Phil Reads His Book …

The roast was going well.

Everyone was dressed well and having a good time roasting Phil, the humble and devoted civic leader.

Person after person got up and talked about the good things Phil did for his community. He raised money. He helped kids. He improved infrastructure. He ran a business. He had a great red-headed wife with curly hair who boasted a cool Tat of the symbol “Teth” between her shoulder blades, and in THIS universe she was straight and actually loved Phil a lot and they both had a lot of great sex. Way more than the average for married couples.

It was Phil as he always dreamed he would be: a good man with a good family including the hot red head and smart kids. Kids that played musical instruments. Kids that were all ready to be Doctors, Entrepreneurs and Movie Stars.

The last speaker got up and smiled. He handed Phil a gift to be opened later – alone. The events of the evening concluded and Phil and Cassie went home to their perfect children, perfect lives and perfect sex.

He woke up later that night and opened the gift.

After unwrapping it, he found it was a book with a post-it note on it telling him to read the last chapter.

Phil, was taken aback. In it was the speech he gave just an hour before.

He was puzzled. He just made it up on the fly. He wrote NOTHING down. But there was no doubt, the scene was a script of his life to this very moment.

He flipped to the part where he was was at the moment in the book. He said “What the fuck?” and turned the page.

The page started with Phil’s question:

“What the fuck?” Said Phil. 

And then he read the last paragraph.

The aneurysm popped and Phil dropped the book and slumped onto the table. It was the end. He realized he didn’t exist at all and he was all just a fiction – until someone else helped create him … only then could he create himself … only then … with the love of others could he truly exist … 

 

 

Phil Meets Grasshopper

Phil was crossing a field of grass on one variation of the planet Earth.

On the ground lay a grasshopper. It was covered in ants and it was writhing in a last ditch effort to escape the biting mayhem.

Phil paused and beheld the suffering grasshopper and the serious, diligent ants.

“My friend, if it were not for soul-wrenching suffering life would be so, so boring! If we had not such destructive agony, why even get out of bed? Comfort is such a banal torture of  intoxication.”

Phil walked on pondering the next time he would be eaten by ants, and in what lifetime as well and how they would wrench away any sense of self-control and freedom he would have in said lifetime, in said timeline, in said universe, in said multiverse.

He paused after facing it as much as he could imagine.

Phil walked over to the grasshopper-ant feeding frenzy and stomped his foot on the lot of it ending the suffering of his vegan friend.

“Illegitimi non carborundum grasshopper.”