The God Bless You Particle

by Vanessa Rebello

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After centuries of poking their noses (either blocked or leaking) into the depths of medical science, the white coated wonders found a cure for the common cold in a place they least expected.

You see, physicists were looking to answer the most profound questions of life; and what better way to do that than by smashing two speeding particles together, right? They hoped to find what they called The God Particle – an oh-so-elusive piece of the cosmic puzzle. Instead, from the combination of several years of blood, sweat and tears, of ridiculous amounts of money, and speeding particles came -The God Bless You Particle! It was nowhere close to what they were actually looking for, but it was quite an amazing find anyway.

“A snot free world?” they said. “Could it really be?”

And so a panel of esteemed doctors and scientists gathered around this tiny particle and wondered what to do with it. They stacked up supplies and shacked up in their laboratories for 40 days and 40 nights, working hard, or so they said. No one knows for sure what happened within those four walls, but outside people lit candles, offered flowers, and sang hymns of hope. Mothers prayed most fervently for their phlegm faced children. Everyone was optimistic; except the people at the tissue factories. They were silently hoping for the prevalence of the sneeze.

On the forty-first day everyone held their breath (some, without a choice) as the esteemed panel emerged from the laboratory, announcement in hand. The media brought their cameras, the Catholics their rosaries, the tissue factory owners their guns.

They walked out in two groups. The first group, upbeat and excited, was headed by a short bald fellow. They strutted out, smiling at the people, waving to the cameras. The second group was nowhere as eager. In fact they seemed to be upset, angry even. They were headed by a tall, snooty man with frizzy white hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the short, fat chap. “We present to you, the cure for the common cold.”

The crowd burst into applause. People cheered, hugged their friends, kissed their television screen.

“They did it! They did it!” they shouted and screamed. Handkerchiefs and prescription pills were thrown out of windows. Some even threw out the hot water they had used to inhale steam.

But amidst the excitement and cheer, the other half of the panel stood there, stiff and silent, clearly displeased.

“Nonsense,” said the tall man.

The crowd grew quiet.

The fat man and his group threw him looks of distaste.

“That particle is useless. You know it,” said the tall man.

The audience gasped.

“It’s NOT useless!” he shouted. “It’s the cure. It really is.”

Like spectators of a tennis match, all heads turned to the tall man for a response.

“Well, it is. But...”

“But nothing,” said the fat man firmly.

“We experimented. It doesn't work.”

Everyone was confused. How could it be the cure if it didn’t work? What did they mean?

A mother held her pink-faced, teary-eyed, snot-filled son,  up to the fat man. “Prove it. Cure him,” she said.

The little boy was passed from one person to another before he finally landed in the hands of the chubby scientist. He examined the leaky nose and found the boy to be a suitable guinea pig. He placed the child on a chair and put large bowl filled with a steaming liquid in front of him.

“Don’t do it,” tall whispered to fat. “You know what’s going to happen. They will lose hope once and for all.”

“But it works, it really does,” replied the fat one.

“I know, but you saw what happened with our experiments.”

“It won’t happen again,” said the fat one and he continued with the little boy. 

“Alright now son,” he said to the kid. “The particle is in here. I’m going to open up the vessel and let the

steam out. All you have to do is take a deep breath and let the particle work its magic.”

The vessel was opened and *Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiffffffffffffffffff*

The particle rose from the vessel, travelled through the air and slid into the boy’s nose. Almost instantly his watery eyes cleared up and the pinkness of his face settled. Slowly he breathed out, and waddyaknow – his nose wasn’t blocked anymore!

The audience celebrated. “It worked! It worked!” More cheers filled the streets, more gooey hankys were tossed into the air.

But unknown to most, something strange was beginning to happen inside the little boy’s nose. The teeny tiny particle was rolling around and its fur-like exterior was brushing against the interiors of the nose. Tall and fat watched nervously as the little boy’s face scrunched up.

“No...” said the fat man. “No, don’t do it.”

“It’s happening again,” said the tall man. “It’s tickling his nose.”

All eyes fell on the boy. Everyone was familiar with the face that he was making; everyone had made it at some point of time.

“Aahhh... aaahhh.. aaahhhtchooooooooooooooooo!”

The particle went flying out of his nose, followed by a gush of gooey liquid. Without a second’s delay his eyes filled up with tears, his cheeks turned red, one nostril got blocked.

That loud sound was the end of the God Bless You Particle. The media packed up their equipment, the mothers their children and everyone went home.

The scientists were disheartened. What a failure it had been. What’s the point of a cure for the common cold if it tickled your nose into sneezing? Things were glum, and somewhat depressing, until someone had another idea.

“I wonder what happens if two God Bless You Particles smash against each other,” he said.

And just like that, another device was built; this time large enough to circumnavigate the earth. The two God Bless You particles were set up and rearing to go. Soon they would find God Knows What Particle.