unmoved movers removals co.

The delusions commenced following his divorce and the disassembly of his family with the registering of his own removal company, “Unmoved Movers Removals Co.” He declared himself divine to all who’d listen, and employed precisely twelve staff who wore uniforms with “disciple” embroidered upon the breast of the issued polo shirts. Though he couldn’t turn water into wine, say, or resurrect the dead, he was proficient with a screwdriver and could collapse a flat pack wardrobe for transportation within minutes, a miracle – he thought – in its own right. The day came as he knew it must when his betrayal at the hands of one of his own disciples was assured. The disciple declared one morning at the staff briefing in the meagre portakabin that doubled as both company office and private accommodation quarters for the displaced employer (he slept on a foldout bed that acted as a couch during the daylight hours) that he was leaving with immediate effect, would not be working a notice period of any description, and indeed was forming his own removal company in direct competition to UMRCo., as the firm was on occasion abbreviated within the trade or amongst regular clients, called “Moving on Up!”. He made his declaration coolly and left the portakabin and although devastated the employer only shook his head with some sadness and bolstered his staff, told them this was always coming, that things had to be this way and now were. The messianic narrative had been long written, and such a betrayal was integral to it. The staff each offered him their best wishes individually and he dismissed them to their duties within the firm, not heavy of heart as such but something close, because although it was written and although it was perfect it meant that his earthly life in this earthly body was drawing to an imminent close, the wheels in motion. He lifted the telephone receiver and considered for a number of seconds the possibility of calling his ex-wife, to tell her the news of his new messianic path, but he thought better of it; she would know soon enough.

At the subsequent staff briefing the following morning he explained to the remaining eleven staff how given the immense cultural shifts and differences established by the passage of over two thousand years since the life and then of course death of the Christchild, certain deviations from the original messianic narrative were inevitable even if the outcome and profound and lasting significance of the narrative remained undiminished. In light of this, he said, he needed their assistance, he said, needed for their roles in the narrative to become all the more essential. Although not one of the eleven particularly believed in the delusional nature of their employer’s messianic narrative his enthusiasm and remarkable capacity for self-belief was infectious, and they soon found themselves willingly consenting to assist him in his efforts to realise the fundamentals of that narrative in any way they possibly could. He led the group of them out of the portakabin and into the vehicle yard, where he had laid a large 8 x 6 foot solid sheet of thick MDF down flat on the damaged asphalt. Although he had not had time to assemble a cross per se, he considered the specific geometry of the structure to be a trifle, in the scheme of things, and felt that if the treatment and positioning of his physical body adhered to both the ancient practises and essential cross shape synonymous with Christ’s crucifixion then that would be amply sufficient, both as symbol and prophetic fulfilment, particularly given the weight of compelling historical evidence that made numerous disparate references to the large variety of basic structural shapes used in deployment of the process. He had placed a metal toolbox containing a couple of good quality claw hammers and a range of heavy-duty nails alongside the MDF, on which he then laid and positioned himself appropriately for the inevitable. His requests for the eleven to begin nailing him to the board met with some reluctance, but he managed to persuade them under the promise of the certain salvation that his death and only his death could prompt. They beat the nails in through his wrists and through the bottom of his legs down by the ankles, each of the eleven taking turns at bringing the hammer down to enable the most democratic chances of salvation across the board of UMRCo. employees. Given the centrality of the event in the messianic narrative he had perhaps imagined a relatively painless process but the pain was incredible and almost unbearable and he screamed as the hammer hit and he saw the concentrated faces of his staff at their work with the due gravity and consideration he had come to expect from them, but he accepted it gratefully and passed out for a few minutes, the blood soaking the board beneath his body. When he had regained consciousness the eleven had amassed around him and looked very worried at what they had done. He attempted to reassure them that they had done only what had to be done, but he was aware of the delirious babbling of his own voice occurring and the eleven looked more worried still. After several false starts he urged them to raise the board to a vertical position as was written in the messianic narrative, but without handles or finger holes no one was able to muster the sufficient strength or force to do so, and the board remained horizontal and he with it. Three or four of the men requested permission to get about their duties and to tend to waiting customers, which he naturally granted, and the rest gradually ambled off, some in tears, and left him to his business, which after all felt particularly private. When all had departed he lay quite still upon the board and looked at the bright blue sky. The phone was ringing in the portakabin. Have you forsaken me? he asked. He tried to shuffle himself slightly but the pain was too great, the nails tearing at his tissue and tendons. Father, he said, into your hands I commit my spirit. Nothing happened, nothing at all.