Gods and Writers

Miles Kohl tapped his pen on the desk, in frustration. He hated it when he had a story idea, but the words did not flow on to the page as fast as his mind raced.

“I know what I want to say,” he said to no one, ‘I just can’t figure out how to put it on to paper.”

He frowned looking at the keyboard and the screen.  Slowly tapping one of the keys as he thought about what to write next with a huff of annoyance began to type again.

“So, Nick,” Matthew said with dripping with sarcasm, “WHY are you here?”

Nick turned and smiled, “It is good that you should ask.  I am sorry to say that you are a clerical error.”

Matthew looked at the blonde man who returned his gaze with an emotionless gaze from his silver-blue eyes.  “Excuse me,” Matthew said, “clerical error?”

Nick shrugged, “Exactly.  And those of us in the spiritual collections business want to extend our heartfelt sympathy for your inconvenience.”

Matthew’s eyes narrowed, “Clerical error? Excuse me, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

Nick closed his eyes in frustration.  Something had told him that he would have to explain this one.  He took a breath and went on, “Well, you see. You are supposed to be dead right now.”

Matthew just turned and looked forward, his mind contemplating what he had just been told.  


“Right,” Nick replied, “Living impaired, having assumed room temperature, pushing up daisies…”

Matthew looked at him, his eyes filled with anger, “I know what dead means!  What I want to know is why and what a clerical error has to do with it!”

“I am getting to that.  Your continued patience is important to all of us at Spiritual Collections…”

Nick stopped talking for a second and then sighed. “Look I am going to stop with the corporate line for a second.  We fucked up.”

Matthew looked at him in a mix of anger and surprise, “Fucked up?”


“Care to elaborate?”

Kohl stopped typing and groaned.  “This is going nowhere.” He pushed his chair back, “I need a break.”  He grabbed his coffee cup and stormed off to the kitchen.

Kohl grabbed the pot and groaned. ‘Empty” He set his cup down and began to grab the filters and the coffee.  While he prepared another pot his mind began to wander back to his story.  

“So how did they fuck up?” he said aloud.

“Not sure yet.” A voice in the back of his head replied.

“Then what happens next?”

“What would a fuck up as far as a grim reaper be?”

“I don’t know,” Miles replied, “it is a spiritual collection agent. And why am I arguing with myself?”

“Why are you asking yourself why you are arguing with yourself?

Miles shrugged, “Great, I am going nuts.”

He sighed and reached for the coffee pot and refilled his cup.  He huffed and turned to walk back to his computer. Sitting down he cracked his knuckles and started typing again.

Copyright 2014-2021 Kohl Media Solutions. All Rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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