Layers to Taylor

by Timothy

"Taylor, Taylor," I thought. Man, he would make this ride tolerable.

"Stop staring at me yo..." I stopped myself in mid-sentence and tried to forget the wided eyed expression of those around me. I hung on to the safety bar of the subway til my knuckles turned white. "What a way to enter city," I thought as the car kept stopping and going. Not to mention those jurking motions.

When the car did pull into the station everybody shoved each other as they got out. "Animals," I thought.

"Taylor, Taylor your so cool. Can't you come down from your mighty mountain?" I stopped walking. Many people slammed into me. A few cursed me. I just wanted to stand on a bench and say, "O great Taylor more powerful than the four kings of heaven. Hear the prayer of your servant and release me from this hell. Let my eyes feast upon your radiance."

I then with the rest of the mad dogs, the mindless throng, walked on.

One moron with a long face, wearing a faded blue wind-braker gave me a stare with his eyes. There was hatred in them. Filled with anger toward a judgemental insect, I said, "Get your fool face away from here or I swear I'll bite it off like a dog." So I made a barking sound. He just turned and went away.

I tried to block the distorted voices of fools who voiced their mindless opinions about everything. My own baked mind had just enough gray cells floating around to get me from one place to another.

Herds of people with those increasingly annoying ramblings kept cutting into my nerves.

For a brief moment I heard, or what iIthought was the "Ode To Joy," it was rather airy and full of echoes. I tried humming to the addictive tune, "Da-da-daaaada-dada-daaaaaaa-da-daaaa."

As I walked up the worn and urine smelling brick stairway out into the light I heard that tune again.

"Hey there little guy," said a loud deep rumbling voice.

I looked around with excitement growing in my hurting being. I say excitement for the voice was sweet and God like.

Oh my God!" I screamed in the square holding my head with my hands. Leaning against an office building was him! With arms folded and with a cocky smile of confidence was the great God Taylor. He wore his devine Khaki shorts with side-cargo pockets. A devine gray tee-shirt. And his illness curing gold neck chain.

The swarming masses ran around and from his huge sandaled feet. I ran pushing fools out of my as I made my way across the street to the giant foot. I kissed the tip of the big toe which was ten times the width of my head. Looking up at the great powerful figure, "You came. You heard my prayer." I then wept.

Wiping the tears from my eyes I saw office workers peering out their windows looking up at our God Taylor.

A huge hand came down from many stories. "COME AND CLIMB ON. I BRING YOU TO PARADISE," thundered Taylor's giant voice which rocked the very foundations of the surrounding buildings.

Full of joy I sat down on the warm skin of the devine hand as I was lifted up. He then deposited me in one of his side cargo-pockets. Inside, there was a group of people making merry. We sang. We danced. We drank the nectar of his devine world where soon I and the others would join.

In the devine pocket was lint. I picked it up and filled my own pockets with this-this what I considered gold. A gold cause it belonged to our God Taylor.

When the devine cargo-pocket opened up frsh spring like air rushed in. We all knealt down in thanksgiving.

One by one Taylor's huge beautiful fingers came and pulled us out. I waved to each person who was lifted out of the pocket and up into the light.

When Taylor's glorious fingers returned I hoped it was for me. When I saw them coming down toward a middle-aged woman, I went up to her and kissed her. "Ascend my dear. Ascend with joy!" She smiled at me. I waved. And kept waving as she ascended up and up and finally out of the pocket.

I closed my eyes waiting for my turn. My turn. My turn. "Where is my turn?" I thought with some sadness after a space of time when the fingers did not come for me. When I opened my eyes. And I wished I hadn't, many people stared at me with fear and disguest.

"Stop pulling on my pocket," said a teen with khaki shorts with side-cargo pockets. I looked down. My hand was pulling on the pocket. I pulled my hand back.

I fell to my knees in dispair. I lifted my arms out to the people, "I thought God taylor was taking me to heaven."

"You're a whack-job," said the teen.

Soon security personel came and took me away. Away from my God that I never saw again.

THE END--added 10/21/06