O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
deserts of the Dreamtime.
He had not been gone long, when he noticed an array of lights
behind him. As they drew closer, he realized that it was a group of
men with torches. Was he being followed? There was no way anyone
could see him in the darkness. Yet the torches were headed straight
towards him. He decided to stop and see who it could be.
“Well, well, well,” Hopkins said, half-bemused, half-petrified, “I
really didn’t expect to see you guys here.”
“What?” Yeshua said, “You think we’d leave you alone in the
Dreamtime?”
“I guess not. So what’s the deal,” he said, resigning himself to
fate, “You guys came to exterminate me?”
“Exterminate you?” Zarathustra said, “Why would we
exterminate the savior of the human race?”
“Savior?” he said, flushing, “Me? But I thought for sure that I
blew it! I didn’t think my speech or my temple went over so well!”
The prophets laughed.
Hopkins sat down on the sand. “So then everything’s okay.
Humans are still in the race. That wonderful.” He allowed himself a
big smile and put his hands together in prayer for a few seconds.
“Listen, though,” he said at last, “I’m really tired. This whole
thing has been pretty rough on my old bones. You think I could go
home now?”
The prophets looked hesitatingly at each other for a moment.
Mohammed finally spoke for the group.
“Actually, Mr. Hopkins,” he said formally, “We thought you
might care to join us. That is, if you’re not busy. There’s a wonderful
world ahead of you if you like.”
Marcus Lemon Hopkins stretched his feet in the sand. Try as he
might, he could not think of a good reason not to accept.
“Say, is there a Caribbean where we’re headed?” he asked.
“If you like,” Yeshua replied.
“And pretty women?”
“Goddesses,” Moses said.
“And people like the blues?”
“Hell,” Krishna laughed, “Some people
are
blue!”
“All right, then,” Hopkins said at last, “Armageddon outta here!”
And with that, the mighty desert became once again, by definition,
mighty deserted.
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