God's Plan

Modern society is overwhelming, our minds can only take so much.

Canned laughter spreads into the living room. I stroke her soft hair and scratch her head that rests gently on my shoulder. Through the glass doors, snow falls onto our balcony, obscuring the usual view into the many apartments opposite. She giggles, the Oscar host proving himself to be a worthy choice. I squeeze her tightly; the warmth of the moment permeates through our studio apartment. Our little corner of this metropolis. Our little box among an enormous warehouse of boxes. The Lava lamp spills a red hue into the room. Her artwork decorates the walls. A quaint country landscape. Light spilling through a snowdrop carpeted forest. A lake surrounded by mountains, with a young couple resting on a picnic blanket, waves lapping at the shore. She says it’s us, but I remind her we’re more likely to be beside a pool in a resort. It’s in moments like these that I don’t mind paying extortionate rental prices, bills, taxes, public transport costs. I don’t mind the hour-long commutes that sandwich a dull day at the office. These fractured hours of connection dilute among an ocean of dissociation. And the winner is…

“I can’t believe it.” She gets up from the sofa and places her empty wine glass on the coffee table. “That film was a steaming pile of –

“I didn’t get to see it.”

“Don’t bother, three hours I’ll never get back. I’m gonna pee.” Her gaze tied to her phone; her body guides her toward the bathroom. She disappears behind the door. A young actress stands on the stage clasping an Oscar, a beaming smile meets hundreds of clapping hands, capturing hearts through the camera lens. The applause dies down and her speech begins. “I can’t believe it. I’ve not prepared anything because I genuinely did not expect to be here. Um… Yeah. Well, I want to thank everyone in the production of course. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

I finish my wine, collect her glass, and wander over to the kitchen. Another bottle of wine is opened, and the glasses refilled. Snow persists through the late evening, its thicker, and large snowflakes melt against the warmth of our windowpane. Through the snow, a haggard, limping figure drags himself along the street, pulling a large case behind him. He enters the orange glow of the streetlight, at a snail’s pace, and pauses by a large dumpster. His large brown coat is worn and frayed; one foot misses a shoe and a toe pokes through his sock. A few white hairs cling to a head that’s covered in a red rash. Bent forward, his hunched back forces him to stare into the ground that has become his home. The bin lid opens. He pulls out the first bag, slicing it open with a little Stanley knife.

“My family and friends. My agent. As I win this, you all do too, this is for all of us. But most importantly, I thank God. I am a child of God. I almost gave up a few years ago, nothing was going my way, but he heard me. He heard me and put me back on track.” I glance back to the TV to see the young actress kissing her fingers and pointing them to the sky. She shakes her award once more, displaying her success to the masses. I grab the remote and press mute, returning to the window as the man continues fumbling through refuse. A man without a box. A man who has been discarded by society. He reaches into the bin bag and pulls out a takeaway container, opening it like an adventurer who has found precious treasure. A half-eaten kebab is his bounty. Smiling, he kisses his fingers and raises them to the sky. Perhaps God has heard him too. Turning away from the window, I sigh deeply.

I’ve emptied my glass of wine and pour myself another. I open my phone.

Looking for 12 men who want to get fit this summer.

43 dead in missile strike. It could be Ukraine, it could be Gaza.

Sudan in crisis.

Myanmar in civil war.

Far right extremism.

Meditation technique.

The new iPhone 16 Pro Max.

Religious extremism.

Nigel Farage says stop the boats!

The ice caps are still melting.

Donald Trump accepts $400 Million plane from Qatar.

Our oceans are being depleted.

Dog on a skateboard.

Everything I eat is giving me cancer.

Dog on a surfboard.

Corrupt policeman illegally traffic stops lawyer and gets owned.

Cute pictures of cats.

Three men ambushing a paedophile.

Jordan Peterson debates atheists.

Israel and Iran at war.

25 kill streak with new sniper, headshots only.

Who really shot JFK?

Woman caught cheating on her man.

Far left extremism.

My predictions for the Epstein files.

Elon’s taking ketamine in the Oval Office.

Enter this raffle to win a £5 million house in Chelsea.

Two hundred die in plane crash.

Never a better time to invest in crypto.

School shooting in Austria.

Mr Beast gives $100,000 dollars to loyal fan.

Pranking my mum, she had no idea!

Twelve days with the Kombai tribes of Papa new Guinea; Living with Cannibals.

A young child screams upon a pile of rubble with her parents buried within.

Live update: Oscar ceremony continues.

That’s enough of that. A shiver runs through me. I turn my phone off and look back outside.

The man is huddled between two bins, his coat above him, creating some shelter from the snow. He tucks into his takeaway. After a long life, this old man is eating from a bin because society doesn’t know what to do with him. With all the thousands of religions and concepts and theories and ideas. With the hundreds of thousands of years of human experience. How have we arrived here?

My wine glass is empty again. I fill it up.

“You alright babe?” She queries while texting, she puts her phone on the coffee table and jumps onto the sofa. Two arms outstretched towards me, inviting me back to cuddles and comfort.

“Yeah, all good. Got some more wine.” We reunite on the sofa as the next awards are listed. Safe and warm in our little box.