22 Oct


GOD photo: god god.jpg  It was an eerily dark night, the sort when old ladies lying in bed can feel a bit spooked by the odd flickers of distant moonlight sneaking through a gap in the curtains and flashing across their semi-sleeping faces, adding a soupçon of the unknown to their already weird dreams. It wasn’t like that for Griselda, though. She quite enjoyed being spooked, though her preference was for being the agency that did the spooking rather than the shivering wreck experiencing it.
On this particular night, with clouds outside scudding across the black sky in a kind of visual orchestra of chaos, she was dreaming dark dreams in which an empress rose to dominate all of humanity – and she was that empress. It was a dream she’d either had before or was dreaming that she’d had before – it’s hard to tell the difference – and she was really enjoying it when there was a knock on her bedroom window.
She opened first one bloodshot eye and then the other, and saw the figure morphing from a tatty curtain into God. She knew it was God because the figure was clearly omni-everything. Anyone who could transform from a tatty curtain into a mighty emperor – yes, he did become a mighty emperor when she stared at him – was quite obviously God.
“What the devil are you doing here?” she demanded, and as she spoke she was shocked by the unexpected frailty of her own voice.
“Nothing in the name of the devil, that’s for sure,” came the reply in a deep, resonant and, to her mind, rather sexy voice.
Griselda had long had an arrangement with a power that called itself the devil. It was harmless enough. Griselda got to perform deeds that clearly were impossible in a physical sense and the devil got to wander off with her into the woods whenever he felt randy. Mind, you, the Griselda he wandered off with was transformed, for the duration of the wandering, into a mini-skirted, well-breasted and long legged nymphet with sparkling eyes and luscious lips. That much had to be, or he wouldn’t have soon got bored. Yet it was still, in essence, Griselda – and when he touched the young nymphet the crusty old crone felt it, and it tingled.
“You leave my friend out of this,” she muttered. “Now what ya want? You’re spoiling my beauty sleep!”
God settled down on the foot of her bed, wincing as a loose spring brought a droplet of celestial blood from his left buttock.
“I’ve come for you,” he said, his words like the thick oil that gets glooped from the earth by oil wells. “Your time is up, woman! You’ve been walking this planet for one hundred and one years, and that’s long enough for anyone.”
“You reckon?” she sneered. “And if my time is up, what are you gonna do about it?”
“I’m taking you with me,” hummed the richest of baritones. “We’ll fly out of this room together, you and I, and then you’ll be in Paradise. There will be fluffy little clouds for you to bounce on, harps in every key for you to play on, young men with six-packs galore for you to court, walking out down nectarine lanes verdant with all the glories of supernatural nature, and the air is sweet and eternally fragrant.”
“Supernatural nature? That’s a contradiction in terms!” she tried to snap, but her words came out weakly.
He grinned through his beard. “I know,” his voice flowed, “but that’s allowed in Heaven. I love my Heaven. It’s where all the good people live and love, sing in heavenly choirs, sopranos warbling little hymns in praise of me. I love it when people sing in praise of me! It gives me that warm feeling of … of self-importance!”
“I’m not coming!” she replied, flatly. “I’m a woman and I belong here, and if I can’t stay here for ever then I choose the other place, the one with the pits of sulphurous fumes and whips and other painful stuff, with my best mate!”
“You mean that repulsive Blackboil woman?” asked God, frowning in consternation. “I never could understand your fondness for her!”
“She’s my slave…” whispered Griselda. “And I’m still not coming with you, so sod off!”
“You have no choice,” rumbled God. “I’ve come for you. Your name is in my big book and there’s nothing either of us can do about it. And when we leave here they will bury your cold and decomposing shell in the good brown earth and there will be celebrations, with children dancing on your grave and old men weeping in joy…”
“You’re crazy,” sighed Griselda.
“I’m God,” grinned the bearded mighty emperor. “I create everything that is beautiful.”
“If you’re God, then answer me this,” said Griselda, frowning, “they say that you created every man, woman and child in a fit of pique. If that’s the case, if you were the craftsman, what was the point of my mummy and daddy all those years ago taking themselves into the beautiful countryside on a summer’s day and playing passionate games with a rather fragile second-hand condom?”
God scowled at her. This was the one question he dreaded having to answer, because he couldn’t. It was all right teaching the children of men that He created them because if they were capable of believing the tale that a stork brought them as babies then they’d believe anything. But once they grew beyond childhood and discovered what their genitals were really for then belief in a creating deity sort of went out of the windows.
“It’s a metaphor,” he mumbled.
Griselda smirked. “I know,” she said, her voice becoming clearer and her eyes less blood-shot. “And here’s another metaphor: sod off because I want my beauty sleep!”
“That’s no metaphor, it’s just plain impossible, you getting beauty from anything,” muttered God. “I’ve never seen anything more ugly!”
Griselda settled back and closed her eyes. “I know,” she smirked. “and my very lack of beauty is proof that you don’t exist!”
“Cripes! My first mistake!” sighed God, and he popped out of existence in a puff of common sense, leaving Griselda to finish her night’s beauty sleep.
© Peter Rogerson 22.10.14



  1. slpsharon October 22, 2014 at 6:00 pm #

    Oh dear, Hes foiled.

    • Peter Rogerson October 22, 2014 at 6:30 pm #

      You’d have thought that Griselda would be no problem, but maybe a deity who can’t solve ebola, cancer etc can’t be expected to deal with a problem like Griselda.

  2. pambrittain October 22, 2014 at 7:53 pm #

    He makes mistakes?

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