More more story
In which the Rev. R. Mole tells his story without interruption
“The Shrew God and the Vole God met each other unexpectedly in a wooded hollow.
“Greetings, Brother Shrew!’ called the Vole God,
“What brings you here, away from your dutiful foraging in undergrowths, your ritual consumption of the beetles of the wayside, your miraculous appearance before the eyes of small humans, surprising them with the infinite variety of beings?”
“I have been called here, Brother,” replied the God of Shrews. “The God of Foxes has, with great dignity and grace, humbly begged my attendance at a banquet in my honour.
But what of you, Brother Vole? What brings you here, away from the fallow land of your kindred, from furrows among the blessed grass, from the happy duty of startling lady gardeners on neglected plots?”
“It is strange,” said the Vole God, “for I too have been called here by the God of Foxes, and to a banquet in my honour.”
There was a pause.
“I cannot but wonder,” mused the Shrew, “what business is it that disturbs the God of Foxes, such that he forgets the arrival of two most honoured guests?”
The Vole considered. “Perhaps he is caught up in the rituals of his kind? In gruff barking at the twilight hour, in scenting the district of his burrow, in feasting on the hapless creatures of…the…forest?
“Oh balls.” said the Shrew.
At that point, on the same day as he appeared to them last year, as he had each year for thousands of years before, the God of Foxes arrived and ate them both.”
“You mean to say--” I interjected, curiously.
“Shut up!” replied the Reverend. “You are ruining your chapter titles. I have not finished.”
In which The Rev. R. Mole finishes.
“…At that point, on the same day as he appeared to them last year, and on many thousands of years before, the God of Foxes arrived and ate them both.
It so happened that Buddha and Jesus Christ were walking together past that very same glade.
“How silly!” laughed Christ, wiping small beads of blood away from his be-thorned brow.
“To think that every year, these poor and muddled Gods, of no importance but to the meagre vermin of the field, are tricked into enacting the bloodied rituals of their race.”
“Ye-es,” replied Buddha, sweating profusely in the close air. “Forgive me, for I have not much sense of time, having forsaken the mortal calendar in my quest for enlightenment, but what day is this?”
“Oh, Friday.” Christ said, carelessly. “Is it important?”
On the horizon, a troupe of purposeful Romans appeared.”
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