I remember how it started for me. I had woken in the middle of the night, and was stumbling half-conscious to the bathroom when I stubbed my toe. There was a sudden flash of pain and, as you do, I swore loudly. Only I didn't. It was as if somebody had put a break in the soundtrack of my life. I leaned against the wall, clutching my toe, and tried to swear again.
"-!" I said. "-! -! -!"
"What is it?" my wife called from the bedroom.
"I don't know," I said. "I can't say ... ." I stopped. What couldn't I say? I could feel the place where the word should be in my head, I knew the concept I wanted to express, but I couldn't say it. There was a hole in my mind where it should have been. "Never mind," I said.
In the morning, the news was full of stories about people who had been struck by very specific amnesia or who had been about to do something but had just stopped. I listened curiously, wondering if it was related to what had happened to me that night. As the day went on, people everywhere were reporting that they couldn't say certain words or do certain things. It was as if somebody had broken the links in their memories. There were also rumours that certain notorious celebrities and politicians had been hospitalised, having gone into comas or been reduced to incoherent babbling.
Of course, there were demands that "Something must be done!" After all, what would the world be like if nobody could say "-!" at will or gossip about the sins of their fellow – never mind not be able to commit those acts. A lot of time was wasted in investigations and committees. For all their efforts, nobody knew what had caused this strange affliction or how to cure it. Life went on as before, albeit safer and duller.
About six months after the phenomenon started, I met an old university friend of mine: a rabbi by the name of Abigail. She insisted to me that she knew what had happened.
"Go on," I said, not sure about whether I really wanted to hear or not. "What is it?"
"It's very simple," Abigail told me. "If you break it down culturally, it all makes sense. People aren't able to commit sin any more."
"Sin? But don't different religions define different things as sin?"
Abigail nodded. "That's my point. There are some things that all religions agree on - blasphemy and murder, for example. But, there are other things that they disagree on. Like whether or not we can eat certain foods."
"So – if you're right – what does it all mean?"
Abigail shook her head. "If it's what I think it is, it's not good. It means the gods have come back, and they're going to clean up our act whether we like it or not."
