Note from Sheila: I wrote this exercise-story back in 1997 as a college student. I came across it and thought it would be fun to start doing little writing exercises on my Substack. This writing sets a weird, but amusing tone to get this section started. This is the only old exercise I’ll post. Following will be freshly written by me.
The Exercise
My Fiction professor at FMU, Lynn Kostoff, gave the assignment of writing a 1.5-2 page story that included the following details: hamster, empty grocery cart, the smell of strawberries, a pair of false teeth, open window, a green bicycle, a three-legged dog, a sled, insurance agent, two angels, seven ice cubes, a dead fish, a ringing telephone, a cracked globe, a flat tire, water-stained copy of “The Grapes of Wrath”, a pair of glasses.
The Outcome
In the beginning of the end, there was only fifty-four year old Joe and a grocery cart. And Joe was without money, and the grocery cart was empty. Then Joe died.
When he passed on there was no bright light. One moment he was gazing longingly at a can of pork n’ beans and the next he was standing in what appeared to be a sparsely decorated waiting room. There were two uncomfortable looking wooden chairs, a receptionist’s desk, and an abnormally large pearly white door.
However, Joe realized what had happened. He began to reflect on his life: his thirty-five years as an insurance agent, his three marriages, and his first experience with hemorrhoids. He hadn’t reminisced long when a telephone ring jostled him back to the situation at hand. The young woman behind the desk answered it, at the same time catching his attention and directing him to go to the giant door.
Joe slowly neared the monstrous entrance. He turned the knob and pulled. Unlike anything the door implied, it creaked open to what appeared to be a small bedroom. Immediately to the left and pushed up to the corresponding wall was an unmade cot. Uncentered to the right on the back wall was an open window, the breeze coming through causing a globe of the earth on a metal stand to spin around and around. Positioned with its back to the right wall was a simple wooden desk covered in various wrinkled documents. The walls were white and bare except for a framed piece of paper above the desk which read:
This hereby certifies that _____________ is entitled to rule universes, distribute rewards and punishments, ruthlessly intimidate less empowered individuals, and pretty much do anything else he wants. Handwritten in the blank was “GOD.”
In the center of the room, seated on a toilet, eyes nearly closed with forced concentration and a water-stained copy of The Grapes of Wrath in his hands, sat a pudgy, bearded old man wearing a T-shirt, his red trousers down around his ankles, one black boot crushing a helpless pair of glasses.
“Uh, God?” Joe began, startled, and a wee bit embarrassed. But the man smiled, tossed the book to the cot, and pulled up and fastened his pants.
“Goosh to shee yush,” he said. Joe frowned, confused. “Jesh lemme gesh me sheefs.” The man walked over to the desk, and uncovered a glass from which he removed a pair of false teeth. He placed them in his mouth. “Now. That’s better. So you’re dead, huh? Well, I guess now I get to decide whether you’ve been good or bad. Got anything to say in favor of yourself?”
“Um…well, I—”
“Oh nevermind. I don’t feel like thinking about it right now. Let’s just hand out together for a while, do something fun. Hey, let’s sneak out the window, and I’ll show you around.”
“Huh?”
God began to lead a dumbfounded Joe to the window.
“By the way, I’m sorry about you catching me the way you did. You know, there’s nothing like a little Steinbeck to loosen the bowels…” God was saying as his elbow grazed the west coast of North America on the globe, a crack forming in that spot. “Oh heck, I just sank California!” He pushed Joe out the window, which happened to only be a few feet off the ground, and then climbed out himself.
When outside, they walked around a flower-lover’s paradise, and eventually came to a bench where they rested, God speaking the whole time, and Joe slowly getting comfortable enough to make brief replies. As they sat, an animal began to approach them.
“What is that?” Joe asked. God looked.
“Oh, that’s Herberus, the three-legged dog.”
“Three legs? What happened to his fourth?”
“It offended him, so he chewed it off.”
Herberus got closer and closer to God and man. A dead fish dangled out of his damp mouth. When he noticed what it was, Joe slowly raised his hand over his nose, anticipating the stench. God laughed.
“Ho, ho! You silly. This is heaven. Nothing stinks around here.”
Herberus reached God’s feet, and Joe bent down and sniffed.
“Strawberries?” He guessed.
“Yes. I created them on the third day. Their aroma filled my nostrils and I knew that they were good. We all smell like strawberries around here. See for yourself. Sniff my underarm.”
Joe declined. God had a very hairy underarm.
“Instead, they began to walk again, heading towards God’s stables. God seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Joe wasn’t sure what to think. They entered the building. In one stall, a green bicycle lie rusting amongst the straw. In another stall, a car with a flat tire sat unused.
“Those new-fangled devices tear up too easy. Call me old-fashioned, but I like the more simple modes of transportation.” He pointed to a bulky, red sled with guard rails that made it seem more like a sleigh, and eight reindeer in the remaining stalls. “Want to go for a ride? I like to get her out at least once a year.”
Without waiting for an answer, God ushered Joe onto the vehicle, hitched up the reindeer, and grabbed his scarlet riding jacket. Joe watched as God opened up the jacket, filling the inside pockets of each side with seven ice cubes.
“It’s as hot as hell in this thing,” he explained.
Then they were off. To Joe’s surprise, the reindeer picked up speed quickly and began to leave the ground. They circled the earth, getting a close look at the damage God had caused earlier. Joe began to wonder what was to become of him.
God spoke, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one: Two angels walk into a bar—” Joe cleared his throat. “You’ve heard it?”
“Uh, no. I was just wondering. What I mean to say is, well, when are you going to tell me what is going to happen to me?”
God was silent. He directed the sled/sleigh back to the stable and stopped.
“You know Joe, you’re not such a bad guy. I kind of like having you around. You’d make a nice pet!”
So, God turned him into a hamster and they lived happily, eternally after.