'It was great being God' the big man upstairs thought.
"Call an angel," he said. "Wine me. And get Cheesus."
Angels in yellow and purple garments glided forward, efficient and reverent, pouring wine into the chalice I held with cavalier splendor. The cup was obscene—encrusted with gems of rose, ivory, amethyst, and the crystallized avarice of orange. An immovable pimp cup, heavy with authority and bad taste.
(slurps)
Yet beneath the richness, beneath the applause of existence bending politely around me, something brushed the edge of my thoughts. A tug. A faint unease. Not fear—more like déjà vu with teeth.
Then it vanished, dissolving before I could name it.
I looked up.
Above the cloudscape hovered a giant green diamond, the size of two angels stacked carelessly together. It hung there without explanation, surrounded by a ring of spectating clouds, the sky itself holding its breath.
I waited.
Then I spoke a name in Enochian.
"Sariel."
Sariel—my most feathered bitch—appeared at once.
"He yes, God. Hmm. Yes. I understand," he said, bowing, then backing away a few inches. His wings twitched. He turned his head upward, stared at the diamond, and hooted as he launched himself into flight.
He rose with wings expanded, drifting closer to the gem and its halo of clouds.
"What is this?" Sariel wondered aloud.
He reached out.
He poked it.
The flash was immediate.
Sariel was hurled backward, smashed into a spectator seat as emerald light tore downward toward the throne.
"Me—God?" i shrieked.
The emerald light struck.
God—the one who had been here fora long time was blasted off the throne. He tried to crawl. He made it perhaps a foot. His face was crushed into the cloud floor, cheeks battered by soft, merciless pressure of the green light .
Ah. God again. Me. My. Oh my God.
Then I was falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
after sometime I became an observer of clouds rather than their master. a loss of being top dawg came.
floating upward as casually as steam, was a man holding a cup of coffee in an open robe and ironic T-shirt. with the image of A tomato with limbs arguing with a potato nearby, repeating "tomato, tomato" or perhaps "tomatoe." It was difficult to tell.
"What's happening?" god asked.
The man shrugged. He looked at god . Looked up. gave a side glance confused smolder
Then he relaxed.
Accepted it.
they parted ways
god kept falling, now baffled.
pov change
a mortal in a robe held a cup of coffee and retrieved the morning paper.
The sun slashed silver across the mailbox. It was so bright you could blind a parrot, burgle its cage, and rearrange its snacks before anyone noticed.
The air smelled like freshly cut grass—which, if you thought about it too long, was disturbing. Grass released that smell as a signal of pain. Agony. Then it grew back.
The scent sat somewhere between hot chocolate and a high-class escort's perfume.
Refreshing.
Anyway.
He was God now.
The sound came from above the cloudscape.
Cupid trumpeters appeared, flapping furiously, cheeks puffed, brass blazing. Sariel, still recovering, felt profoundly offended by reality.
This wasn't hell.
So why in the hell was this happening?
A choir of cupids emerged from wisps of cloud, singing lyrics prepared a thousand years ago, just in case.
"Haaaa—uuuuuuh—aaaah,"
"For grace the savior, the newest God in line—"
The lead vocalist, Agok, sprang forward with cutesy intent, like a dwarfed Frank Sinatra in a diaper.
🎵 You've got the world on a string,
Sitting on the throne— 🎵
He spun midair with practiced grace, ancient choreography polished with modern enthusiasm.
🎵 You're God now,
Heaven's needle to hell's balloon— 🎵
At the final note, each cupid hurled a single golden shoe.
They fell like meteors.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
They were aimed directly at Sariel.
After diamonds, lightning bolts, harps, and chalices, it was shoes that finally broke him. He ran—past the rainbow, tears spraying, diving beneath a podium like a girl in a horror movie who knew exactly how this ended.
Above him, Heaven applauded.
Below, a god without a throne continued to fall.