The Drunken Prophet

Sarah’s apartment was certainly different to my own. The fact that that it existed in a defined Euclidean space was one point; but beyond that, I got the distinct impression that the apartment was the site of a true cold war. A figurative line divided one well-cleaned and quite minimalist half from the other half with a pile of waste bags lying in the corner, strewn electronics, and an extensive stack of empty beer bottles. It’s an iron curtain made entirely of beer bottles….

While I was taking in the sight, Sarah interrupted my train of thought.

“I forgot to ask earlier – what was your name?”

I paused for a moment before responding. That was quite literally the first time anyone had asked for my name in a casual conversation through my entire life. Outside of rather stressful discussions with civil servants where I had to explain away a suspicious eighteen-year gap in my records (and being asked for ID), I hadn’t ever truly conversed with anyone enough to get the point of them asking for my name. Consequently, the feeling of being asked that question which seemed so ubiquitous in the beginning of human relations certainly wasn’t unpleasant.

“My name is Elysia.”

Sarah raised her eyebrow slightly at that.

“That’s quite an unusual name. Were you born in North Meryka?”

“I was. My father simply has a bit of an ironic naming sense.”

Sarah gave a subtly sympathetic smile in response and led me to a small table on her side of the bottle-based iron curtain. While I took a seat, she then opened a cabinet in which every shelf was packed with various bottles of wine. As she brought out a bottle and began to explain the details of its aging process and brand, I promptly began to zone out. I don’t think I would’ve need to transmute so much water if I had known Sarah earlier….

Alas, my musings were soon interrupted by Sarah bringing out wine glasses and placing them on the table in front of me. She poured out red wine into each of our glasses and sat down before finally beginning to speak.

“To avoid burying the lede: my husband, Connor, is utterly useless and extremely jobless.”

… It isn’t that bad to be unemployed….

Her story essentially boiled down to this: she had met Connor when they were both attending university, and they had begun dating then. She had pursued a standard advanced statistics and business degree and had achieved reasonable success; and, meanwhile, Connor had failed his physics major and dropped out. She still loved him enough to want to marry him even with his unemployment, but over time, he had become increasingly lethargic, and his daily life had become consumed by alcohol and virtual reality games. The story made sense up to there, but there was one point I still didn’t understand….

“Why is his side such a mess? I saw you two outside earlier, and he doesn’t seem so lethargic that he wouldn’t be able to throw everything out.”

Sarah’s face faintly scrunched up into a minor grimace at my question.

“He says that cleaning should be my responsibility, and he refuses to throw out any of his crap. That’s why we ended up dividing the apartment in the first place.”

That was exceedingly strange. I was aware that certain attitudes regarding like that were quite common a century ago, but one would be hard-pressed these days to find someone who would openly express a sentiment of that sort. It seemed quite plausible to me that there was more Connor’s attitude than simple sexism. Well, it shouldn’t really matter either way.

We continued to discuss trivial things – well, I say that, but to some extent, it felt like she was more talking at me. That was fine though, since talking to a human like this for the first time was certainly enjoyable. Additionally, the wine was excellent.

As I brought the wine glass to my lips in thought, I noticed that it was empty. Suddenly, it occurred to me that, throughout our conversation I hadn’t been keeping track of my consumption. My eyes slowly moved across the table and noticed three separate bottles of wine. If I had drunk the majority of that… it seemed that I would have to rely on my inhuman physique to stop myself from becoming drunk to the point of incapacitation here. Only then did I notice my slightly flushed face and the strangely blunted feeling in my skull. Sarah, also quite clearly drunk, began to talk excitedly at me.

“Did you know that the civil service exam is soon? It’s always really hard, but my little sister is going to do it! She’s super smart! She was the top of her grade!”

“Having a sister sounds fun….”

Sarah tousled my hair thoroughly at that comment.

“I’ll take you in!”

Someone else’s sister…? That sounds…. Anyway, I should probably leave, but I am having a good time right now. Sarah would make an excellent disciple; I should get rid of this Connor problem for her.

I gave a grand cough to clear my throat, and patted down the crinkles in my hair. Indeed, I appear sufficiently holy now.

“Sarah, do you believe in God?”

While I was quite proud of my delivery, Sarah gave me quite a disinterested response in a slurred voice.

“‘God’? You mean like as in that whole religion thing from ages ago?”

“Yes, that.”

I was quite glad she knew what I was referring to. Most humans only knew about organised religion as a fairly vague concept. Clearly higher education brings one closer to the Lord. But that aside, Sarah, who had the look of someone on the verge of falling asleep, finally responded to my initial question.

“Isn’t that whole thing kinda… silly?”

Thanks to that comment, for the first time in my time on Earth, I truly wished that I didn’t have such difficulty in changing my expression. I would have most certainly pouted.

“No...! If I could get rid of all the beer from Connor’s cabinet, that would be like… a super-duper miracle, right?”

“… A ‘super-duper’ miracle?”

“A miracle! I just said miracle!”

“….”

Fed up with Sarah mishearing things in her drunk state, I quickly got up, and, slipping past the Great Wall of Beer Bottles, I walked up to what I could only assume was Connor’s refrigerated beer cabinet. Placing my hand on it, I gave a prayer. It was at that moment, well past midnight, that for the first time in the history of miracles, alcohol was turned into water.

“See! I did it!”

When I turned back to Sarah, I saw my face in the reflection of the bottles. My eyes, subtly blue-tinged, could almost be seen sparkling in pride. The remainder of my expression was static, but my feelings were certainly visible regardless. Sarah, on the other hand, was soundly asleep on the table. Sighing, I lifted her into her nearby bed, and took my leave. I suppose we won’t be getting a disciple this time… but that was fun. Thank you, Sarah. The walk next door to my apartment felt longer than its half-dozen steps could justify.

===

Opening the door to Everywhere, I saw that, naturally, the Lord was still wide awake. The moment I crossed the threshold of the door, I felt his gaze instantly penetrate me to my depths. It was the feeling of hopelessly being unable to hide anything. I knew intuitively that my entire heart and everything beyond it was visible to the withered man on that bed. My deep discomfort blew away the fog in my head and pressed me into the cold embrace of sobriety.

“At what time did I give my prophet permission to become inebriated for their own self-amusement?”

I couldn’t help it. I was trying to preach to Sarah. But, no matter my thoughts or intentions, the ultimate truth was that I had nothing to show for that little drinking party. However…

“Lord, I believe I can convert the neighbour.”

To that, the Lord’s voice was coldly dismissive.

“Then do so.”

I took a shower and then lay in bed caught up in thoughts of how to convert Sarah. Indeed, it seemed much more doable than the mass preaching I had been attempting until now. I had likely partially eliminated Sarah’s problem with her husband by preventing him from drinking for now, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing part of the puzzle. Perhaps if I stopped him from using the electronics too somehow? I’m not sure…. Finally, it occurred to me to simply pray for a curse of misfortune to be placed upon him; with Sarah’s existing resentment of him, I could use this, combined with the now significantly more water-based cabinet to prove miracles to her. After delivering a prayer to that effect, I slipped into unconsciousness.

The next morning, I woke up with a start and looked at the television screen to see the time. 15:06…? It seemed that I may have unintentionally slept in a little. I quietly thanked the Lord that my body’s recovery speed apparently had saved me from hangover. Suddenly…

BANG!

I realised what had awakened me as a loud noise from next door – so loud that it even bypassed the soundproofing – rang out once again.