God Simulation Project

Life is God‘s novel.  Let him write it.  ~Isaac Bashevis Singer

I destroyed Lisa.  I didn’t kill her, but I destroyed her.  Dropped her on the South Dakota prairie in the middle of a blizzard with nothing more than the clothes on her back while the coyotes circled.  I handed her betrayal, failure, doubt, pain, and neglect and left her to clean up the mess that I’d made of her life.  There’s a little ember of hope that she’ll walk away stronger.  That she’ll have something to show for all of it.  So far, no luck. I’m feeling a little guilty.

I wonder if God ever feels this way.

When I was little, I used to play “teacher“.  I’d sit my brother down in the chair and make him do homework that I’d created.  He didn’t like my game very much.  He wasn’t fond of doing homework.  After all my brother’s balking, I wasn’t so sure about teaching.

I’ve graduated from playing “teacher” to playing God. Isn’t that what writing is?  My very own “God Simulation Project”.  I gave life to a beautiful character with potential.  Lisa could have changed the world.  I gave her challenges and disappointments that would help her grow into her potential.  Instead, she shied away from it all and settled for mediocrity. 


I don’t want to be God.  To live with the frustrations of human surrender is more disappointment than I want to face. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very patient.  I’d be screaming from the heaven’s, “Get over it!  Life goes on!  You ungrateful little…”  No, I think it’s best to leave the heavenly host do his thing.  

Meanwhile, I’ll worry about Lisa.  I do want her to see the talents I gave her for good.  I want to see her smile and live life to the fullest.  Because, deep down in my heart, I love her.  While I can’t fix her life, I can hold her hand and help her see the future. 

I’m not sure how I’m going to accomplish this.   “Dolly” still doesn’t have an ending.  I’m afraid that Lisa’s holed up in a cave somewhere with a stick to beat off the coyotes.  She might be a lost cause. Or she might be waiting for me to step in and help her find a way to peace.  I think of her when I hear this song by Beth Hart.

I’m not ready to give up on her yet.  I can hear her calling for help.


About author A. Lynn

A. Lynn has enjoyed the craft of writing since she finished the songs in Barry Manilow's songs as a five year old, prancing around her grandparents rural farm. Her style has changed as she's grown up. In the past ten years, she's experimented until finding her style and voice. Now, she's ready to take an effort to share her stories with the world. amberlynnk@yahoo.com View all posts by author A. Lynn

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