The Creation of the Oversized Mountain

Towards the back of the room sniggers could be heard. Some wag had made a joke about 'Carnap' and sleeping in your automobile. That was the crowd: they were like that, you understand. Two representatives of the brand new religion stood up and introduced themselves.

"I am Studly Crimes" said the one who was made of wax.

"And I'm 'The Supine Dream'" said the other, a feminine shade of purple. "We'd like to introduce you to Metaphorical Trans-Substanciation." There was shock.

"Yes, you become what, in truth, you already represent" Crimes proadly explained.

"I, as an feminine abstract, have become a woman" the warm but strong shade of purple indicated her own obvious femininity.

"And I, as a candle, became a man. You see, I represent you in your own mind. Many a man has looked at a candle and, perhaps obliquely, identified it with himself. Now that candle has become the man." A murmur ran through the whole place.

"We are the external embodiment of your internal identification motion..." 'The Supine Dream' tried to explain further, though she could sense there was unrest in the air. "Our bodies match the metaphor which, to you, we are...". Her voice faltered. An argument broke out. The crowd became angry and started throwing rotten fruit at 'The Supine Dream'. Studly Crimes bravely shielded her.

"Why do you hate us? What are we but what you have made us?" he despairingly spoke, striking a match from the ground.

The crowd pressed around them like a mine caving-in and their shouts echoed from all six walls of the new hexagonal church. The building shook with their fury. "Its not true!" they seemed to say "You're impossible liers!" The mouths of the crowd widened massively and their foreheads became course and rough, like grannite.

"We're not meant for this world, Crimes; they just won't accept us here" panicked 'The Supine Dream', clutching the candle close and preparing for the inevitable.

"I've always loved you, darling" confessed Studly Crimes, criminal in nature, putting the match to his wick.

The hexagonal church of Metaphorical Trans-Substanciation suddenly fell silent, before a great roar ripped through the air. There was a blinding flash and the church was snapped like a twig by the ferocity of its own creation; its walls never fell to earth.

In its place stood a barren mountain of unchanging stone lit by a bright and bodiless purple flame.