WARNING:
Atheism, not to offend anyone though, read it as a humor article, if you still find it offensive, go look up 'Mongolian throat singing" in Google. Sigh
God is Dead.
by deviantkupo.
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
* * *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
“Is he dead?”
“Who is it?”
“Where's my camera?”
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstanding citizen in the form of a drunk medical student staggered onto the scene.
“Ourra th'way... I'm a doctor y'know...” he mumbled, pushing through the crowd. Upon seeing God, most of his insides now more accurately described as his outsides, made him choke back a sob. Even atheists can recognise God.
He gingerly took a few steps forward, beyond the threshold of the crowd. Being as the inner circle was defined by the pool of blood, his going was not easy. He slipped on something and landed face down. The crowd gasped.
He pushed himself up with his arms. “Shokay. I'm okay, folks,” he declared. “He's okay, everybody.”
With that, he placed a hand on God's neck and felt for a pulse. The crowd leaned in as he waited. One should never underestimate the stupidity of crowds.
“My... my god...” said the medical student, standing up, “he's dead!”
“My god!”
“This is terrible!”
“Where's my camera?”
A voice from the back said, “I don't believe you!”
Others in the crowd took up the idea that the medical student was wrong.
“Yeah, what do you know?”
“Who asked you?”
The medical student raised his hands. “Please, everyone, I'm a doctor.”
His equally drunk friend had managed to navigate his way through the door and outside.
“'E's norra doctor! 'E's a student!”
“A student?” the crowd gasped. “What do students know?”
While the two drunk students exchanged insults about whose mother had slept with who, a small man pressed through the crowd. He saw the body (and a lot more besides) and turned to someone next to him.
“Who is it?” he asked. “He looks familiar.”
“It's... it's God.”
“What? Preposterous!” He then suddenly stepped into the circle and removed his coat, throwing it with a flourish into the crowd. It revealed an even smaller man with a traditional priestly dog collar. He subtly brushed a few crumbs from his front and then addressed the crowd.
“As a man of the cloth, I am educated in these matters and I can say that, if this is God, there will be some sign to mark his passing.”
The security guard on the roof wailed as the full implications of what had happened came to him. He threw his head back and wailed, a mixture of anger, sadness, regret and a developing chest infection.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooo onnnooooooooooooooooo,” he wailed.
On the street below, the entire crowd looked up. The guard had fallen over and was lying on the roof, so they saw nothing. After the noise had stopped, they looked at the priest.
A little taken aback, he said, “Oh dear.”
The crowd stood in a respectful silence, all looking at the remains of God scattered across the pavement. There was a quiet banging noise and a second storey window slid open.
“Ha!” a man cried, leaning out. “Ha ha ha!”
The man was “Mad Legs” Morris. He was called “Mad Legs” because he had no legs, so the logic presumably resided in the fact his legs were off somewhere doing something mad. He was leaning out of the window, cackling.
“So, your God is dead! Christianity is over! What's the new state religion gonna be, eh?!” he cried. He was waving a small stick.
The crowd grumbled into life.
“Oh, er, I dunno, hmm.”
“Well, I hadn't thought about that.”
“I'd need to ask her indoors.”
“Some bastard's stolen my camera!”
“Ha!” Mad Legs cackled some more, “I'll tell you what you need! Islam!”
The crowd seemed to like this idea.
“Hmm, sounds good to me.”
“It's well established, should be good.”
“Change is good as a rest!”
“I've got plenty of towels at home.”
“That bastard! He's got it! Look! Hey, you!”
Cars were stopping on the road and the crowd was expanding. Those at the back were asking what was going. By now, people who hadn't even seen the body believed God was dead. A police siren was heard in the distance.
“Whoa whoa whoa whoa!” shouted a man, running up to the crowd. He was carrying a ladder, which leant against the wall and quickly climbed.
“There are far better religions!” he proclaimed, “Such as Hinduism!”
The crowd was less receptive to this idea.
“I dunno, I quite like beef.”
“Seems a bit dodgy to me.”
“Hmm,” pondered the medical student, “which religion offers the most free beer?”
The Hindu on the ladder gaped in disbelief. “Er... religion isn't about beer, it's about...”
“A free drink every holiday!” cried Mad Legs.
The crowd went wild.
“Wh-what?!” cried the Hindu, “Since when was that an Islamic tradition?!”
“Since now, loser!” laughed Mad Legs.
“A free drink every Saturday!” came a voice. There was a man dressed in orange robes, out of breath. He leaned against the lamppost and, when people started looking at him, leapt onto a raised flower bed.
“That's right! A free drink every Saturday! Join Theravada Buddhism today! Good karma and great times!”
A few people started clapping. The Hindu slowly started climbing down the ladder.
“Two drinks every Saturday!” countered Mad Legs.
“Free drinks all night!”
“Free drinks and a blow job!”
The crowd turned to Mad Legs.
“What about the women?”
Mad Legs pondered this for a moment. “Male escorts!”
The crowd cheered and started clapping, drowning out the Buddhists offer of all you can drink any day and personal sex slaves.
The Hindu started walking away, carrying his ladder. He sighed, turned the corner and walked past a Shintoist who was beating a Zen Buddhist with a bacon sandwich. The irony was not lost on him.
He dropped his ladder and headed into a bar. It was all but empty, most people had run outside when they sensed God had just died. One man, however, was sat at the bar. The Hindu sat next to him.
“Rough day?” said the man, sliding a beer to the Hindu.
“Yeah,” he said, looking across at him. “You Christian?”
The man laughed bitterly. “Sort of.”
“Well, not any more.”
They both took a deep drink, the man leaning over the bar to fill up his drink.
They sat in silence for a while, watching ice cubes melt.
“Must be tough, having your God die.”
“Not as bad as having your dad die,” said Jesus, making a grab for some peanuts.
“Oh... I'm sorry.”
“Nah, it's okay. He did what he had to do. This was meant to be freedom, y'know? Religion was messing things up. But... look at it.”
Jesus pointed out of the window. The Hindu looked, seeing people running past. Someone was pushing a wheelbarrow with a Shinto shrine rattling inside. Bottles of vodka were leant against it.
A police car screamed past, followed by a TV van.
“No ambulances,” said Jesus, “funny that.”
“What's going to happen?”
“Probably a few wars, both holy and TV ratings wise. After that, depends who wins.”
The Hindu took a sip. “God meant for this to happen?”
Jesus laughed. “Nah. I told him it would happen, but he wouldn't listen. He trusts too much in his creation. He believed they'd do the right thing.”
“The right thing?"
"Yeah. With no religion, there'd be no war, right? That was the theory, anyway."
The Hindu frowned. "Didn't work, did it?"
"Like I said, too much faith in his creation. Now me," said Jesus, pointing his thumb as his chest, "I know what humanity's all about."
Outside, someone started screaming, “I AM JESUS. I AM THE MESSIAH!”
In the bar, the real Jesus took a swig from a bottle of vodka, poured the rest into his glass and smashed the bottle against the bar.
“Right,” he said, “guess I've gotta go. Try to be nice.”
“To everyone?” said the Hindu.
“Nothing applies everywhere,” said Jesus, with a wry smile. He turned and began walking out of the bar.
"No teachings are absolute!" he cried, waving his crude weapon, "Wisdom lies in drawing the line!"
And with that, he disappeared into the crowd to murder the fake Jesus.
“Been nice talking to you!” shouted the Hindu after him. “Good luck!”
In what counted as the afterlife, Vishnu nudged God.
“Fucked up, didn't you?”
God buried his head in his hands. “Shit.”
Two wandering spirits walked by them, one passing a small amount of money to the other.
“Told you,” said Nietzsche.
troʊ; 
