TITLE: Evidence of God
By Dusty Fincher
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A swooping view over a beautiful green forest, full of life.
Evidence of God. I canít seem to find it
We go past the forest and fly over a smallish town sitting on the side of a mountain.
Lord knows Iíve looked....
We pan past the town and suddenly, we have a fantastic vantage point of the mountain.
We swoop over a crystal clear lake on the mountainside.
But Iíve yet to find even the smallest shred
of evidence that he exits.
The breathtaking view continues on by until we slowly fade to black...
FADE BACK IN:
INT. BAR - NIGHT
We are greeted to the sight of an empty beer mug sitting on a bar counter. The hand attached to the mug belongs to LUKE JOHNSON, a man in his early to mid forties.
JOHN THE BARTENDER walks over and fills the mug back up. Luke watches as the beer pours into the glass. By the glassy look on his face, we can already tell heís had one or two.
Luke takes the full mug and holds it up in salute to his friendly neighborhood bartender.
John puts his hand up to his forehead in a return salute. Right back atcha.
John takes a look around his bar and sees that Luke is still one of his only customers of the night. Not a hopping place at the moment, this.
One old fella sits at a corner table, keeping to himself and nursing a cold one.
John turns his attention back on Luke.
Why the curiosity? About God, that is?
Because I donít believe. And maybe it would
be a lot easier if I did. I mean, there are
so many out there who do, but I just canít.
What are they seeing that I donít? I need to
Why? Why not just accept that peopleíll believe
what they want, no matter what, and just get
on with your life?
I honestly donít know.
As Luke continues to nurse his brewskie, another customer comes up to the bar beside him.
Hit me with it, John.
John sets a longneck in front of Mark.
How goes it, Mark?
Canít complain. Actually, I could, but why
risk a reputation as a whiner?
Would that all of my customers abided by that
Luke shoots him a look. Mark notices it.
Didnít mean to start nothiní.
You didnít. Luke here was assuming that I
had him grouped in with ordinary, everyday
complainers. No sir, he has real problems,
but he wonít let me in on the source of it
Well, whatís the what?
He canít seem to find God.
Luke gives Mark a sideways glance.
You wouldnít happen to know him, would you?
Me and God have lunch every Tuesday afternoon
after our racquetball match.
I bet he takes you every time.
Well, he IS God, but I manage to give him
a good game.
Funnier guys Iíve yet to come across in all
You go far in your search for the Almighty?
Even been to Tibet a time or two. Nothing
there. Nothing anywhere that I can see. Just
a bunch of disillusioned simpletons.
Heís been in a harsh mood.
Thereís a lot in the world to be harsh about.
If you canít see that by now, then I envy you
in ways youíll never understand.
Try us on.
Sorry, not quite that drunk yet.
If youíve hit Tibet a couple of times and no
telling where else youíve been, you must have
a pretty stacked bank account. Thatís gotta
count for something, right?
Letís just say that I can honestly tell you
that money does not always equal happiness.
Not always, huh? What about sometimes?
Luke smirks at the question as he takes another sip.
I think Iíd settle for sometimes right about
now, but alas, itís not to be.
Well friend, I wish I could help you out, but
me and God have never really been on speaking
terms. I could buy you another cold one, though.
I appreciate it, but no thanks. I think Iím
about to head out while I can still see straight
enough to drive somewhat safely.
Before he can get up to leave, an old voice rings out across the near empty bar.
You want to see evidence of God?
Luke looks over his shoulder to see the old man, once sitting in the corner by himself, has gotten up and is presently headed in his direction.
Then you donít need to look any farther than
Little town, sits right in front of this
mountain. Nice, gorgeous place. Great people.
Young man by the name of Jared Durwood lives
there. Heís a miracle worker.
Iíve seen my share of those types.
This boy ainít no ďtypeĒ, son. Heís the real
deal. Heís done the impossible many times
And Iíve heard several stories like this one.
But Iíve never witnessed a true miracle worker
in action. Leave the bedtime stories to kids,
Matt simply smiles at Luke as he shrugs his shoulder.
Think what you want to. All I know is that
before I met Jared Durwood, I couldnít walk.
Matt turns around and walks away from the group with a spring in his step.
Luke turns back to the barkeep.
You know this geezer?
Old Matt comes in here at least once every
couple of weeks or so. Spends a little time
for himself, as he likes to say.
Is it true, what he says?
I always assumed he had an operation.
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