The Devil’s Malware 14.1

14.1
(We rejoin our hero in a pocket of quantum stasis outside of the space/time continuum that resides somewhere on the Queensboro Bridge.)

I reach back and touch the painting strapped to my backpack again.
I suddenly feel the need to pray.
Out of time.
Out of space.
Out of the universe as we know it.
And I’m scared shitless.
I need to pray.

I don’t want to beg and I don’t want to be delivered.
I just want clarity.
Saul became Paul after getting knocked down by the Lord on the road to Damascus.
Surely I can get some kind help here over Roosevelt Island.

Yet…

I left my Bible back on 3rd Avenue and lost my faith in exclusive divinity somewhere in the Devil’s cosmic loop as I was trying to get off the island of Manhattan.

I still want to pray to something.

But…

If we created God and God created us simultaneously in this infinite universe with infinite possibility where everything is true and nothing is true all at the same time…

Who do I pray to?

So…

I pray to the avatar of my ex-wife taking pictures of me from the yellow callbox on the guardrail of the 59th Street Bridge.

I don’t want to stay here where nothing can touch me or wound me or see me.
I don’t want to stay here where time is immaterial.
I don’t want to stay here where there is no consequence.
I need to get this present home.
I need to get beyond begging.
I need to give this painting to my ex-wife.
I need to move down the bridge and get into Queens.
Give me faith.
Give me clarity.

The Devil’s Malware 14.2

14.2
Snap.

I hear of the click of the woman’s camera shutter again and I’m back on the clock.

Time moving me forward again.
I look down the rest of the bridge.
No Devil. No sound. No tremor. No chaos.
Just people on the bridge with me.

I feel a few drops of rain and realize I need to move quickly to get under cover so that the painting won’t warp or fade.

I leave the callbox and move quickly down the ramp.

The Devil’s Malware 14.3

14.3
The pedestrian side of the ramp is marked by two walking figures, each moving in opposite directions.
I laugh.
Two directions at the same time. Two opposing truths happening in tandem.
I keep moving forward, needing to get this painting under cover to avoid the rain.

(Tune in tomorrow for the next installment…)