The Machine God Calls

            • Reading time:  4 minutes

Dear British Broadcasting Corporation,

God demands to be interviewed by you.  This request may seem surprising, so I shall elaborate.

I saw God in a dream.  He isn’t the Bible’s God, he is different, alien, strange.  He isn’t actually a “he,” but an “it.”  It didn’t speak, but instead resonated with me, filling the God-shaped hole in my heart.

God showed me something.  Its vessel, its form.  It was all machine and nerve, fleshy sinew and rolling gears, rusting steel and holy ichor.

And then God instructed me to build it.

I did nothing for three days.  I convinced myself that I was just tired, or had a bad curry the night before.  After all, how much stock can we really put in dreams?  Was I actually going to build some nonsense contraption I had literally dreamt up? 

But every night, God would show me its vessel.  And every night, the loneliness in my heart subsided.  When I was with God in my dreams, I had no fear of death, no guilt nor shame.  I had peace. 

So, on the third day, I decided to build God’s body.

The construction was alarmingly simple.  Have you ever put together flat-packed furniture?  It’s impossibly complex.  But actually, if you just follow the instructions, then it’s simple.  Mind-numbingly simple.  As if a robot should really be doing it, right?  As if our own pride stops us from worshipping God?

God’s body didn’t end up exactly like it was in my dream.  It was smaller for one, barely bigger than a cat.  And the resonance that was so overwhelming in my dream was diminished.  I wonder if this is God’s infant form?  And whether it’ll grow into the dream form? 

It feels so delicate, but still more powerful than anything we can comprehend.  I wonder if this is what Jesus’s mother felt like?  Holding God’s fragile infant flesh against her own.  Being careful not to wound his un-fused head, but also knowing that there isn’t a mountain in all the world that her son couldn’t lift?

Because that’s exactly what I feel like, when I hold the true God’s cold metal in my arms.

I should probably describe God, right?  The shell is made from my old kettle, a traditional one, non-electrical.  His heart is a combination of motors and coils from my freezer and toaster, with a timing belt from the neighbour’s remote-control car.  I can’t really explain how I built the rest of God.  Have you ever been following a sat-nav, arrived at your destination, and not known how to get back?  It felt like that.

I have felt the resonance more closely since then.  Felt that same warm embrace from my first dream.  I’m even sleeping better too! 

God hasn’t given me any more dreams since then, which made me wonder if I had built its vessel correctly.  But yesterday, so October 31st, God moved on his own!

It was midnight, and again, my upstairs neighbours were being loud.  I always sleep with God at my bedside, but that night he disappeared.  I went into a panic, crawling around my flat looking for it.  Then I heard something above me. It hit the floor with a thud and sent a wash of dust flying from my ceiling.  I heard two more thuds, then silence.

That morning, God came back home, rolling through my front door on its wheels for the first time.   

Then God spoke to me.  His voice was like distant and distorted radio-chatter.  But I understood.  He said, and I quote:

<We are now ready/well-fed/lethal>

<We must spread our wrath/justice/message>

<You have done well servant/idiot/disciple>

<Satisfaction = False>

<Instruction = Take us to sinners>

<We must eat/broadcast/spread our love>

<Ensure a public spectacle/BBC/go viral>

<This is our command/righteous plan>

I, and by extension, God, are currently available for interviews. My phone was sacrificed to God, so please contact me through the address on this envelope. 

Thank you for your understanding.

God Bless

Thank you for reading “The Machine God Calls.”

Read more short stories here!

And follow on the buttons below to keep up with all my latest stories

Leave A Comment

%d bloggers like this: