1

STOP!

What the hell was that? My own thought appeared in my head in the same way as the command to stop, but less authoritatively. I was plugged into some music, meandering to work on a Monday morning of typical greyness, but the sound, the Voice, had definitely not come from the earphones. It was there, in my head; a thought, but not one planted there by me. My thought was the one of bewilderment, because it was an odd feeling.

I turned to look at the suited office-bound automaton I was walking past at the time. I had, I realised, obeyed the command, and stopped mid-stride. Why was he stopped as well? In fact... A quick tot up of seven people up ahead had also stopped. Not frozen, but looking about, on the verge of saying something, but tongues held by the unwritten rule of not speaking to your fellow morning commuters, and a feeling (certainly in my case) of not wanting to appear to be a bit of a loon who hears voices in his head.

A beep behind and we turn as one to see the driver of a large Volvo gesticulating at the unseen driver of the small car in front to get moving again. Which must mean the traffic had stopped at the same time. The delay in moving is too much for Mr Volvo, who at least has the grace to flash his indicator once before swinging past the still-stationary car in front with an over-enthusiastic dab of the accelerator pedal.

I SAID STOP!

The engine roar is replaced by the sound of rubber being left on the road, the Volvo now resting at an angle of impasse.

MY SON IS AMONG YOU.

What might have helped at this moment in time was knowing who the Voice was, so that the identity of the son could be ascertained. Perhaps a strange thing to be concerned about at the time, in retrospect, but it was this lack of clarity that brought the simple, slightly irritated, query from my lips. "What?"

Nothing. No reply. And now I'm actually talking to the voice in my head. That was a bit concerning, and I catch the eye of the guy beside me long enough to register his disapproval and my own embarrassment. I became very interested in my own shoes at that moment, but still the Voice held its metaphysical tongue. I just couldn't bring myself to contemplate exactly what, or more precisely who, the Voice was. Silence. Come on! Speak!

There's something tentative in the Volvo's engine coming back to life, almost apologetic, and it certainly moves forward more sedately. I can see the driver looking around, not at the people or cars or buses, but slightly upwards, expectation written on the face. I brace myself for another bellow. But there's nothing. Seriously? That's it?!?

As revelations go, I thought to myself, it wasn't the most prosaic. Certainly not helpful or explanatory. In a world where websites for biscuits contain FAQ sections you expect the first utterances you hear directly from the Voice of God to be, at the very least, profound. For the Voice of God was precisely what it had been, the only thing it could have been, but He had committed the theological equivalent of flirting. Speed dating with our souls.

[557 words]