough.”

“But he came back mom,” I was crying now. I turned my back so she couldn’t see. “He came back, and I have to help him.”

I walked up stairs, collapsed on my bed, and fell asleep.



It was midnight when I awoke. I was not tired. I crept downstairs, and turned on the TV. I saw my face. It was the interview of yesterday morning, but the broadcaster cut it short. “That was this, morning. Already this new cookie religion is catching on and dividing the world. I gasped. The filming was in the mall. Braden, Kirsten’s friend was taking on an old man in a wrestling fight. Kirsten was fighting another Mr Just. His Fat poodle nipped at Mrs. Stride’s leg. My Principal took on my English teacher. The mall security was throwing punches at each other. The Eiffel was in the background of the next shot. A man clubbed with a Baggett a terrified tourist with a bagette. “Les biscuit, les biscuit.” He chanted with every stroke. Cookies rained from the heavens.  The TV turned back to the reporters, but they were hitting each other with various pieces of electronic equipment. “The cookie warship is so impractical,” screeched one news anchor.

“How can you turn down free cookies?,”  Yelled the other.

I turned off the TV. How could I have know all this was going to happen. Just a little magazine had split the world. I never could have expected anyone seriously believe all that about cookies.  I sighed, and stared at the blank TV. This was out of my control now.

“George?” It was Kirsten.

“Huh, what?” I woke up from my trance. Kirsten seemed more jumpy then usual. Her hands were shaking. “You sure caused allot of trouble didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Well, yeah. I talked to dad.” She rubbed her nose.

“ you did?”

“Yeah, and I believe you George. At first I was like, woah, my sister is crazy, but after talking to dad, I began to believe you. That’s what twins are for right?”

I shrugged, “I guess, but-” I remembered Kirsten fighting in the mall. Would she really do that for me?

“Something happened after though, these guys came in golden jackets and stuff.”

“The shredding saints,” I moaned.

“Well yeah, anyway, They came and abducted dad. Let’s go. We have to save him.” She dangled moms keys in front of me. “To the bat mobile.”

Adrenaline raced through me. I ran through the door after Kirsten. She disappeared into the night. I looked around desperately. Mom’s car was gone.

A hand clamped over my mouth. A golden gloved hand.

“Gotter” It was a gruff voice. Blackness was tied around my eyes. My arms and my legs were. I felt rough hands grab me, “Putter in the car,” The shredding saint commanded.

“Where’s Kirsten,” I managed to yell. My mouth was bound.

“Right her sis,” came her voice, rotten apple sweet. “Do you have any idea how hard it is having a twin?”

Hell yes, I thought.

“And when your twin is ruining your reputation, it is very hard.”

“You lied,” came my muffled voice.

“And gullible is on the roof, Hun,” she sneered. “Plus you were becoming more famous for my liking. If I’m the only twin, then I don’t have to worry about little Georgie outplaying me.”

Wait a second, Only twin? She couldn’t kill me. I was her sister.

“Well,” her voice said, “I’m sure these kind gentlemen will take care of you. In the meantime, I would like a nice long sleep.”



The car motored along. I wondered where Dad was. he seemed like the only person left in the world that knew about me. That cared whether I lived or died. I only met him yesterday, but I trusted him more than anyone alive in this world. The car stopped. My blindfold was removed.  We were in a parking lot of a factory that was deserted for the night. A flashing neon sign read, “Choco’s cookie factory.” What were they going to do to me? Where was Dad? Where was god?” I did something I had never done to any other god before. I prayed to Dad. I prayed silently that he would come up with the strength to save me. “My time is not up yet,” I mouthed. “Please dad, I love you.”

I was dragged by the shoulders through the doors. The only thing that illuminated the factory was a flashlight reflecting off of all the Shredding Saint’s gilded jackets.

We walked up several flights of stairs. I wondered where they were taking me. “Look down,” a gang member coarsely instructed me. I did. Down below was a churning vat of cookie dough. Chocolate chip cookie dough. 

“I am not going to be mysterious.” The Shredding saint said. “I push you in, I press this button, and you become a million chocolate chip cookies that Coco will ship out tomorrow. This is called Cookification” I couldn’t help it. I whimpered. “You are a bunch of religious fanatics,” I shouted. “I didn’t do anything to you or your god. Can’t you just leave me and my dad alone?” Two men picked me up. I tried to kick them, but it was no use.  I saw a stream of sunlight through the window. It shown on the cookie vat. This must be some sort of a sick dream. A group of people gathered bellow. I recognized mom. She pushed people out of the way. She tried to save me. I guess she had forgiven me. She loved me after all.

The saints pulled out their guns. Mom backed away.  I saw tears in her eyes. Where was dad?”

“Georgia Vary, a young supporter of Cookianity, a new religion. Is being persecuted by her beliefs by a group of rouge Christians who dub themselves the Shredding saints...” It was the free lance reporter from yesterday. Felt the grip of the Saints break loose, and I fell of the plank into the vat.

That was when it rained cookies.  I closed my eyes and sighed. At least dad tried. I didn’t think the cookies were going to stop the saints. The cookie dough started to churn. I tried to stay aloft, but soon I would drown. I picked up a cookie and ate it. It tasted so sweet.

I heard a thud. A yelp. Then a crash. The entire bridge collapsed, sending all of the shredding saints 100 feet to the concrete floor, dead as a doorknob. The dough stopped churning, and many hands lifted me out of the vat. I was held aloft. Surrounded by cheering.

“Did you see that people, a true miracle. An anvil fell from the sky and crushed them. The mighty hand of Lenard prevails. Long live Lenard, long live George our savoir.”

“Long live George,”  the crowd chanted.

I heard a familiar voice, “I’ll take it from here.” The crowd parted as my dad walked towards me with my mom too. They carried me to the car like I was a little kid again.

My dad turned around and looked at me. He had shaved off his beard. “I got your prayer.”

“I know,” I grinned. I licked some cookie dough off my fingers.

“You would have had more influence if you died” Dad Joked.

Mom punched him, “honey, this is so not the time.”

I looked at both of them, “Are you guys going to be together again?” My voice was only a bit too hopeful.”

“I think so.” My mom beamed at dad. “But I’m staying a Buddhist.”

“You do that.” My dad kissed her.

I groaned.

Since then, I pretty much lived happily ever after. My parents married that year.  Kirsten  was grounded for six months, and then sent to a new convent for Cookianty on some island in south america  There were no more fights about the new religion after Dad’s miracle was broadcasted around the world. And thanks to my version of our bible on my mom’s site, we collected millions of dollars in advertising money.  Our family opened a bakery in France that sold what critics called “Heavenly chocolate chip cookies.” The downside was that everything from my underpants to my erasers were being sold on

e-bay as religious relics. But worse things can happen when you’re the daughter of God, and I should know.