God's Path of Light

Walking down the narrow sidewalk in downtown Manhattan, Tim walked past restaurants, beauty salons, Christian book stores, you name it.

Tim was strolling back to his swanky brick apartment, but wanted an ice-cold treat before returning to his home.

He finally got into view with a minuscule shop on the corner of a paved street inscribed as "Larry's Ice Cream". Tim's petite eye widened slightly, and his feet slowly but surely dragged the rest of his body through the front door and into the line.

Selecting a Double Fudge Banana Split with Extra Sprinkles, Tim repeated his order to the cashier dressed in a white t-shirt and denim shorts.

Tim's eyes widened to the maximum as he saw the price: $74.99. Reluctantly Tim canceled the order and quickly jogged back to the concrete sidewalk. Items in Manhattan especially but also around America had shot up in 6 short years. Currently, it's $5.27 per gallon at the gas station.

It was 2027. Tim was 34 years old, and none of the spectacular and game changing inventions were invented yet like predicted in past years. Tim lived in a fancy brick and stone 12-floor apartment with two tiny papillon puppies. Tim desperately longed to get home to those two adorable ruffians named Otto and Winston.

Those pups were Tim's best friends. He had bought them at a large pet vet in Massachusetts five months earlier.

Tim started sprinting, the urge to see his dogs increasing dramatically. When he finally had arrived at his apartment, he was drenched in sweat and sore from running, even though the month was September.

Tim zoomed up the stairs and around the hazel-colored walls and arrived, panting, at room 684. He dug into his cavernous pockets, but peculiarly he didnt hear the usual soft jingling of his keys. Tim broke into a cold sweat, hopelessly digging deeper into his worn pockets. He needed to see his dogs.

Tim abruptly stopped. That was odd... Tim didn't hear his dogs' usual obnoxious and excited barking.

Tim slapped his forehead. Calmed down now, Tim opened his backpack flap and found his keys resting on his jet black briefcase, staring up at him and waiting patiently. Then, eyelids at half mast, he groggily sauntered over to room 648. He always forgot the 4 and the 8's placing in his room number.

Unlocking the door, Otto and Winston darted toward Tim, saturating him in delighted licks. It was already around 8:30 P.M. now, and Tim wanted to go straight to bed.

Tim laid down and grinned brightly as his pups launched onto the queen bed, dousing Tim in more licks. Staring out the window, eyes heavy, Tim started to fall away. Before he closed hiis eyes, Tim observed a short, ragged-clothed man walking on the street, holding a large sign. "Love God, Our Savior", it read. Tim rolled his eyes. He'd seen that a million times.

Tim wasn't a believer. He assumed it was implausible and too difficult to believe, so he decided cautiously to become an atheist.

Tim's work friends strongly advised him to believe, why to believe, and why they were faithful, but Tim strongly refused. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of God creating everything and always everywhere. He tried not to think about it often, so he kept shrugging off the suggestion.

Alarm blaring loudly, Tim slammed his huge fist onto it, almost cracking the plastic. Sliding slowly out of his comfy bed, Tim sleepily trudged into the kitchen. "Bacon and eggs, come get it!" Tim yelled to his dogs after 15 minutes of cooking pure deliciousness. Seeming to be extremely excited, Otto and Winston scrambled up to Tim, jumping on his legs and accidentally scratching him. Tim flinched, and eggs flew around the room, scattering freshly cooked eggs on the walls and the floor.

But instead of cleaning it up, Tim let his dogs eat up. While they were gorging themselves and slobbering everywhere, Tim concluded he'd take a quick, hot shower. Before reaching the bathroom, Tim's cell phone rang loudly with "Bad" by Michael Jackson. Tim ran over and picked up the phone, his face going copy paper white. It was his boss, Stephen. (Tim worked for a secret agency in the Empire State Building.) Answering the call, Tim placed the phone on his ear.

"Hello?" Tim asked. It took a second for his boss to answer, but soon his boss's booming voice came over the phone. "TIM HOLTZER!" Stephen yelled, making Tim jump.

"Yes, sir?" Tim inquired nervously.

"DON'T YOU 'YES SIR' ME, HOLTZER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR DESK?!"

Tim scowled in confusion "What do you mean?"

"WHAT DO I MEAN?!" Stephen roared. "I MEAN THE GRAFFITI, COVERING YOUR DESK?! THE WALLS, STAINED WITH COFFEE?! AND EVEN A BROKEN WINDOW! YOU ARE FIRED THIS INSTANT!"

"But-" Tim tried, but the phone was already hung up. What? How'd that stuff get there? Tim wondered in anger. Then it hit him.

Truett.

Truett was one of Tim's pranking coworkers, getting innocent people fired left and right. He was an atheist as well as Tim. Counting how many people he'd costed their jobs was harder than 1023012x1023 in your head.

And now Tim was one of them.

Tim wanted to kill Truett. He had lost so many other people's jobs with never losing his own job.

Tim had unluckily lost his job twice before, making his resumé worse and worse each time.

Just as Tim thought his life couldn't get any worse, he suddenly noticed something peculiar.

Smoke.

He smelled smoke.

The apartment Tim lived in was non-smoking, and plus, it was much stronger smell then that. It smelled like fire.

Every second, the pungent smell of burnt wood got stronger and stronger until Tim was forced to run out of his room.

Flames covered the hallway, making his escape nearly impossible. Each second more evil smoke entered Tim's lungs, making him cough more and more.

Just when Tim was about to sprint back inside his apartment, he caught a slight glimpse of someone down the hallway.

Truett.

Running over to Tim, Tim could see how beat up and burnt Truett looked. Truett passed out on the floor of Tim's apartment the second he got there.

Flames were threatening to enter Tim's apartment, and Tim had to act fast. Without thinking, Tim grabbed Truett and his two dogs and jumped from the 6-story window. But Tim had a plan in mind.

Spotting a large pine tree fifty feet below him, Tim ripped off his shirt and tried to use it like a parachute. The tree seemed to get bigger and bigger as Tim, Otto, Winston, and Truett zoomed toward it. As a last-second effort, Tim whacked his head onto Truett's, waking him up at the last second. One arm outstretched while the other holding his dogs, Tim grabbed the tree, swung on the low branch, jumped off, let go of his dogs 3 feet from the ground, and rolled. Truett did the same.

2 hours later

Tim, his dogs, and Truett had all survived with minor injuries and were rescued in a helicopter to be looked at in a nearby hospital. Within a few hours, the fire department had finally quenched the raging inferno, freeing Tim of his fears.

In the helicopter, Tim and Truett sat silently, side by side, until Truett finally spoke up. "Hey, what happened to your desk and window?"

Tim was ready to punch him, but realized he had no idea what happened. "You mean you didn't do it?" Tim inquired.

"Of course not," Truett exclaimed. "I don't prank anymore."

That was great news to hear.

There was a long silence before Tim spoke up. "God has finally shown me his light."

Truett smiled. "Ditto." He said. "Oh, and, cute dogs."