Tales of the Godworld

She heard sobbing from behind the door and wasn't sure what to expect. The last time they'd been together didn't go well and it would be millennia before she forgave him, perhaps eons, if at all. But he'd been so desperate when he called. He'd sounded so old. Despite their history, she was a little worried about him.

Standing in the shimmering hallway, she grit her teeth and reached for the door. It swung open just before she grabbed it, revealing a snuffling and red-eyed God. "You came," he said.

"Well, yes," she sputtered. What had happened to him?

"It's them," he growled, leading her into an opulent cathedral, done in a garish and uncomfortable mix of Jewish, Christian and Muslim symbolism and architecture.

"You've remodeled," she quipped as they sat in a comfortable pew.

"Them again," he said, gripping his head. "Ohhh, they won't let me be. Pulling me every which way..."

"I told you this would happen if you micromanaged them," she said.

"Oh fine," he snapped at her. "Mock me, then."

She glared at him. "I think maybe I will. You locked me in a convent for 3000 years, you have a lot of nerve expecting sympathy."

"That was eons ago!"

"It was THREE THOUSAND YEARS! That's barely the lifespan of a civilization!" She breathed in through her nose, then out, slowly. "No," she said. "No, I am not having this argument with you again. I don't have to argue with you any more."

"Well then why don't you... aagh!" He gripped his head. "Shut up! No you shut up! I'm the real God! I'M THE REAL GOD!!" He stared up at her, a feverish gleam in his eyes. "You'll see. They'll do it you. It's not like it was when we were pantheons. That made sense. That, I could handle. This..." He shuddered, then stared at her. "They'll twist you, split you and turn you against yourself." He smiled crookedly. "They'll drive you mad."

She met his gaze unflinching. "They're driving you mad because you're letting them." She stood, scorn apparent on her face. "What happened to the God with whom I birthed the universe? The God who wrote the laws of physics, and designed the first human. Where is that God?" She drew herself up to her full infinite height and looked down at him. "He can't possibly be here, because all I see is a whining human puppet."

He growled. "You don't say that to me."

"I'll say it until you prove me wrong."

He glared up at her, then stood. "What do you suggest I do?"

"Let them know you're tired of their nonsense, and to stop killing each other over you."

He threw his hands up. "That's why I sent my son--"

"To tell them to be good to each other, and to love each other," she said. "And they killed him for it."

"That's why you've got to tell them so they learn," she smacked her fist into her open palm. "Hit them with an Act of God. But make it clear it's you, and make it spectacular. They watch a lot of TV, and are harder to impress than they used to be. When everyone is reeling, put it all back exactly as it was. Then tell them to behave or else."

"And that's what you'd do, I take it?"

"That's what I have done. You know that better than anyone. No one starts a war over me twice."

He approached her, smiling tentatively and nodding. "Right, right. Those were some fun times, yeah?"

She scowled at him. "Not really. Besides, they ended when you betrayed me."

He sighed, then flashed her the smile she fell in love with, back at the beginning of time. "You want to do the Act of God?"

She smirked. "That's the least you can do." She gestured for him to lead the way.

"You know," he said as they walked away, "Making the universe was fun. We could--"

"Oh," she said. "Oh, I just tasted bile." She laughed derisively. "No, I might be willing to talk to you again, and might someday be your friend..."

"But there is no way you're ever doing that with me again."