The Atheist Vignettes

Atheist Fiction?

The Atheist Vignettes is a collection of associative fiction presented as short stories, news reports, internet exchanges and other formats that loosely tie together the lives of several former members of a long-defunct youth ministry – the Chris†eens. Grown now and gone their separate ways, featured members of the former fundamentalist group make their initial appearance at the start of the book, then are sporadically resurrected amid a wide spread of subject matter that ranges from comic stage-play ditties starring mythic divinities to terrorist musings to cult interactions to personal interviews, all presented in a Biblically significant number of Acts (7) and chapters (40). The book’s author even appears as one of the characters.

This avant garde novella blends theater and narrative with journalistic reporting and even internet chat to make its points. Often highly satirical and amusing while scathingly poking holes in the armor of religious belief, The Atheist Vignettes is, of course, irreverent and sometimes intentionally didactic. This book will appeal most to intellectual non-theists, but anyone can enjoy the train ride, moving from car to car to car to the unexpected conclusion.

Join Jesse, David, Brice, Denver, Ethan, Naomi and Greg, along with Hasaam, Christian Ford Jesus, Judy, McGuff and Skeptickedoff and selected gods and founding fathers in the romp-and-circumstance spiritual outing called The Atheist Vignettes.

The ATHEIST Vignettes

- a novella in seven Acts

by G.K. Ingersoll

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 G.L. Kopp

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Forewarn

I had thought to let this work stand on its own without elucidation, but it is sufficiently unusual in its structure that a foreword or forewarn may be justified to prepare the reader for what may not always be an easy read.

As its title suggests, this novella consists of vignettes - brief stories, scenes or slices of life - that revolve around the theme of religion, faith, belief or the lack thereof. The goal of the author was to make these pieces complete enough to stand on their own yet related enough when taken as a whole to create a composite and compelling story. Since this format could result in cerebral weariness for the reader if overdone, attempting a longer novel seemed ill-advised, and very often the author caught himself slipping out of this mode and into a traditional narrative approach and had to course-correct to maintain vignette integrity. Since a few of the vignettes are dramatizations of actual events, the reader is encouraged to note the Acknowledgements page that closes the book.

The reader also will note that this is a novella in seven ‘Acts’ (making it as strange as Douglas Adam’s five-part Hitchhiker’s Guide trilogy). The Acts serve to organize the vignettes and to legitimize the occasional use of scenes from a play that one of the characters is writing and that hopefully add comic relief while making a point. Acts is a pun on the biblical Book of Acts as well. Debate is a hybrid piece, as are the Prologue and Epilogue to some extent. Including the Prologue, Epilogue, 7 Acts and the Outtakes, there are 40 sections, one each for nightly consumption should the reader find him/herself trapped by a Flood of Biblical proportion.

The treatment and disregard for a serial timeline may leave some readers a bit confused as to who did what when at times. The best approach is to be aware of the Act in which events fall and to watch for pieces of the puzzle along the way, having faith that they will all eventually come together.

There is intended humor in this work, as well as satire and direct criticism of perceived folly, as well as some serious fiction. Hopefully, there is balance.

The novella seeks to answer whether one side or the other can be conclusive in the faith-vs.-reason debate. However, the author quickly lost all control of the story as it evolved to the conclusions found in Epilogue. He only hopes to have made a skeptical point or two along the way.

G.K. Ingersoll,

possibly the author

THE ATHEIST VIGNETTES

CONTENTS

1 Prologue: A Book of ACTS

ACT I: Images of God

2 God (Creation)

3 Jesse (Lamentation)

4 David (Boys)

5 Ethan (Sons of Man)

6 Chris†eens

7 The Divine Dinner Party

8 Brice ("Humanists")

9 Hasaam (Martyrs)

ACT II: (Ex)Communications

10 Press Conference

11 Won't You Be My Village Neighbor?

12 Mom

13 To The Editor

14 JSUS-FM

15 Fatwa’s

16 Internet

ACT III: Suffering the Children

17 Bumper Stickers

18 Hospice

19 Existential Questions

20 Fourth Estate

21 Virus

ACT IV: Creeds

22 The Last Prophet

23 Anthems

24 Cult

25 Sermons

26 A Priest, A Rabbi and an Imam Walk into a Bar…

ACT V: Revelations

27 (Higher) Education

28 Dissonance

29 Signs

30 Disciple

ACT VI: Tribulations

31 Denial

32 Quinton Meets His Maker

33 Debate: Founders, or, Days of Theocracy

ACT VII: Apocalypse

34 Targets!

35 Epilogue: The Playwright

Appendix: Atheist Vignettes – The Outtakes

36 Trapped in an Elevator with a Fundie

37 WGOD-TV

38 Power Points

39 The Legendary Lost Cave of Atheos

40 Game Show!

Acknowledgements

Prologue: A Book of ACTS

Stage Direction: Single spotlight slowly comes up at center on dark stage. Footsteps can be heard. Slowly a man in Elizabethan dress steps into the spotlight, but the steps keep on sounding. He makes an annoyed flinging-arm-behind-him gesture and the footsteps stop. He addresses the audience dramatically, somewhat pompously:

Oh, for a Muse of fire!

[Looks suddenly off-stage as something is said to him.]

That’s tomorrow night?

[Back to audience. Shrugs, then resumes after throat-clearing])

The Atheist Vignettes then…

A comedy these Vignettes may be.

Or a tragedy. [Shrugs.] We shall see.

Or a tragi-comedy of smile and tear.

[Aside.] Worked for Bill Shakespeare.

As Chris†eens, martyrs and atheists dwell

Upon this stage and wrestle well.

As Faith and Reason have their duel,

Each to save you the other’s fool!

In related pieces is this story told.

Disjointed perhaps, but it will unfold.

Time and place do truly lapse.

We call them literary fossil gaps.

But theme is the essence and of most import

In god’s kingdoms or the Supreme Court.

[Off-stage voice: All rise. Gavel sounds. Justice Dunn presiding in the case of God versus The Atheist Vignettes!]

But the jury is out…

Until the lights are out.

So faithful/sinful audience, prepare

For characters then and now, here and there.

Beings, pre-historic and supernatural,

Actors offensive and others who cow.

Offences intended, while others not given

Myth- and dream- and legend-driven.

Spirit, specter, imagined wraith.

Truth or fancy, science or faith?

Is it quest or divine delusion?

Man’s fate a dream…or reasoned conclusion?

Is the answer Jesus or the Prophet or God?

Or Darwin or Mendel’s peas in a pod?

Is knowledge power?

Or is it prayer on the hour?

Catechism or evolution,

Which one is the ultimate solution?

A question eternal this play can’t answer.

Consult your local priest, seer, or necromancer.

The message is what the message may be

For man, and nations, and history.

Of one thing at least there is no doubt:

Humanity, is what this play’s about.

[Gesturing grandly with sweep of his arm side-to-back and slight bow as the stage lights come up. The speaker exits, stage left.]

Writer oblivion?

Judy’s words speared their way into Greg’s concentration as she placed two bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.

Oh, hi, he answered with a start. I didn’t hear you come in. Let me help you.

No, I’ve got it. How’s it going?

Just finishing the Prologue. Again.

If I remember my university lit, the prologue comes at the beginning of the play, not after you’ve finished it.

Just some polish before the play opens.

But it opens this month! The producer may have you crucified on-stage as a prologue. That would be dramatic…and fitting.

I’ve changed the title too.

"You’re kidding, right? Not Days of Theocracy?"

Overwrought and over-used.

We need to tear the pen away from you.

Keyboard.

Whatever.

"The Atheist Vignettes."

What?

"The new title. The Atheist Vignettes."

Hmmm, Judy mused, mentally juggling the words. I like it, she said, giving her blessing as she finished stocking the shelves.

So how was the press conference?

McGuff’s an asshole, she pronounced, crushing the sacks.

Nice objective reporting.

Editorial assessment, she returned. He totally evaded my questions.

Imagine that, her fiancée said facetiously. A politician not answering a reporter’s questions.

He’s not getting away from me that easily.

Poor bastard hasn’t a prayer, Greg said, a playful smirk on his lips.

Act I: IMAGES OF GOD

GOD (Creation)

Stage Direction: The scene opens on a fairly placid garden-like scene. Birds sing, water runs. A lamb and a lion playfully meander across the stage. The sky lightens as a rich voice breaks forth:

God: Okay. Light, heavens, earth, water, plants, animals. What day is it anyhow?

Devil: Six.

(Excitedly:) Let Us make man in our image, according to our likeness!

How about taking a day of rest?

Maybe tomorrow.

(Sighing.) Why make him in our image?

What else have we got?

Human, you mean? (God nods.) Nothing, of course.

If he’s going to have dominion over all this, he should look like us, don’t you think?

Whatever you say…as always.

O come on, Luce. We go back a long time, don’t we?

Pretty much the beginning of time. But who created us and made you the boss?

Let’s not have that argument again. Tell you what, you create the woman.

The what?

(Almost giddy:) Woman. The female of the species.

Why?

Symmetry. It’s the way I work. You should see what’s coming in the future with this Ark idea I have.

Always with the omniscient thing.

It is an advantage. And a curse if I think about it too much. Knowing how everything’s going to end makes it all seem somehow pointless at times. Like it’s all pre-ordained. Makes me just want to not exist sometimes.

Can you do that?

Slough off this immortal coil? Don’t know. Would everything cease to exist? Who knows?

You’re supposed to.

Yes, well, some things are more complicated than others.

You could just will yourself back into existence, couldn’t you?

Out of nothing?

It’s the way we work.

It seems that way, true, but mostly I just move energy around from one form to another.

This omniscience/omnipotence thing seems a bit paradoxical to me.

I knew you’d say that.

Funny. So where’s all this going then?

I try not to look too far ahead. Spoils things. I get bored.

I know. How many worlds is this now?

Who’s counting? Now how about that woman?

Okay. I’ll just do a clay mold and you bring her to life.

That’s blasé. We’re going to make her from Adam’s rib!

Adam?

The first man.

Oh god.

What?

It’s just an expression.

What’s it mean?

Absolutely nothing. Speaking of nothing, we could just create her out of that, just like everything else.

No flair.

(Sighing again.) Listen, why don’t you just go ahead with the woman design, since it seems like you’ve given it lots of thought.

(Cheerfully.) Okay.

I’m just going to hang around the Garden awhile after you’re through and maybe mess with the humans, okay?

Sure. They’re going to have free will.

(Suspiciously.) And that would be…?

Make their own decisions.

You’re going to micro-manage them, aren’t you?

Just a little baiting for a couple thousand years; then it’s the hands-off, Prime-Directive, Star-Trek approach.

(A little irritated.) What?

Sorry. Jumping ahead a few thousand years.

Thought you didn’t like to look too far ahead.

Hey, a day is like a thousand years to me.

Jesus.

What?

Expression again.

Meaning nothing? (Pause as the devil nods.) Sometimes you talk in mysterious ways, Luce.

Sometimes you really piss me off with your creation myths.

(Peeved.) Creation is artistry!

It’s pointless recreation! You know what’s going to happen!

(Impatiently.) We’ve been over this before.

And we will again…and again…and again…for eternity, as you know.

You’re pissing me off now!

Egomaniac!

You go to Hell!

[The sky immediately darkens, lightening flashes and thunder rolls. Then it clears, and Adam shuffles clumsily across the stage, covering his privates with his cupped hands until he is concealed by a waist-high bush. He blinks and turns his head back and forth like a complete idiot. A serpent clings to a tree in the background at center stage. A woman steps onto stage and stands in profile, staring at him, strategically projecting foliage obscuring her hips, and long hair covering her breasts. He stares at her for a moment, then resumes blinking and turning his head idiotically. The serpent looks from one to the other and moans: Oh god… and an off-stage voice answers: What? The two humans react fearfully to the voices, then run off in opposite directions.

JESSE (Lamentation)

Naomi was dead. Powdered and painted in a casket with Jesse looking mournfully on, hands limply clasped before him, not knowing what he should be feeling. He had never really loved her, though he had been married to her. Briefly. Long ago. When matrimony seemed like a cure for loneliness and youthful angst and all that painful post-adolescent immature crap. Ended in less than a year once they realized they had cut themselves off from the rest of the world and incarcerated themselves in a prison of their own making. Stupid mistake. Foolishness of youth. Another lifetime ago. She would have been fifty-seven had she survived six more weeks. What he was feeling, he realized, was guilt. For the marriage. For the divorce. For out-living her.

Pleasant enough to look at in life, no one regarded Naomi as particularly pretty. Not intellectually bright but with a proud measure of common sense, her warm heart was her cherished quality, her strongest attribute, her attractive element. Which made it all the more ironic that it was her heart that failed her. Cardiomyopathy. And complications that included pneumonia. Now she looked almost completely like someone he never knew: Naomi’s remains in the guise of a stout, middle-aged, ghostless body.

Along with David Bartholomew, Brice Delks, Denver Baily and several other mourners milling about, Jesse Stonecypher and Naomi had been members of the same teen church group in their youth. Chris†eens. Devout adolescents all. Now each seemed to keep their respectful distance, estranged by years of separate living and evolving. But evolution was not something they believed in then, believing they had a choice about its reality. Belief was an enormously peculiar human concept, Jesse had concluded, leading to all sorts of sometimes incomprehensible and completely unjustifiable actions.

Will we see you at the funeral tomorrow, Jess? a solemn voice quietly boomed in his ear as only a minister’s could.

Hello, Denver, Jesse answered cordially. No, I don’t think so.

She would have liked that. Jesse wondered if she would. We’re having a prayer meeting after the viewing, the minister said, clearly indicating an invitation.

Pass.

I worry about your soul, Jess.

The pastor was two years Jesse’s junior, as squat and rotund as his father had been behind the pulpit and now aging his way into his father’s form. He had been a skinny rebellious PK – preacher’s kid - as a youth. Jesse recalled lying in front of a black-and-white television with him in their parsonage, curious to see what the brouhaha that was the Beatles was about. The pastor walked into the room just as the pop quartet had taken Ed Sullivan’s stage and was into its first wooooo and mop-shake when he shook his own sparsely-haired head, pronounced the word worldliness and ordered the