Gods and Little People

The little village of Ohcra was surrounded by a jungle of lush, flowing plants, with flowers so proud and tall they mimicked the sun as they looked down on the houses. The streets were empty, however, except for the little boy who sat on the curb, his head buried deep between his knees. He was crying, and had been crying since the day before, when his friend was attacked and killed a strange creature. He felt so upset, in fact, that he thought there was no point in going with the rest of the villagers to church. He came to the conclusion that praying was no longer something they had to do to survive, praying had gotten him nowhere before.

"But you have to believe in god before he listens," his grandfather would tell him. "There is no way he is going to listen if he assumes you do not believe."

"I used to believe," the little boy would reply. "But he never helped me."

And it was true. God had never helped the little boy, so he had good reason to carry on believing. Once, the little boy had been praying by the side of the river, and God had cast a terrible shower of rocks to fall upon him, almost killing him.

"He was testing you," the little boy was told. "And you passed."

"He was trying to hurt me," said the little boy, "and he did."

As the church bell chimed twice, the little boy raised his head from his tear-soaked knees and looked up for the first time in a long time. He could see the villagers as they walked calmly from the grand oak doors of the tree, carved single-handedly from one piece of wood by the village carpenter. The little boy used to know the village carpenter. He used to know him very well. It was his father.

That was the first incident that stopped the little boy from believing in god, when the great beast arose and took his father in his almighty jaws, carrying him away and never bringing him back. God had attempted to stop that attack, but had failed. It was like God didn’t really care.

And then, the beast returned. It snatched his mother, and then it snatched his sister and brother. God was not even there to help. All the villagers were in vile fear of the beast, which is why they went to church, they prayed from God to exterminate the beast and rid him forever. It had been one hundred years since they prayers had started, and never had the lord listened. He didn’t care whenever the little boy would return to the place in the long grass where his mother was taken from him.

"Hello," said granddad, to the little boy. The little boy smiled, but only slightly. "You should not dwell on that which has past us."

The little boy was confused. His granddad often spoke like that, and because he was so little he did not really understand.

"Come on," said granddad, holding out his wrinkled old arm. "I’ll take you to the store, and we can buy some ice cream."

The little boy knew that ice cream was his weakness. Whenever a new load was dropped off he would always try and run for a blob that didn’t reach the store. He never got any, though, he was not that lucky.

As the little boy and his granddad reached the store, they saw the great pile of ice cream towering over the tin roof.