A herd of white clouds slowly grazed on the open Nebraska sky. Benny commented on them first.
“Some big old clouds today,” he said.
Otis sat next to Benny on the yard bench. He peered up and focused his old eyes, “Those aren’t clouds,” he said. “That’s God smoking.”
“No kidding?” Benny said in tempered disbelief.
“Yeah, God’s a smoker.”
Sitting on an adjacent bench, Nathan spoke up, “Don’t tell the boy that nonsense. The half-wit will believe just about anything you tell him.”
Otis ignored the scolding and continued, “You see, though, God likes to smoke a variety of things for different happenings and occurrences. So those clouds right there, the big billowy fluffy ones, that’s God smoking a pipe. He smokes a pipe when he’s in a thinking kind of mood.”
“What do you think he’s thinking about today?” Benny asked.
“Hard to say, really,” Otis hunched his shoulders, “Maybe he’s thinking back on all he’s created over the centuries.”
“What are some other ways He smokes?” Benny said.
“Well, when He’s creating something new, that’s when you get those dark heavy black clouds, like right before it’s gonna rain. He works himself into a frenzy when he creates, so he chain-smokes cigarettes, filling the sky with that thick stuff. Then there are those thin wispy clouds that are barely there. On days like that, he smokes a cigar. Usually, because he’s proud of something that He made.”
“How about when there are no clouds?”
Otis propped an elbow on the bench table and said matter of factly, “He uses chewing tobacco on those days. That’s mostly for when he’s traveling around. More efficient for Him. And when it rains, He’s using a hookah pipe.”
“A what?”
“Eh, it’s basically like smoking the steam off of hot water.”
“Hmm. Never heard of that one before.”
“That’s because it’s all bullshit, kid,” Nathan chimed in again. He pointed a thick sausage-like finger at Otis. “He’s always making up stories. Don’t believe anything that comes out of that old bastard’s mouth.”
“Let’s go. Yard time is up,” came a shout from the prison guard. The wave of orange jumpsuits stirred in the yard. They started their plod back to the bleak cement building that served as their unwanted home. Nathan hoisted himself from the bench. He bobbed his head so that the jowls of his double chin made a small smacking sound.
“Shouldn’t be letting that kid believe in nonsense,” Nathan grunted as he fell in line with the rest of the inmates.
Otis turned his attention to Benny. He nudged him and said in a reassuring tone, “Don’t listen to him.” Otis tapped his temple gently, “You can either stay locked in this reality, or you can choose to escape with your imagination. Which sounds better to you, kid?” Otis then tilted his aching body forward and creaked off of the bench. Benny sat there, mulling over what Otis had told him.
“That means you too, Benny,” the prison guard hollered.
Benny hopped off the bench. He looked at the barbed wire lining the concrete walls encircling him, then he let his eyes wander to the sky. The clouds lingered idly in the sea of blue, and he spoke faintly to himself, “Wonder what God uses for a lighter?”
If you liked this short story, you can find more in my book, White Space.
Main header background photo by Michael & Diane Weidner on Unsplash