The Porcupine's Quill

Scene VIII:
Daughter of Son of Scroll

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APRIL: April sat alone with God in a dark corner talking initially about the correct hem line for one of her age and station, a subject about which God had firm opinions.

NARRATOR: As the evening wore on God’s behaviour became wanton, he snatched up her skirt, muttering uncomplimentary remarks not to be repeated here. Falling from his pockets were post-it reminders of ten million to be slaughtered in a distant province, concocted as he slept, and Leonardo-inspired sketches of airborne torpedos, a prank he meant to play on unsuspecting hordes in the near future. He smiled cheerfully when April refused his kisses, spoke clumsily of the renowned afterlife he alone was capable of insuring.

In a show of affection he took the very tongue from her mouth and reproduced it on her shoes as leather, the tongue down there mouthing complaint about how she was a woman, had come through to so many sad endings from so many unrecognized beginnings, so many streets existing as portals into hell, the times she’d had to tell lovers to go f*u*c*k* themselves, yet had often, had often, often, with dazzling frequency witnessed hair-raising beauty.

God, silent during this speech, was later seen dancing with women owning higher bosoms. For a while he took the mike and crooned a few love ballads for old-time’s sake, mimicking Sinatra, finally leaving the dance hall in the company of bearded disciples all shouting my Lord whither goest we next, it not yet even the shank end of evening?

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