They Met God
By Madilyn Eberstein
Skkt skkt. A pair of dusty cowboy boots thudded onto the saloon’s sand-sprinkled porch. The sun-bleached planks had begun to rot, and they warped and flexed beneath the young agent’s feet. It was The End of Times, and behind the stranger, a post-apocalyptic desert succumbed to a blistering, late-summer sun, rippling its burnt orange crust and threatening any other survivors left to wander in the fallout.
After a cautious look around, Ridge ducked their head beneath the door frame and slipped into the building. It was dim inside, the parlor illuminated only by a few dusty sunbeams and the oil lamp burning at the end of the bar. An old man leaned against the cabinetry.
“Hola, extraño,” he called out from the shadows. “¿Hablas español?”
“Nah, not much.” Ridge gave him a half-hearted smirk. “With the war and all, I’m afraid I ran out of time to learn.”
The bartender chuckled and poured two glasses from what looked like the world’s last remaining bottle of whiskey. Without a second thought, Ridge downed theirs and peered back up at her companion through their brow. They did not feel so playful anymore.
“I’m looking for someone, actually.”
“Yeah? In this Godless wasteland?”
“Is that what you think?” There was a moment of silence before Ridge spoke again. “I met God,” they brooded over their empty glass. “She squirts.”
Squinting, the bartender double checked his keep. Yep. Still empty. His gaze met Ridge’s again and, with a knowing nod, he pointed them towards the shadowy beaded doorway at his backside.
Dust sprinkled the dingy floor of the back room as Ridge stepped through the curtain. This room, too, looked empty, except for a dark, round figure sitting in the far corner. Ridge turned around to see the old bartender’s face poking through the bead wall, give a wink, and recede into the ballroom.
There she was: God. For the first time in years, the two were together again.
She sauntered over to where Ridge was standing and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. She was strong, solid, yet delicate in an indescribable way. Her curvy frame was carried by long, slim legs tucked into white block heel Go Go boots, and the rest of her supple, chocolatey skin was clad in a hard candy shell. She was the Green M&M.
“You found me,” she cooed at last. She was so close, Ridge could almost taste her. “It’s been too long.”
“Don’t toy with me,” Ridge retorted. “Why did you do this?”
“Do what?” God cackled mockingly. Outside, the heat had grown uninhabitable. A lizard walking by paused to put on its sunhat and glasses. A cactus tore into its own stomach, drinking the water in a masturbatory act of filatio.
“You know what.”
“YOU LEFT ME!” She shouted. Tears streamed down her candy face, streaking the green food coloring. “Someone had to pay.”
Still crying and lost in Ridge’s presence, God bowed her head in shame. When she looked back up, Ridge held a gun pointed at her face and coolly cocked it.
By now, the heat had become unbearable indoors as well, and God’s stream of brown, runny liquid had begun to drip onto the floorboards. “Please…” she begged, mere moments before Ridge pulled the trigger.
* * *
Years later, Ridge is reclining on a sunny Bahamas shore. Margarita in hand, they close their eyes and listen to the steady lapping of waves onto the sand. Beside them is a half-eaten bag of...Skittles.
Yes, Ridge had quite lost their taste for chocolate since that day at the saloon, though, at times, they still like to replay its events in their mind. It was the day the Green M&M ceased to exist, the day the world changed for the better, and the day they saw God squirt one last time.