“Damnit!” he said, thumping the machine in anger. That was his last fifty pence piece. He’d have to stop now, or else go out and withdraw another ten pound note from the bank across the street.
And he didn’t want to do that. His brother worked there- what on earth would he say? Videogames were a waste of time, as far as Michael Dyke was concerned. Their dad agreed.
“Why not spend that time on a game of golf, out in the fresh air, with a friend for company and maybe a lady friend or two?” he’d say, supping from a beer, winking at Willus and nodding suggestively to a girl in their immediate vicinity. He often did so, usually in pubs. It was his idea of a good time in male company.
As one might easily assume by now, his dad was a total idiot.
Willus sighed. He’d been enjoying the game up, until that point. Then all of a sudden it had become rather hard, and difficult, which in no ways resembled a curve despite what those berks who wrote about games for a living appeared to believe.
How could it be a curve, Willus often asked himself, when a curve is smooth? You don’t immediately go from being able to do something to not being able to do something in a curve. The whole point of a curve is that it wasn’t straight!
This annoyed Willus, but he tried not to let it get to him. God had an answer for everything, and some day, he’d explain. Willus had F-
“-what are you doing…?”
“WHAT!? Err. I mean, what?”
“Is that- what are you writing for? What’s the point?”
“I thought I’d, y’know, try it. Can’t be too difficult. I’ve even done illustrations.”
“What about…you know…you know…?”
“What are y- oh. Right”
“I’ll come back to it.”
“Yeah, okay. I wouldn’t, personally, but hey. You’re life.”
“Why wouldn’t you come back to it? What’s wrong about the story so far?”
“You’re seriously asking me what’s wrong about it?”
“I’m not joking, if that’s what you mean. Serious is an option.”
“…Womble, the problem with your story is that at some point, give or take a couple thousand years, some berk is going to read it and genuinely believe that it proves the existence of some almighty being who needs to be thanked a lot via. the medium of a male virgin and entirely unnecessary donations of cash and time. It encourages stupidity.”
“Really? It’s only words.”
“For some people, that’s enough. They call it religion, and to them that makes it something else, something inexplicably important.”
“I can’t for the life of me see why they’d want to do that. In so far as I have a life. It all sounds rather depressing.”
“…munch munch much much…”
“…you didn’t need to eat it, y’know…you only needed to stop. It was a suggestion.”
“Couldn’t risk it.”
“How very noble of you.”
“The last god I met was a right smartarse.”