A Problem

“Is there a problem here?”

“I just don’t know what to do. The world’s gone mad.” Judge Miller sat with that dejected look on his face, the one he got after a few rounds with the whiskey bottle.

“Not much you can do by yourself. Everyone’s gone off the rails it seems.” I found a chair, pulled it beside him, sat down. “You could always take the earth by the edges and shake the wicked out of it.”

That comment got the first laugh from him I’d heard in months.

“Good one, Jones. I love that image. I’ll just pick up the Arctic then the Antarctic like a sheet. Then I’ll flip it around a few times, shake the bejesus out of everyone, and put it back in place. Put the East as far from the West as I can. Then separate the North from the South. Finally I’ll lay that sheet back down over the globe.”

We chuckled a bit, then laughed long and loud, suddenly heard a sharp rap on the door. The bailiff stuck his head in.

“Is there a problem here? Court’s in session, judge.”

Judge Miller shot that man a look, the one he gave men when they were sentenced to life in prison. “Hold your horses. We’re coming. Shut that door, Osborne.”

The door slammed shut.

“Why don’t we just kill them all and let God sort it out?” I spit out my true feelings.

“Ha! Spoken like a true cynic.”

The silence in the room floated down upon us as that mythical sheet. For a few moments we didn’t look at each other.

Then finally the judge spoke. “Nah, Jones, we have to let them sweat. Just a bit. So let’s go watch.”



W/C 290