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Writer
Join Date: Jun 2006
Posts: 49
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Prophet for a Profit
Hey guys, this is the first three chapters of a story I'm currently writing. If you can, please leave some kind of critical response. I don't mind if it's harsh as long as it's constructive. I'm actually quite please with the work I've put into this so far. Here it goes:
I – The Proposal
Not many people knew John Mitchell very well. His employees knew him for what he appeared to be: a helluva guy. In the office he would pat you on the back, make idle conversation at the water cooler, maybe crack a joke once and a while, but on the inside he was really a cold-hearted bastard who only looked out for himself and would cut your balls off if you ever got in his way.
On this particular day, John was just about ready to cut off his secretary’s balls, but fortunately for her, she didn’t have any. Because of her forgetfulness, John had to walk all the way to work that morning with all the commoners. He would’ve taken a cab, but recently he had been cautious about riding in a car with anyone wearing a turban. The last time someone let an Arab drive, he crashed into the Twin Towers.
Nevertheless, he cracked a fake smile and continued to march down the street. While mostly repulsed by the freaks of nature that walked past him, he was also intrigued by the vast amount of different cultures living together in this small city. He passed Hasidic Jews smoking a joint outside of an electronics store, Rastafarian musicians playing steel drums on the sidewalk, Japanese businessmen headed for the local strip club, and this was just on 7th Avenue. But mostly, John saw a lot of bums. As a businessman, there was nothing John hated more than bums. Their clothes were tacky, they smelled like rotten cabbage, but most of all, they leeched off of hard-working, respectable members of society like John. What perplexed John most of all was their inability to get a job.
It’s not like you need a Ph.D. to work the fryers at McDonalds, John thought, You probably don’t even need a high school diploma. Hell, if you’re an American citizen you already have an advantage.
John remembered a very specific occasion when one of these menaces was so desperate for money that he actually attacked him right there on the street.
“Could you spare some change?” the bum said, eyes watering as if he was a puppy with a broken leg.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t got any,” said John, trying to avoid looking at the pitiful display.
“Please sir, I haven’t eaten in a day! My wife left me and my kids won’t speak to me anymore!”
“And whose fault is that?” John sharply replied, “Maybe if you weren’t such a fuck-up all your life, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
At this point, the bum’s eyes went from sullen to furious. The bum leapt onto John, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Fuck you! Fuck you!” After the horrifying experience, John took an hour-long shower trying to wash off the horrible smell of homelessness. He even threw away his brand new Armani coat that was now tainted as well (he refused to give it to a homeless shelter).
Ironically, as John was thinking about bums, he accidentally bumped into one.
“Jesus! Will you watch where you’re going?” screamed John, now thoroughly pissed off.
“I’m sorry sir,” responded the bum, picking up the sign that had been knocked out of his hands.
“You better be!” said John, “Hey, what is that you got there?”
“Oh, this is just my sign warning people about the end of the world,” the sign, now visible, read: THE END IS NEAR.
“Really?” John, slightly amused, continued to humor the bum.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe it, but a lot of people just ignore me,” said the bum, “you’d think that more people would care that the world is about to end.”
John pointed to his head, “And what is the tin foil hat for?”
“This is to protect me from the rain of fire that will be cast down upon the earth,” the bum explained further, “You see, I used to be a loathsome, sacrilegious piece of garbage who thought my life had no meaning until one night I found God, or should I say, God found me. I was sitting in an alley when the angel Gabriel came down from heaven. He told me that God was angry at the wickedness of humankind, and that he was going to send down a rain of fire that would smite all the non-believers. It is my job to warn all the believers by handing out tin foil hats that will protect them from danger.”
John was just about to burst out in laughter when an idea hit him. It was so preposterous (and yet brilliant) that he couldn’t believe that he came up with it. What if he could market this? Crazier ideas had made millions, how hard would it be to sell spiritual salvation? Plus, John had someone who actually believed in the product he was selling. Sure he was a little unkempt, but there’s nothing a quick shower and shave can’t fix. Dress him up in some respectable clothing and you have the next Billy Graham on your hands.
The bum continued to ramble while John thought about this. Then after much consideration he interrupted, “What’s your name?”
“Paul Tarsus,” replied the bum.
“Hmm, Tarsusism,” John mumbled to himself.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” said John, quickly snapping out of it, “Paul, today is your lucky day! What would you say if I told you that I’d be willing to finance your cause and let the masses know about your message from God.”
“Well, why would you do a thing like that?”
“I’ll tell you why, Paul,” John paused, trying to think of a legitimate reason, “I myself received a message from God just the other day. He told me that I would soon meet an unlikely prophet, and that it was my job to give him as much money as I could to support his mission.”
John sweated it out for a few seconds while Paul contemplated his response. John knew that only a gullible fool would fall for that crock of shit.
Then, after what seemed like forever, Paul smiled and said, “Well that’s good. I thought you just wanted to exploit me for your own interests, but I can tell an honest man when I see one.”
Paul proceeded to extend his arm to John in gratitude, but John was more than hesitant to shake it. He first took out a handkerchief, promptly shook Paul’s hand, and then immediately discarded the piece of cloth.
II – A Brief History
John Mitchell was born on March 9, 1976 to Henry and Katherine Mitchell. Although he was an only child, his parents, being very busy and important people, saw very little of him. Because of this, he was mostly raised by his Jamaican maid, Naomi.
Being born into money, he always had a fascination with wealth and how to attain more of it. By the age of five, he understood basic economics and had opened up his own toy bank, where kids from his neighborhood could deposit their toys for a small fee of five cents and a pack of gum. By the 5th grade, he had done a report on Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations for which he received an A+ and a smiley face sticker. John still owns a copy of his 8th grade yearbook, where under his name and picture it reads, “Most Likely to Change the World”.
John received straight A’s all through High School, even in his most hated subject, English, by paying off his teacher. He was also member and president of the Chess Club, the Debate Club, and the Environmental Club (ironically, his first car was a Cadillac).
When John was 18, he started his first successful business selling cigarettes to minors for twice their original price. However, three months into the operation, he was caught by the police. Fortunately for him, his father shot himself that same day and the police, feeling extremely guilty, let him off with a warning.
Having graduated from High School and receiving the title of Valedictorian of his class, he was accepted to the Harvard School of Business where he received his MBA. While attending Harvard, he met his closest friend and business partner, Alfred Cummings.
III – Product, Place, Price, Promotion
Alfred paced back and forth while ten of the richest and oldest men stared impatiently at him, every one of them with the same nasty look. They all sat around a large rectangular table, except for Alfred who was in front of the room, creating a pool of sweat beneath his feet.
“He should be here any minute,” Al said, smiling nervously. He checked his watch and noticed another minute had gone by.
“Well, where is the bastard?” said one of the executives, this one with a rather noticeable wig, “Some of us have wives to go home to!”
“Howard, your wife’s a third of your age and has a library full of credit cards,” quipped another, “I don’t think she cares if you come home late.” The room was now filled with laughter. The executive, angry and embarrassed, was now as red as his toupee.
As the laughter died down, John entered the room with Paul right beside him. The two shuffled to the front of the room as each executive gave Paul a look of disgust. As they passed, each of them checked their pockets to make sure nothing had been stolen. Alfred, thinking that John was out of his mind, decided to quietly step out of the room and let John take the heat.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said John, “I’m sorry to have kept you but I promise that the wait will be worth your while.”
The whole room was bewildered by John’s antics. First he had arrived late and now he brings this vagrant into the building? The executives looked at each other in confusion. Finally, one of them volunteered to stand up.
“John, what is the meaning of this?” he said, “Who is this man?”
“I’m glad you brought that up, Phil.” John answered, “This is Paul Tarsus. I found this man preaching on a street corner. He told me that he was a prophet from God and was sent here to warn the masses about the coming of the apocalypse. However, none of that is really important. What is important is that this man is going to make us all extremely wealthy.”
Paul interrupted, “Well actually…”
“It’s really very simple,” John continued, “All we have to do is make Paul here seem trustworthy, and people will buy into everything that he tells them. I mean, look at Jonestown. If that crazy, religious freak could make a thousand people commit suicide, persuading people to give us their money should be a breeze. And Jonestown didn’t have one of the leading corporate conglomerates behind it.”
“Wait, are you comparing me to Jim Jones?!”
“How are we going to sell a religion?” said a skeptical executive, “It’s not like you can just advertise it through television or anything.”
“Hey! Don’t I get a say in this?!”
“That’s exactly what we’ll do!” said John, “We’ll sell it through television! And we’ll get a big star to advertise it, like…Jake Gyllenhaal!”
“I don’t like him,” grumbled another, “How about Johnny Depp?”
The table liked the idea and nodded their heads in agreement. Paul slapped his forehead in embarrassment.
“And how much would membership for this religion cost?” asked the skeptic.
“I was thinking around 600 dollars annually,” answered John, “Of course we will also make a large profit through merchandise. T-shirts, mugs, tin foil hats, the whole deal. And we’ll overprice everything. If they don’t like it they can go to hell. Literally.”
“Alright,” said the skeptic, “But what are we going to call this religion?”
“Well, I was thinking Tarsusism,” said John.
“Definitely not!” said another one of the men, “It’s too difficult to pronounce and it’s not hip enough. How about something dark and mysterious like The Rapture?”
The table was in agreement once more.
“Ok, but this guy’s gonna need a lot of work,” said the skeptic, pointing to Paul, “Look at him! Couldn’t you at least have picked a better looking bum?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said John, “We’ll let the professionals handle that. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even get to crucify him!”
The room laughed heartily, all except for Paul who realized that no one was listening to him.
“Well gentlemen, it’s settled,” said John, “The Rapture will be the biggest thing since Jesus and we all have Paul to thank!”
The room gave a round of applause for the prophet. It was at this moment that Paul realized he had made a terrible mistake.
Last edited by JoshuaOst : 03-04-2007 at 06:53 PM.
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