Athanasia
—
The Everlife

On the street corner of a town there sat a man on a bench. He was not a happy man. In fact, not only was he not happy, he actively practiced being unhappy. He took pleasure in displeasure. And he liked to share his unhappiness with everyone who walked by.

This man could be found sitting on a bench on a particular busy corner of downtown all hours of the day. For most people he simply blended into the bench. He had become such a staple, locals didn’t notice him anymore.

When he did come to the mind of some person, it wasn’t because they had seen him on the bench. It was because they were engaged in a late night conversation that somehow drifted to anachronistic subjects like street preachers, and somebody remembered his sign. And because of the sign, they remembered his frown. And because of the frown, they remembered the man.

This singular sign, inseparable from the man, carried a message for all. It said,

“Repent, for the end of life is nigh. Athanasia is a lie. You WILL die. Genesis 6:3”.

Few ever stopped to read his sign. When someone did pause long enough to read, they kept a safe distance from him and were careful to not make eye contact. And he obliged them, sitting stiff as a statue, continuing to look straight ahead into the store window.

But he was sly. He would often watch them in the window’s reflection. He felt momentarily satisfied when he observed their body language shift. There was always that moment, when the truth hit them.

This stone of a man stayed stiff and unreadable through it all. But his internal monologue revealed his heart in the matter. “Oh Lord Jesus, thank you that you made me for righteousness, unlike all these. For I know the limit you impose upon me, a lifetime of 120 years, and I wouldn’t dare exceed it.”

There was only one thing that brought this man true displeasure. Children. They were the only creatures capable of making his displeasure feel uncomfortable. Too young to take the immortality drug Athanasia, they were still innocent of the sins of this age. He enjoyed judging others and their unrighteous. And children were out of reach.

Jesus had said, “Let the little children come to me.”

“Well,” he thought, “you can have them, Lord. Just keep them away from me!”

Year after year, the same people passed him by, the same age as always, because they chose to indulge in the sin of Athanasia, the immortality drug.

Year after year, the man on the bench aged, wrinkled, and withered, because he chose to let himself die. All the while he loved his fellow man by oozing spores of condemnation and hatred.

Until one day, when he wasn’t there.

A little girl sat on the bench eating an orangecicle ice cream. She admired her dress in the reflection of the store window. Her dress had an orange and white pattern, which inspired her choice in flavors.

“Mommy!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Where is the statue?”

“What statue?”

“The one that used to sit right here. The old man with the silly poem?”

Mom had to think for a moment. Had there been a statue here? There had been. That’s why they’ve never sat on this bench before.

“I don’t know? Maybe they removed it?”

“I’m glad. I’ve always wanted to sit on this bench, but the statue scared me.”