The Blind God

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"Don't!" His mouth formed the word. But I was on a roll now. We'd see who would make who do what. I stiffened my thumb into a hard stub with its sharp nail a blade. I held this weapon steady with my other hand. Then I gritted my teeth, and punched God's eye out.
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I poke my finger into my eye, and God winced. This made me smile. I wasn't pleased with Him being God. I disagreed with what He allowed to occur, what He said was so, and who He, unbearably, was. Now I'd inadvertently stumbled onto a way to strike back at high heaven. I poked my finger into my eye a second time, just to check. Sure enough, it worked. God winced again, shifted on His throne and regarded me with alarm.

Now it hurt badly to poke my own eye. But the heady rush of being able to make the Almighty suffer, to have Him in my control, to torture and make Him writhe like a worm on a hook felt even better. It was worth it. By now the pain in my self-injured eye was excruciating. Tears ran down my cheek, and the other eye began watering in sympathy. I wiped them both enough to get another quick peek at God. He had His hand over His own eye. He was rocking forward and backward. Streams of brine ran down His great cheek.

I laughed. Now I was god to God. This was a brave new world of untold possibilities. I could control Him like a puppet. With Him out of the way, I could do, think, and be whatever I wished. God looked at me and shook His great white mane.

"Don't!" His mouth formed the word. But I was on a roll now. We'd see who would make who do what. I stiffened my thumb into a hard stub with its sharp nail a blade. I held this weapon steady with my other hand. Then I gritted my teeth, and punched God's eye out. The pain tore through my head as my injured eye exploded in its socket, beyond recovery or repair. I clutched my face, and cursed the God who allowed such pain--which He might have prevented. How could He be so sadistic? He was supposed to be kind. He was supposed to be powerful. Why didn't He do His job and stop such senseless tragedy?

It was a long time before the tears in my remaining eye slowed enough so I could see God again. He was sobbing, the tears streaming from both His eyes. Then I raged at Him, sitting there weeping--His two uninjured eyes like spring-fed pools. If I could have reached Him, I would have torn Him from His throne and cast Him to the ground, and with my two strong thumbs blinded Him forever. But He was out of my reach. So I did the only thing I could. I clutched my wrist and stabbed with my thumb again, deep into my remaining eye--and screamed.

There was a brief electric flash like a jolting bolt of lightning. Then all was darkness. The fluid from within ran down my cheeks--thicker than tears or blood. Now I would live by feeling alone, not by unwelcome sight. God couldn't see me. He'd be hurting too much. He'd be blinded by tears. He'd be in agony, writhing on His haughty, humbled, almighty, powerless throne. I'd found the way to beat Him, to shut Him out forever. A curtain of darkness had fallen, and I was free at last.

For a long time there was only darkness and agony. I held my ruined face in my hands, and rocked in the blackness to reassure my body it still existed. For hours, days, years I stumbled anf fumbled in this new world of my own creation. I listened. I smelled. I groped. It was an empty relief not to have to deal with God anymore. Regrets were useless. There was certainly no turning back. During that time I bumped into things and injured myself often. I fell into nothingness when it opened unexpectedly before me, and struck the unmerciful bottom when it lashed up to catch me.

There were things in this darkness--things stronger than I--that stank loathsomely, and hissed and wretched horribly. Sometimes they caught me and tore at me. I couldn't protect myself from them. I was their plaything and slave until they lost interest and abandoned me.

But mostly, I was alone. Very much alone.

Centuries passed, or seconds. I crawled yards, or miles, or in circles only a few feet in diameter for all I knew. I slept and woke and dreamed and wandered in utter blackness. Sometimes I still cursed God. But now it was mechanically and without passion--more for the comfort of the sound of my own voice. After all, I had disposed of Him. He was gone. I had a part in His world once, but He had no part in mine. Did He still exist somewhere? If He did, could He see me?

Finally, I lifted my head.

It was then I felt Fingers touch my face. I'd been alone so long that I didn't draw away. They gently soothed my rough sheek, and tenderly traced the hollows that still oozed and ached endlessly. Then the Fingers drew away. I lifted my face after them. "Don't go," I whispered to the night.

In a few moments, the Fingers returned. I felt their strength and purpose, yet they were trembling as they touched me. They found my cheeks, fumbling with my face, and finally located my empty sockets. Suddenly there was firm pressure in the center of both eye sockets. Lighting flashed again. The Fingers drew away, and I could see.

I looked up into the face of God. But He couldn't see me. He had no eyes. He had given them to me.