Author's Note: I've decided to pursue the story of the ducks since there are some aspects of it that I think work very well. In that light, here is a new version of the story. Some minor changes have been made to the previous draft, with large additions of dialogue thrown in. The dialogue is not exact to what was said, but captures the general idea as I remember it. In this way it is what I consider to be a Non fiction piece.

One morning I woke up to a strange sound. Looking out my window I saw a pair of Mallard ducks quacking on the grass, one male and one female. The ducks did nothing except move across the lawn and then back. First the male would follow the female and then the two would switch and go back. But when the female followed the male, she nipped at his tail feathers in what appeared to be an attempt to make him go faster. There actions were not the normal courtship dance, as I later discovered male Mallards fight with each other for females. This was something other than courtship. It reminded me of the last date I went on.
It was a dinner and movie date; or rather movie and then dinner since that's the order I always do it in. Watching a movie before dinner gives you a guaranteed topic of conversation if small talk about the weather and price of gas runs out, because lull in a conversation is the biggest killer of first dates.
During dinner, flirtation went back and forth like ducks on the grass. Flirting with this girl was like a duck waddling for some reason, it was just awkward. Something was missing, that indefinable thing, maybe it was depth of conversation.
The one turn our conversation did take toward the deep end was when we talked about God. I should note at this point that God conversations are more like third date material, when you've gotten to know the person better. But she was intent to tell me what she thought so I responded. This is to say that I told her about how god is everything so it is impossible to deny God without denying existence (something I�m still working on).
�To begin with,� I said, �everything is made of energy. Simple Physics tells us that manifestations of matter in everyday life are nothing more than our interpretations of various energy patterns which we perceive to be solid, liquid, or gas. This means that for anything to �exist� it must have energy. So, if we are to assume that the human conscious exist as a concrete object which serves some sort of purpose, then we must assume that it has energy. Physics also tells us that energy itself cannot be created or destroyed, only changed and converted into different forms. Assuming this same thing is true of conscious energy, then what happens to it when the body dies? I like to believe that it goes into some universal energy pool for use in later recycling. In this way, the energy that composes one person might end up spread out in three or four new ones later on. But what if this energy isn�t really consciousness specific? What if it recycles itself into all living and non living things: you, me, ducks, monkey, rocks, dirt, everything. And what if all those things are still connected to that energy source? Maybe we could call that source God.� I could tell from the look on her face that this was not what she had been expecting and that I had somehow changed in her eyes. I was a hunted animal now, wearing a sign that said, �In need of saving.�
She blathered on about how God loves us and thinks we're special (I held back from asking what made us so special since I'm pretty sure the answer had something to do with the creation of Adam) and then closed by telling me that I should give my life to Jesus.
�Don�t you think it�s so powerful that someone would die for your sins like that?� she said.
�Did I need it?� I replied.
�Don�t you ever do anything wrong? Nobody�s perfect.�
�Of course they�re not,� I said, my voice raising a little. �So why would a god that created us as imperfect beings expect us to be?�
�Because� He gave us free will to test us for our final judgment.� She had her hands spread out to me now, like some stigmata victim showing off holy wounds.
�So you�re telling me that God is messing with me?�
�You just don�t understand.�
She was right, I just didn�t understand why he God that she said was so loving and caring would deliberately try to screw the beings that he created out of a final paradise that he had made just for them.
I think we reached a happy medium though. Which is to say that I didn't tell her to shove it and she held back from telling me that I was going to burn in hell (though I'm sure if we had continued the conversation both of these would have come up).
I assume she held back from damnation of me because she thought I might fly off and leave her stuck in a shady Mexican restaurant (maybe not so shady, it was Carlos O'kelly's) but I really have no way of knowing.
In retrospect it seems that we were just like the ducks, going back and forth in a dance that was not quite courtship. We got nowhere and in the end I got a bill laid on my ass.