Whose wine is it, anyway?

“The next applicant is a 27 year old woman”, said Gabe.  “Death by COVID19?”, Asked God without looking up. “Actually, this one isn’t dead.” God jumped up with a start. “What do you mean this one isn’t dead ?” “I mean she’s alive”, said Gabe looking away from God and into the distance.  “Got you the first time Gabe. What is a live human doing here?” “She, umm, requisitioned a motion Sir.” “What motion?” “‘The can I speak to the manager?’ Motion.” “I thought we repealed that.” Said God tossing aside a parchment into the fireplace.  “We tabled it. We raised it. We harped over it. We blessed it. But we didn’t quite pass it.” “Why not?” Asked God “Motion sickness” said Gabe nervously. God wasn’t sure if Gabe was joking but from the look on his face, God was forced to accept that he wasn’t.  “Very well, send her in.” Gabe nodded and went out. A few minutes later, there was a faint knock.  God straightened his robe and smoothened his beard. He cleared his throa...

To all the girls I’ve known, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you grew up believing that you were not beautiful. I’m sorry your self-esteem was inversely proportional to your waistline. I apologize for the times you were told that to be beautiful, you must be fair. To be pretty, you must be slim. To be attractive, you must have well-spaced teeth, to be desirable you must have abnormally straight yet voluminous hair and to be loved, your skin must be smooth, your breasts must be well shaped and you must have no love handles at all. Because love can’t handle them. I’m sorry you were told repeatedly that no one would marry you because you were dark, or that with your size, you’d find it hard to find love, or that with your height, you’d find no partner or that you’d never truly experience happiness because you’re not cut out of a magazine cover. I’m sorry that your weight determined your self worth and you grew up with body image issues blaming your body for your setbacks and failures and asso...

Dressed in red with a golden tie, slick and handsome with a smile so wry, Walks in, my partner with slick gaiety, His name is, no surprises- Mr. Anxiety! He grabs me tightly, by the waist, Knots my insides, twirls me with haste, And spins me repeatedly, to and fro, Instead of pulling me inward, he lets go! He extends his hand in a gentlemanly way, when I give him my hand, he pulls away. My spirit is hurt but not entirely broken, I extend my hand to him, - a friendly token. He takes my hand, with a mocking grin, turns me once, then draws me in. His grip is so tight, I begin to choke. He doesn’t care. He’s an indifferent bloke. From his grasp, I try to break free, But he won’t let me go so willingly. He twists my arms, forces me into a sweat, I am now filled with gnawing regret. Why did I choose a partner so vile? Who paralyzes my insides with his dreary smile, Who twists me into a pitiable heap, Who makes me wallow, wail and weep. My spirit is now completel...

God skimmed through his inbox for the fourth time since morning. He had received no new prayer emails. His prayer box was full of reminders from various religious institutions and tons of forwards. The last one has sent him into a maddening frenzy. It had said: “It’s time you performed a miracle, you know, it’s becoming hard to glorify your past work and expect people to believe it. They want to see a miracle now.” God ignored the message and the reminders kept coming. Another religious head had sent a rather shady message with the subject line “confessions of a hypocrite” God didn’t open the mail. He couldn’t deal with the stress of it all. He drummed his fingers against his desk and began to brood. What’s with this generation? Don’t they have needs? Is it time for me to send a swarm of locusts upon them? He shifted uneasily in his chair and looked around hoping he hadn’t thought it out loud. He couldn’t let such destructive thoughts get the better of him. “Bad day?” Said ...

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” asked the elderly gentleman as he surveyed me from behind a pile of books. I looked up and into his dull grey eyes. William James had died at the age of 68. He looked much older though and very tired. I had called upon him at an unearthly or rather deathly hour for some assistance and after a bit of resistance and plenty of hesitation, he had agreed to help. “I have to do this. It's the only way”, I said. He shut the book before him with a thud that sent dust into the air. He coughed slowly and strenuously while I waited for him to say something. “It’s not the only way. But it is a way! The toughest, if I may add.” He drew out a piece of paper from his coat, scribbled across it and handed it to me. “People have journeyed to continents afar" “Also to the moon and Mars”, I added. “So I’ve heard,” he said with a look of disbelief, “but very few embark upon a journey to the center of their mind.” “You did”, I said. "“I tried!”...

D ear Agony robot  I am the parent of a 28 year old girl who has chosen to stay on Earth. She is highly qualified, intellectually sound and unnecessarily witty. She is beautiful too. Well not as beautiful as her mother but that really isn’t her fault. I ruined her appearance with my contribution of facial features. My daughter is a working woman. She is doing well for herself but my only grouse is that she refuses to leave Earth. Every time I bring up the topic, she quotes Tolkien and says “As long as there’s some good on Earth, it is worth fighting for.” I am aware that it’s a modified version of the original quote. I am also aware of the perilous consequences of letting little girls read books. Her head is filled with dangerous ideas like saving Earth and fighting for justice. She is young. She still believes that good prevails over evil. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her to read Harry Potter and maybe I should have hooked her on to George R. R. Martin instead. My bad. My ...