Adam Oster, Novelist

George looked to the sky and grimaced as he noted the gray coloration, hiding him from the light and warmth he desired so badly. As the snow flurried around him, he felt a sense of dread pass through his body. Why had the sun deserted him? Why did it refuse to pass its rays through his skin and allow him the relief he so greatly required.

George knew that he had brought this torture to himself. Being settled in the Midwest of America meant there were great stretches of time when he would be separated from his god. Ra, Apollo, Helios, Freyr, or however you chose to refer to the deity of light and life, they didn’t live here for large periods of the Wisconsin winter. And George, a man of limited needs, was unable to survive without the blessed countenance of his beloved divine creature.

He knew it was a ridiculous concept to consider the large ball of fire in the sky as anything more than a scientific marvel of compressed gases being ignited in a massive fusion reaction, but the way he found himself feeling when he was separated from its divine light reminded him of the way in which religious people would talk about turning their back on their gods. To feel as though their lives had been lost, that they couldn’t find their way, that they were, simply, separated from the sacred.

This is how George felt as he stared up at the dark sky, being covered in the icy coldness of the unwanted precipitation that was now starting to turn his green grass white.

Why had his god forsaken him when he needed him the most? Why must he stand here, considering falling to his knees in reverence to something he knew was purely governed by the weather patterns of the area, knowing that April in Wisconsin was a chaotic experience of seasons leading to periods of light and dark, cold and warm, glee and devastation?

George needed a change, a pilgrimage. He needed to find his god, seek him out, because at this point, George couldn’t help feeling that there was no chance his god was going to come and find him.

If only, George mused, I could find the time to get away. To drive or fly or even navigate by ship, somewhere to which his totem of vitality could be found without effort. If only, he continued, there were a way I could find my god.

Yet, he knew his options were limited. That he would merely have to wait for his god’s return. He only hoped his return would be soon.

George walked back inside his house, a tear in his eye for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. He returned to his office, turned on his heater, and stared at the golden calf he had on his desk, a mere idol of his true salvation. A light which promised to aid in his feelings of despair. A light which served as but a blasphemous version of his true deity.

George missed the sun.