This piece was reprinted by OpEd News with permission or license. It may not be reproduced in any form without permission or license from the source.
"Golden calves, Towers to the sky!"--I could hear Him talking behind the Gate. His voice was a little thin. He had been doing this for a long time--"I flooded the world for forty days! What is it going to take?"
"I couldn't help but overhear," I said. "What, this time?"
"I destroyed Babylon! I killed the first born of every infidel!" He thundered. "I parted the Red Sea!"
"True," I said. "Mostly."
"Ok!" He flung open the Gate. "Moses got credit! But I carried a lot of water!"
He stood--not quite the formidable figure I had imagined--straddling the line separating lightness and dark--his stance a little tentative--but his skin, nevertheless, as pure as Michelangelo's depiction of God in the Sistine Ceiling. Plaster chunks and crumbled stucco lay scattered about.
"So what is bothering you?" I asked.
"The Brits!" he screeched. "Supposedly, the most proper people on earth! I molded their souls from dirt"--his dark eyes blazed--"into porcelain!"
"Teacups?" I said.
"Morons! Do I have to repeat Myself? Bunglers! Hard to believe I created them!"
"In whose image?" I asked.
"The warranty expired!--When they put a red cross on their flag! And crossed it out with another one!"
"I can see how you might feel," I said. "Being vengeful and all. But you look a little peaked."
Actually, he looked gaunt. The flowing beard and mane was tousled. His chest seemed particularly pale. In fact, he was developing a paunch.
"I haven't slept"--he yawned--"since you know when!"
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
2
1
1
