Pickle Truths

"Is there, then, no room in the world for those who enjoy the taste of sweet-pickles?" said Mary, pleadingly, to the man who, from across the room, pointed a firearm at her.

"By my father's faith there is not--though, it pains me that you could not be converted to the truth," the man answered, his eyes betraying none of the uncertain emotion he claimed.

"What shall be your reward? What will killing me profit you?" Mary continued.

"No reward in this life. But, in the world to come, there shall be vinegar and dill never-ceasing," said the gun-wielding man, as he stepped closer to Mary.

"What if I were to eat a dill-pickle, right here, in front of you?" asked Mary, who was becoming more desperate.

"Such would be blasphemy in the eyes of the Lord. He wants no false professions of faith, particularly exacted at gun-point. He wants only those who willingly--exclusively--consume dill-pickles."

Mary felt like this was it--she had no more more arguments. She flattened her back against the wall, closed her eyes and waited for death. Then, she opened her eyes again. A flash of inspiration had struck: "But, even among dill-enthusiasts, aren't there those who prefer one recipe to another? Which dill is the true dill? Are you so sure that you aren't committing blasphemy yourself by choosing a recipe of dill unsanctioned by God?"

"Well--I've never considered that before," said the man, genuine doubt coloring his voice.

"You would take another person's life, though you yourself cannot know which dill God has set apart for his followers?"

"I--"

The man shot his pistol, and the slug pierced Mary's shoulder, and she fell to the ground. As she bled, the man ran away, throwing the pistol to the ground.

"Doubt," thought Mary, before losing consciousness, "is a powerful thing."