Jeff Phillips: God’s Least Likely to Succeed [excerpt 2 from the novella]

Drinkers with Writing Problems

dan9 Image by Dan Macrae

Fib changed into the tuxedo pants, slid on a white, cotton undershirt. He laced up the black leather shoes, they felt sturdy. The robotic Tiedt offered him a small handgun to tuck inside one of his black, argyle socks. After he was dressed, they departed from the car wash and rode through the night. Orange sunset dimmed the sky to a dark dome and Fib couldn’t keep his eyes off the play of lime green LED lights that cast an upward blink on the mannequin face. It was Tiedt’s face, the more he looked at it. Minus the large pores and coat of skin oil, the cake of pale dead skin cells bloated by sweat. It was a prettier Tiedt, a Tiedt without the chip on his shoulder, but the plastic looked odd, too smooth.

The robot’s voice was calm and told of the next agenda…

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Jeff Phillips: God’s Least Likely to Succeed [an excerpt from the novella]

Drinkers with Writing Problems

dan1 Image by Dan MacRae

Tiedt walked over to his briefcase that he had placed on a chair in the corner, opened it, retrieved a stapled packet, and handed it to Fib. On the cover page was the title, “A History of the Fib Lineage.”

“Read it. Then you’ll know you’re perfect and you will fulfill your duty. But for who? I don’t know. I hope you’re loyal to your own goddamn country. A country that is good at doing its laundry. It may take a while to get to it sometimes, but loads get done.”

Tiedt left the room.

The packet was 43 pages but a Post-It note on the front said, “Turn to pg. 17,” so Fib did and found a highlighted paragraph. Fib glanced over the pages prior to glean that this was a dossier on his family tree. So he flipped to the indicated page to read…

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