Stolen via the wayback machine

 http://www.elfwood.com/u/bvc/story/c3f51ca0-244d-11e4-9db6-cd411cbc6012/the-divine-pain-in-the-a

This was a favorite thing of mine i use to read all the time.  

I DID NOT WRITE THIS.

The Divine Pain in the A-

 

                Keith McKinley was about to die.  Before the day was over, he would breathe his last breath while purchasing a farm, accidentally kicking over a bucket and noting his similarity to the nail securing the door.  He would not pass go, not collect 200 dollars; he would hit the big Game Over: no lives remaining before beginning his trek to the great powdered milk stand in the sky. 

Keith didnt know this, of course, and he went through his daily routine as if he were going to go through the same routine for thousands of days to come.  He had hardly begun this routine, however, when he encountered a rather large singing lady, involuntarily discorporated, shuffled loose this mortal coil, and met the Grim Reaper.

The exact details of his death are not important to this story.  Besides, focusing ones attention on ones Walkman while running in the mountains so intently that one does not notice that one has run out of ground an is now painfully impaled upon the top of a pine tree is a particularly embarrassing way to die.  Just like unintentionally incinerating ones self by lighting a cigarette while swimming in a pool of gasoline and not taking into account the high octane content of the surrounding air is an embarrassing way to die.  Just like standing in the street wondering who Gar Delios and Man Incognito are and why they should open up a bakery right next to a discotheque and being quite oblivious to the two-ton death machine that is honking its horn in warning as it smashes your body into little more than a stain on the pavement is an embarrassing way to die.

So our story does not focus on such gruesome and unnecessary details, it begins after Keith had been dead for a good ten seconds.

 I

(dis)Orientation

Keith was still very surprised at how painful and unexpected his death had been.  He had no time to gather his thoughts and cope with being dead, however, because the Grim Reaper promptly appeared and folded him up into sixteenths and put him into a pouch deep the folds of the Cowl of Death.  The next thing Keith knew he had been unpacked and was sitting in what appeared to be an office watching a conversation between the Grim Reaper and a child about 5 years of age.

Thank you very much Mr. Death; I can take it from here. The Grim reaper nodded and silently exited the room through a door located behind where Keith was sitting. 

So, said the child, looking through a file, What are we to do with you Mr. McKinley?  Too good for Hell, too evil for Heaven.  How does an eternity of clerical work sound to you?

Like Ive died and gone to Hell, Keith responded.

Well, youve got the first part right, the child became slightly more intense. Youre dead.

Keith said calmly Id gathered that.

The child seemed relieved.  Oh, good.  Its good to hear.  So many people who come through here are in denial.  It gets quite frustrating.  Anyway, as for the second bit, you arent in Hell, youre in Purgatory.  Keith was about to ask the difference when the child interrupted his unformed words.  The difference is you only have to work a 12 hour day in purgatory, that usually consists of two 6-hour shifts and two 6-hour breaks, which really isnt bad when you dont have to sleep, but you can probably find a schedule that works best for your personality.  During your off time, you can watch Earth, watching Earth is particularly entertaining once you learn where to look, we also get Earth Television.  If you dont like to stay cooped up inside, we have a water park, and an infinite singles bar, Thats where we put all of the purgatory residents who dont have the skills necessary to work here.  They just mingle for eternity, or in the childrens case, they play in the water for eternity.  Well have to sort them all out eventually, but no one really wants to take on the job, so weve been procrastinating.  It probably wont get done till long after the apocalypse.

Depending on how well you perform, we may allow you to take vacations on Earth.  Everyone starts out phantasmal, but if you prove that you wont interfere with the Humans, we may let you corporate.

Keith finally spoke.  That sounds all well and good.  How do we determine our physical appearance?  Are we stuck in the body and clothes in which we died, or do we get to pick. 

You can change your age and clothing from day to day if you wish.  But you are stuck with the body you had in life.  You can only pick stages that you lived through.  I tend to choose this form because shortly after my sixth birthday I became sickly and it puts people on edge to see an emaciated clerk running their afterlife.  I suggest you wait on changing forms for now.  It appears you died in your prime. Keith glanced awkwardly at the blood caked on his shirt

So, now that the preliminaries are out of the way, we can get you through orientation.  And without waiting for Keith to object, the child led him through a sires of doors and hallways, through a door marked orientation where a few other initiates like Keith were already seated apparently waiting for the screen at the front of the room to begin flashing light and sound at them.  Keith took his seat and waited for the screen at the front of the room to begin flashing light and sound at him.

 

The orientation video finally started.  Images of people dead and dying flashed across the screen.  Hundreds of Thousands of people die every day, explained the narrator in that informative tone that was once quite contemporary to American instructional videos in the 1960s.

 I guess purgatory hasnt had time to get a modern video done.  At least its in color,  Keith thought.

The announcer continued.  The screen showed images of heaven and hell now.  Although the majority of these people are easily sorted, some of them require closer scrutiny.  Thats why we need competent people like you to help.  The screen now showed Purgatory clerks filing souls, working with people, changing afterlives.  All of them seemed ecstatic to be doing it.  Perhaps it was the patriotic music in the background.  The camera flashed to a beautiful woman who smiled perkily and exclaimed, Im doing my part.  Her male coworker turned around and displayed the kind of smile that is usually accompanied with a flash and a ping after he repeated and Im doing my part.   A small boy climbed into the cameras view and lisped Im doing my part, too. 

Yes, Timmy, you certainly are, agreed the announcer.  But, if you dont want to do your part, theres always the alternative  The screen showed fire and brimstone and evil-looking demons beckoning with clawed fingers.

 

The lights came up as the video ended.  Keith was lead from the room by a large, burly man with a bloody ax protruding from his head who introduced himself as Phalius. 

Ill be training you, Phalius explained.  If you have any questions Im your man.

Well, I have been wondering a few things. Keith began, Exactly which religion is the right one.  This one here seems to only vaguely resemble certain sects of Christianity.

Good question.  Phalius seemed pleased.  Its good to know you have some intellect, of course if you didnt you wouldnt be here.  The answer to your question is actually a rather long and involved story, but Im more than willing to give you a brief synopsis.

    Phalius cleared his throat and took a sip of water from a bottle on his desk before he began.  This gave Keith just long enough to realize that he was sitting down in a room exactly like the one he had been in when he spoke to the child.  God created life, said Phalius, but he did not create after-life, at least not at first.  He decided to observe his creation so that he could create an afterlife that would suit them best.  You see, Adam and Eve were immortal before they got themselves kicked outta the garden, and God hadnt planed on having to deal with their deaths and the continuation of their immortal souls.  So he created purgatory and a bunch of new humans and scattered them across the Earth and decided to wait and see what they thought would be a good way to deal with their immortal souls upon their death.  You see, God believed that they would naturally come to worship him and prove themselves again worthy of Divine Love.  What he saw discouraged him immensely.  The Humans were a warlike race.  Destructive.  They destroyed everything God gave them, including each other, often in His name.  He tried to teach them.  Smiting them when they were bad, that sort of thing.  But they refused to change.  Granted some of them were worthy of joining God in his heavenly kingdom, but most fell remarkably short of grace.  So finally God just gave up.  He left us to take care of it.

So, how do we take care of it?  asked Keith.

We judge them of course.

By what rules?  What do we do with them?

We use the Ten Commandments as a basic rubric, Phalius explained.  Beyond that, it gets more complicated.

But how, I mean Ive led a good life

Phalius held up a hand to silence him.  He pointed a remote at a television set in the corner of his office.  It showed an image of Keith speaking to some of his friends  thats why God didnt want us to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, he was afraid that if we became intelligent we might realize that he didnt exist.

But, Keith protested, as an atheist, I had no gods, therefore I had no gods before or after God.

Phalius shook his head.  You didnt break the first, bent the hell outta it, but you didnt break it.  But you repeatedly infringed upon the third and fourth, especially the fourth.

Keith stared blankly. 

Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain and keep the sabbath-day to sanctify it as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee. Phalius quoted.  Keith looked sick.  Phalius said But, youre lucky cuz were under-staffed so we needed you here rather than rotting in some cesspool in the pits of Hell.  The job may be tedious, but it has nice benefits, like fluency in any language, even slang.  Anyway, thats enough talk for now.  Just move your chair over here and Ill teach you how to deal with the caseload.

Wait a minute, Keith protested.  Do you mean to tell me that the simple utterance of the phrase God Damn It! can condemn a person to Hell?  Technically, God is no more his name than Human is mine.

You might want to stop spouting technicalities before you p*ss someone off, said Phalius.  However, you are right.  We usually dont condemn people for using that particular phrase.  The worst four letter word is Yawh, and misusing it counts heavily against your third commandment.  We also look down on Jehovah depending upon our mood.  In your case, I think it was your incessant assertion that Gods a B*tch that hurt you the most.  Forgive me if the tape isnt cued up to that point.  Now can we get to work?

Phalius opened a drawer and pulled out a file dated three weeks previous to the date of Keiths death.  This is the earliest one,, he said.  Due to lack of personnel, our department has fallen back seven weeks.  Not that thats bad considerin the other departments.  See, we are divided up geographically, and I hear that some sections of Europe are still having trouble with the influx from World War II, all those deaths and then the questionable interpretations of Thou shalt not kill just be glad you werent stationed there.  Although, if you dont work out here, I suppose I could get you transferred, heh, heh.

Steve did some quick calculations.  So Ive been dead for four weeks.  It seems like only hours.

Phalius seemed annoyed at the interruption.  When souls are in their files, they stay there in a kind of stasis until one of the Reapers reconstructs them.  Anyway as I was saying, we are the subdivision of the Arizona Region in charge of Cochise County. Phalius continued.   Anyone who dies there comes through here, get it?  Keith nodded.  Good.  Now you see this number here in the top it says 63 in green, then 37 in red.  Those are percentages.  That is the assessment of the previous clerk that this fellow is 63 percent good.  When the margin is that wide the file usually needs little more than a cursory inspection.  Just double check to make sure that the guy before you did his job and send it along to wherever it needs to go.  He took the entire file and turned around to a pair of slots on the wall.  As he turned, the ax handle which Keith had been trying so hard not to stare at, knocked the open water bottle onto the floor where it made a puddle that left a wet spot on the carpet to which Phalius was oblivious.  One slot was marked good in green while the other was marked evil in red.  Phalius put the file folder into the green one. 

Thats it? Keith asked. 

For the most part, yes.

Cant a computer do that?

Then what would we do with all the souls in purgatory? The larger man inquired.  We have to give the work to the marginal souls, like ourselves.  If we were replaced by computers then we would have to spend eternity in the singles club, or in Hell.

But if youre understaffed, computers could help with the workload. Keith insisted.

Phalius grinned.  We arent understaffed because we have a lack of personnel, he said. Were understaffed because they just swept our department and found heavy corruption.  Half of the Arizona staff has been recently relocated to Hell. 

Keith was stunned.  So if I dont do my job well

Phalius nodded.  But only in extreme cases.  Now, lets sort these until we find a hard one for you to practice on.

Keith sorted about fifty files before he came to one with a narrow margin.  54% evil, he reported.  But this guy doesnt have any major commandment infringements.

Phalius yawned.  Yeah, the little sins tend to add up over time.  How old is this guy?

Sixty-five.

Phalius looked thoughtful.  Yes We may have a use for him.  Put this one in the good slot, after you stamp it with this.  Phalius handed Keith a stamp that marked Potential Employee on the file.  Now make sure not to put these ones in the bad file.  When Satan gets a hold of souls he rarely gives them back.  Weve probably lost a lot of potentials that way.

Keith was shocked.  You mean Ive been sending people directly to Hell?!

Phalius was unconcerned. Yeah, thats the point of sorting them.  You send them to their respective afterlives and they get reconstructed and informed of the judgment before the sentence is carried out.  Although, most of the ones you send through the good slot end up in purgatory anyway.  Heaven is hard to gain entry into.

The only other noteworthy thing that happened during the remaining two hours consisted of Keith objecting to sending a child to Hell simply because it had not been absolved of its original sin. 

The effect of original sin on a soul is usually negligible these days, explained Phalius.  But this child has had so little lifetime.  He died before he had a chance to throw the balance. 

                Keith was appalled.  He nearly screamed at Phalius. Why should that child be condemned to eternal torture just because it died before it was baptized?

                Phalius had an annoying way of remaining completely calm and complacent about sending good people to Hell.  Actually, that child will likely end up in Purgatory.

                Thats the torture I was talking about!

                Hey, dont pass judgment on your first day, give it some time.

                But, its not fair!

                Phalius was still calm.  Keith was certain that he could never remain that calm with an ax protruding from his skull.  Life isnt fair, said Phalius.  Whatever makes you think that the afterlife should be?

II

Who is this God person anyway?

 

"Our domination is almost complete.  The time has come to remove the remaining obstacle."

"Do you mean what I think you do?  Is it even possible?"

"There has got to be a way.  He just wants us to think there isn't."

"You're talking about Deicide, the most horrific crime possible."

"And who will we have to answer to for it? God?"

    Keith quickly fell into a routine of mindless filing.  His biggest problem was finding something to do with his spare time.  He had 12 hours a day during which he had nothing to do.  He didn't know anyone in purgatory; at least, he couldn't think of anyone he had known who might be here that he would want to associate with.

    The singles bar had just dredged up a repressed memory of a boy tricked into dressing in drag at a junior high dance.  Also, in spite of the sign over the entrance which read: "Welcome to Purgatory-two drink minimum," there didn't appear to be an actual bar anywhere.  Just a seemingly infinite number of people mingling.  There went drinking himself into oblivion.

    So Keith sat in his spartan room and watched Earth TV.  200,000,000 channels and nothing is on.  

    After about a week of this monotony,  Keith had fallen into a false sense of security.  This was the way things were, and would continue to be indefinitely.  It was Saturday, hump day.  Only three more days to go until everyone got their day off.  Four if one counted today.  For some strange reason, Keith looked forward to wasting his Tuesday doing nothing.  Keith went through the pointless endeavor of clocking in.  He didn't do it because he was worried about pay.  What would he do with money in purgatory anyway?  No, he clocked in because he didn't want any persnickety auditors deciding that he was a bad worker and relocating him to a less desirable assignment.  Like burning in the pits of Hell's eternal torture.

    Something was wrong.  Where was everyone?  Keith could do his job without his coworkers, he supposed, but usually there was a bit of traffic before he got to his own office.  And although he didn't usually need to, it'd be nice to know where Phalius was, in case Keith needed to ask a question.

    So he started opening doors and looking down halls.  Where could they be?  Was Saturday some sort of  mid-Sabbath day when no-one had to work?   Did Purgatory have holidays?  Had something terrible happened?  Could something terrible happen?  

    Keith's mental questions came to an abrupt end when he opened a door to find the entire staff of his subdivision sitting about a television set laughing uproariously as the figure on the screen gesticulated wildly, challenging God to: "Bring it on!"  Keith was appalled.  They were watching scenes from his life!  So what if he had challenged God to a fist fight.  The pansy hadn't shown up.  He didn't like the idea of having his life reviewed by his... peers, coworkers.  It's harder to fear the judgment of the intangible deity than it is to fear the judgment of one's peers, because one doesn't directly depend on one's social connection with God for ... for ... for what? What did he depend on them for.  Survival?  He was already dead.  If he made a bad impression, it was made for eternity, though.  That's what it was, he still had the remnants of his humanity.  And humans depended upon their connection with other humans for their physical and psychological well-being.  Keith decided that that was the worst thing about being dead.  All of his relationships were now static.  If he didn't like someone, he had to deal with them for eternity.  At least on Earth he had had the satisfaction of knowing that someday one of them would die.

   Someone noticed Keith's presence and quickly switched off the television as everyone made a great show of getting back to work.

   Keith did the same.  But his old train of thought returned to him as he mindlessly filed souls. He supposed he could always go to Hell if he wanted to renew his relationships.  How would he get there?  Intentionally screw up badly?  Misfile himself?  Maybe he could sell his soul.  The idea of selling his soul after he was already dead intrigued him.  It was the kind of thing he would do just to be content with the knowledge that no one else would.  He had tried to sell his soul once when he was alive, but no one had appeared to take it.

    "I was a trifle busy then."

    Keith glanced around the room just to make sure that the voice had been his imagination.  It had.  Oh well, back to filling.  Middle aged man died of... Spontaneous Human Combustion!  This was interesting.  100% evil?  There must have been some mistake.  You could never have a 100% yield unless you messed up.  He had learned that in chemistry.

    The door to Keith's office opened suddenly and a man who looked to be in his early twenties popped in, quickly closing the door behind him.  He had close cropped blond hair, was clean shaven, and wearing clothes that Keith tentatively dated as belonging to the era of the 1990's. The man said: "Hi, I'm Ted.  Mind if I hide out in here for a while?"

    "Uh... sure, go ahead... Why?"

    "Oh, you must be the new guy.  I didn't recognize you sober.  Is your whole life that entertaining?"

    "I don't know.  I haven't seen the tape of highlights yet." Keith replied dryly.  "Why do you need to hide out?"

    "Right, well I'm a reaper." Ted explained as he offered his hand to Keith.

    Keith hesitated only a moment before accepting the hand.  He reminded himself that the Touch of Death probably wouldn't kill him again.  "Keith." He said, introducing himself.

    "I love the reaction I get when I do that.  The normal reaction, I mean.  You didn't even flinch.  You must have some sense.  Or none.  Anyway, to answer your original question, I'm hiding out in here because if the other Arizonan reapers found out that I didn't have anything to do, they would try to pin some of their work on me.  All of the other departments have developed dumping work elsewhere into a science.  How many souls do you file a day?"

    Keith had never thought about it before.  "There seems to be and endless supply," he said.

    "See.  On average less than two people die in our district per day.  But other departments manage to get some of their excess souls sent to us."

    Keith looked at the file in front of him.  "Hey, this guy died in Phoenix two weeks ago!"

    Ted got up and read over Keith's shoulder.  "Hey," he said.  "Dude sold his soul to Satan."

    "How do you know that?"

    "That's the only way to get 100% evil.  These are supposed to go to Hell.  Go directly to Hell.  Do not pass Purgatory.  Do not collect subway fare." Ted laughed at his own joke, but sobered when he realized that Keith wasn't laughing with him.  "Ya know," he said.  "I haven't met Satan yet.  He's too busy.  What do you say we get his attention?"

    "How?"

    "Ted raised his voice to the tone that one uses when he is hoping to be overheard and said: "We could save this good man from eternal torture by keeping his soul tied up in Purgatory's miles of red tape for eternity."

    "HOW DARE YOU INSOLENT WORMS DENY ME THAT WHICH IS RIGHTFULLY MINE?" Said the gigantic mass of muscles, scales, sinew, teeth, and fiery fury that had materialized in Keith's office.

    Ted gave Keith a conspiratorial wink.  "We cannot stand idly by and allow you to take this good soul to Hell."

    "Um, yeah," Keith agreed.

    The figure of the demon was instantly replaced by the figure of a man who held out a piece of paper. "This contract declares Me rightful owner of that man's soul.  I had to go through all kinds of trouble to retrieve his son's soul in Purgatory and re-animate his corpse.  I paid for a pious soul and I intend to get one."

    "But you killed him," Keith argued.  "He would have lived a full life before he had to pay the price."

    "Such is the nature of the contract." Satan Grinned.  "Utterly selfless souls are a rare commodity."

    "Is that why you never appeared to buy mine?" Keith inquired.  

    "I don't know who you are, but the answer is likely that your soul seemed headed in My direction anyway and I didn't want to risk appearing and scaring you into being pious before you signed anything.  Now stand aside as I claim My property.

    Satan reached across the desk for the file lying in front of Keith.  Ted, seeing his opportunity, reached into Satan's chest and withdrew a circle of metal.  "Got your soul!" He proclaimed.

    "Hey," Satan Whined.  "Give it back.  You never told me you were a reaper."

    Keith attempted not to laugh at the sight of the Lord of Hell looking like a child about to throw a tantrum in his office.

    After a few minutes Ted stopped dancing out of Satan's reach and tossed the coin to him as he said: "All right here you go.  We were just messin' with ya.  I'm Ted.  Reaper suffix 512.  Keith, you'd better give him the file."

    Satan grumbled about how mean they were and took his file.

    "Hey, no hard feelings?" asked Ted.

    "Easy for you to say.  I have an underworld to run.  Hey, you guys wouldn't be able to tell me why my soul inflow has slowed to a trickle, would you?  I've called corruption sweeps on all the departments I could, but they just send me a wave of souls and then everything returns to normal."

    "Could it have something to do with the Board's policies.  I hear they raised the admission standards to Heaven." Ted offered.

    "See that's what I thought at first, but that would increase my flow.  And with the boom in the death rate, I should be getting ten times the amount that I am."

    "Interesting.  I'll look into it and see what I can find." Ted promised.

    "Thanks.  Hey, if you guys have some time off, drop buy Hell and take the tour.  Just tell them Eric sent you.  And if you ever think of changing jobs, I could use some more good people."  Satan vanished after saying this.

    "Nice guy, "Remarked Ted.  "Much nicer than God.  Rumor has it that he's powerless when you take his soul."

    "You've met God!" Keith was incredulous.

    "Oh yeah, when the Board took over they relocated him to Purgatory.  He's in one of the rooms in the Centerplex Suites.  Top floor.  I forget which number. If you go to see him, be careful, he has a temper."  Ted suddenly checked the beeper on his belt.  "Oh crap.  Some psycho hijacked a bus and I have to go persuade him to crash it in Pima.  Later Keith."  And then he stepped out the door.  Thus ending the most interesting episode in Keith McKinley's life.  So far.

 

    Downtown Purgatory was large and intimidating.  Keith headed for his apartment, about two blocks away from his office. He stopped.  There was a giant building rising like a gargantuan mountain thrust angrily from the bosom of the earth, or what passed for earth in Purgatory.  It proclaimed that it was, in large, bold, pompous letters, Centerplex Suites.  

    Keith paused for a moment.  Watch TV.  Meet God.  WATCH TV.  Meet GOD.  watch tv.  MEET GOD.  He turned the corner and headed for the Centerplex.  Traffic was light.  There were a lot of pedestrians, but they didn't form a crowd.  And the few people who had cars (how and why they got cars eluded Keith) simply flew above the heavy traffic.  Actually, so did the pedestrians!  Keith had never noticed before, but people were actually flying around.  Keith made a mental note to learn how to fly.

    He reached the Centerplex lobby.  There was a small crowd clustered around a receptionist-type person.  Keith ignored them and headed strait for the elevator.  He pressed the button for the top level and promptly flattened himself into a cartoonish blob on the floor as the elevator went from 0mph to 99.99999% the speed of light in .0012 seconds.  The uncomfortable ride seemed to him to take less than zero seconds, but according to the external clock, actually took five seconds.  Probably due to time dilation.

    Keith realized, as his spectral brain eased back into place, that he had no idea where to go next.  He preferred to avoid asking for directions.  Not for the usual male reason: testosterone induced stupidity; Keith had the opposite problem: total cowardice.  He simply could not bear to be put in potentially awkward social positions. He supposed that God's door would have a plaque on it or something. "God: Creator" or something to that effect.

     Keith had gotten thoroughly lost through the maze of corridors.  He realized that he would likely have to ask for directions if he was going to get back to the elevator.  He sighed a great sigh of resignation and opened a door.  

    A giant blue swirling dimensional gateway marked "service entrance" sat nonchalantly in the otherwise bare room.  Keith quickly slammed the door and opened another one.  A giant floating head bellowed "Who dares disturb Me!"

    "That depends on who you are."

    "I am the Creator of this Universe.  I am the God of your Father.  I am the one who is called I AM."

    "I'm Keith." God's ego was so enormous, that it radiated from him like heat from a fire.  The instant Keith opened the door to his room, he was hit with a blast of ego so powerful, that he contracted some of God's personality traits.  The direct effect of this was that Keith was utterly unimpressed by the supposedly awesome creature that addressed him.  In fact he felt a little contempt.  God had a lot to answer for.

    Keith suddenly became aware that God was yelling something about him being an insolent cur.  "Look, God, you have the whole omnipotent, omnipresent, omni-powerful thing going for you, so you can take some time out of your busy schedule to answer some of my questions."

    God got very angry at this and started spouting all sorts of biblical threats, but Keith wasn't listening.  Something was tugging at his mind.  The whole setting seemed so... surreal.  And yet familiar too.  Almost as if he had seen it before.  And then he remembered.  He walked to the corner of the room and pulled back the curtain.  

    "I should smite your whole country for it's utter... Ughahhhhhhh!!!" said God.  Startled when Keith tapped his shoulder, God leapt from his seat in front of the machine that had been controlling the impressive head that had been talking to Keith.

    "What's with the machine?" asked Keith. 

    The man in front of him, who was wearing a toga, was flawless in construction.  So the Greek portrayals had been the most accurate.

    "They gave me this so that I could cling to my last vestige of dignity."

    "Playing the Wizard of Oz doesn't strike me as particularly dignified."

    "Wizard of what?"

    Keith was beginning to doubt that he had the right person.  "The wizard who puts on a big show but actually has no power.  It's a common fairy tale."

    "I should have known better than to trust anything resembling generosity from them." God spat the last word with disgust.

    "Who's them?"

    God acted as if he hadn't heard Keith.  Instead he began sizing him up, as though considering him for the first time.  "What would you do if you were all powerful?" God asked.

    Keith considered for a moment.  "I'd probably use my power to impress women."

    "How do you feel about your life?  Are you happy with the way you lived?"

    "I would be if I had finished anything I'd started.  Are you about to offer me a chance to do it over or something?"  God was looking at Keith like a man who had ordered a steak and gotten a hamburger.

    "Not exactly, but I will answer some of your questions."

    Keith paused for a moment, selecting a common, yet important question. He then decided against asking how his pet weasel was doing and instead said simply: "Why do you let bad things happen?"

    God was utterly morose.  "Because I don't have the power to stop them."

    Keith was taken aback by this.  "But," he protested, "you created the universe."

    "Yeah.  All I can do is... create universes."

    Realization hit Keith like a snake wielding a hammer of realization.  God was just like the wizard with no power.  Kind of pathetic, actually.

    "If you have no power, then what's with all the smiting and the commandments and the eternal damnation?"

    "Follow me."

    God suddenly got up and walked through one of the walls in the room.  Keith shrugged inwardly and followed.

    The room looked like something out of a science fiction movie.  The kind with low budgets.  There was a throne and a bunch of view screens and the mandatory helmet with funky tubes coming out of it.  The large contraption in the center of the room must be the death ray, thought Keith.  Oh no.  He's going to hold the world ransom. Keith snickered inwardly at his mental joke.

     "In order to retain control over my creation," God began.  "I first created ADM."

    "What does Adam have to do with anything?"

    "Not Adam.  ADM.  The Automated Deity Machine.  It interfaces with me directly to provide all of that omni stuff you mentioned."

    "Ahh. So why can't you stop the bad stuff, then."

    "ADM ran out of power.  I can't do anything with it.  I figured that I would power it on faith.  There seemed to be a ready supply of that.  The awe of the populous kept ADM running, and the exploits of ADM kept the populous in awe.  It worked out fine.  But then I took a nap and I woke up to find that ADM's power had run out.  I kept a spare battery of Creative Essence to jumpstart it, but someone had sabotaged the system."

    "Satan?"

    "No, I gave Satan near-Deity powers and and the ability to sin all he wants in return for making me look like the lesser of two evils.  He's my best friend!  We've had a few skirmishes for some cosmic real-estate.  But we still go golfing together every Tuesday.  No, It was probably one of those pesky yes-man archangels.  I never trusted Michael, or Gabriel, or Ed.  Now the board is running MY creation and I can't even see what they're doing.  I can't leave this office."

    "Ouch.  Tough luck.  So you took this nap when, after Jesus?"

    "Who?"

    "The guy in the New Testament."

    "They wrote a New Testament!  Mine was supposed to be the only Testament.  The Testament of Divine Will.  Ugh.  Oh well, no point in hanging around here anymore.  If I did manage to regain my power, it would all be too different anyway."

    "So why do you stay?  Can't you go make another universe."

    "For the past thousand years I've been dreaming of doing exactly that.  I'd make a better universe, with loyal and powerful followers and then, oh ho ho, then I'd teach those Board members not to mess with the big G."

    "So you can't go?"

    "I can now, thanks to you.  Kieth, was it?  I need you to keep an eye on ADM.  I don't want any of the Board to get their hands on it.  Can I trust you to keep it secret?"

    "You're offering to make me God?" Keith was incredulous.

    "No, I told you that the machine doesn't work.  Besides, you don't seem very mechanically inclined.  I very much doubt that a mere mortal like you could succeed at repairing what your Creator could not.  The very thought is ludicrous.  What I am bestowing upon you is my last Holy Charge.  Someone sabotaged ADM.  And that someone will want to use it.  You are to guard it with your very existence!"  God briefly touched Keith's forehead.  "Now you can walk through any wall to come here.  No one can follow you, unless you invite them.  I don't think."

   "Thanks a lot." Keith said thankfully, deciding that God, whether he knew it or not, had just given him the keys to the universe, and Keith didn't want to say anything to make him change his mind.

   "Don't thank me yet.  I have to use up the last of it's reserve power to pull the last card out of my sleeve."

   God then pressed the only lighted button in the display.  A big flashing red one.  Two panels appeared and he pulled them both open and set his palms flat on them.  He then pressed them both inward simultaneously.

 

   Every molecule in the universe.  Every atom in existence.  Everything in creation suddenly vibrated with  a message that left it's indelible mark on every single soul. "This is God.  You have all been officially forsaken.  That is all."

III

The Power of Prayer

    "We have to move now."

    "But, we weren't planning on anything for another ten years."

    "I know, we'll just have to make do with what we have.  With God out of the picture, the board will try to completely seize his power.  Pull all of the Reapers out of the field.  We're going to Heaven."

    "But if no souls are collected...."

    "We'll deal with Earth later."

 

    Phalius regarded his regiment with bitter disappointment.  They had been denied ten years of training.  Most of them were completely unfamiliar with combat.  All of them were completely unfamiliar with fighting angels.  Oh well, nothing to do but hope they follow orders.  Time to try to boost morale.

    Phalius no longer had an ax protruding from his skull.  He was clad in divine armor, and wielding a sword cast in the forges of Hell.  His voice resounded through his ten thousand troops and they all heard him clearly as he spoke.  It felt good to be in command of an army again.  Granted, with his experience, they should have relegated much more troops to him, but instead they gave him the ones that had noteworthy training.  Phalius thought darkly that the note was probably "insufficient."

    "Today, we march forth into battle.  This will be a battle like no other.  You will find yourselves facing some of the fiercest angels ever to wield a sword, But we shall prevail.  If we all stand together and follow orders, we will quickly win our victory.  No longer will we have to slave away monotonously.  We will take our Afterlives into our own hands."  Phalius wished he was a better orator.  His words did not seem to have had the desired effect.  His troops were uneasy, restless, undisciplined.

    A soldier near the front of the ranks spoke up. "Umm, Sir?  What are we going to do when we, uhh, face the angels."

    "Kill them, soldier."

    "Yeah but, uhh, I mean, what happens, uhh, aren't we already dead?"

    "Yes..."

    "So what happens when we die again?  Where do we go?"

    "Probably to some place a lot more pleasant than this.  Look, you all have weapons forged in the Fires of Chaos or a variable facsimile thereof. This makes it possible for you to kill the denizens of Heaven.  Where they will go, I'm not certain, but I suspect it will return us to the chaos from which the universe sprang."  Phalius secretly hoped that he would go to Valhalla, it had been a disappointment not to end up there the first time he had died,  although some might argue that technically he wasn't in battle with the tree when he had lost his grip on the ax handle and it had bounced off the trunk at just such an angle as to cleave his skull.  This was his only chance for an warriors death.

    Several of the soldiers began to look even more uneasy.  Phalius sensed that some of them were sneaking out the back.

    "Look, I'll level with you.  Each one of you will be risking your very soul on the battlefield.  But if you desert, you will definitely loose it when the battle is over.  Either we will be victorious, and destroy every soul who wouldn't fight for us, or Heaven will be, and they have a much less tolerant view of deserters."  Phalius smiled to himself as his ranks reformed, although reluctantly.  "Now, here's the plan...

 

    The Reapers swept through Heaven quickly, and before anyone knew what was happening, most of the malleable souls had been folded up and placed into limbo in the Reaper's cowls.  The Angels were quickly surrounded by the swarm of Purgatory soldiers.  They all stood in a tight circle, it was the best defensive maneuver they could manage.  The throngs from Purgatory outnumbered them by 1000 to one. (It would have been 100000 to one, but they hadn't had the extra ten years necessary to prepare the lost souls in the singles bar and water park.)  

    The battle was horrendously one-sided as Phalius led the charge into the fray.  Phalius, an experienced soldier, saw right away that the odds were definitely on the side of Heaven.  The Angels were well trained and prepared to battle demons.  They had expected to vie with Hell for power when God left.  Most of the Purgatory troops were lucky if they even had a decent sword.  The ranks from behind were taking swords from their fallen comrades just to have a fighting chance.  Too late to worry about it now.  Phalius commanded the way of the Viking: shout charge and then win.  Or loose.

    An angel approached Phalius with perhaps a little too much confidence after easily dispatching five hundred other troops.  Phalius easily parried his swing and sent his own slash downward.  The angel looked stunned as he lost his ballance and toppled over; it's much harder to stand with only one leg.  Phalius finished the angel and attacked the next as a soldier behind him took the sword and helmet from the angel's corpse.  Phalius found the next angel too busy impaling one of Phalius's troops on his sword to notice Phalius had come up behind him and severed his head.  

    The soldier behind Phalius, the one who had taken the sword and helmet, spoke up.  "What should I do, sir?"

    "Just watch my back--" It was a female soldier.  Great.  His Viking upbringing had taught him the the women of his tribe were to be protected.  He hadn't liked having women and children in his army.  But his superiors had argued that they would need everyone they could get, and women couldn't be considered weak when their souls weighed just as much, and most of the children were over 200 years old.  It didn't matter to Phalius, though.  He would have to keep an eye on this girl.

    Another angel approached.  Apparently targeting Phalius.  Phalius had once known the choirs of angels, but he didn't have time to try to distinguish them on this battle field.  Judging from his armor, this was one of the higher ranks.  Phalius locked swords with the Angel.  Every time he blocked a swing it jarred his entire ...body?  Well it jarred him badly.  Phalius was doing all he could just to keep the angel from getting past his defenses.  He couldn't keep this up much longer.  He tried whirling away from a thrust and then using his momentum to chop downward into the angels neck and torso, but the angels sword was right there, quick as lightning. blocking his swing and sending all of its force back through his blade.

    The girl appeared then and she thrust for the angel's belly, cutting him deeply in the side.  It was exactly the distraction Phalius needed, in one swift motion, he decapitated his adversary.

    "Not bad." He commented.

    She gave him a weak smile from under a blood encrusted face and indicated the field of clouds just behind her.  Three fallen angels lie where before had been only one.  At least someone was pulling her weight in this battle.  But the rest of it was going terribly.  For every angel that fell more than a thousand souls from Purgatory lay dead, or deader, anyway. Many of the angels had broken from their formation and just sliced through the throng as though the soldiers were made of butter.  They would need a miracle to win this battle.  Phalius had a brief image of someone holding a knife to Jesus' throat and demanding one.  Where was Jesus anyway.  He certainly wasn't on the battlefield.  There would be no miracles today.

 

    Keith simply stood stunned for a while.  The announcement of God forsaking the world had seized him by the mind and left him empty.  For a long time he could do nothing at all.  Gradually, the feeling subsided and his intellect returned.  He reasoned that the effect of loss was likely built into the message, so that everyone in the universe would dispair loosing God.  Good riddance.  That arrogant prick.  He was worse than Keith had expected. No wonder the world had been such an awful place to live in.  If God created man in his own image than that certainly explained why man was the greedy, petty, arrogant bastard he was.  His last Holy Charge.  As if Keith would devote his time to protecting God's power from his enemies.  God probably had known that he wouldn't, but he had left ADM in his care anyway.  Why?  Maybe he just didn't want to take the risk that someone else might be able to claim it with him gone.  And he left it to Keith because he didn't think Keith capable of claiming that power for his own.

    Well he was right about one thing.  Keith wasn't going to tell anyone about this.  He set about the room, trying this button and that, trying to find something that worked, some clue as to how it could be fixed.  He found what looked like a battery, but he couldn't really be sure of what a Creative Essence battery would look like.  Then he saw something he recognized.  An electric socket on the wall.  And the cord was sitting there, not plugged in, a few feet away.  He plugged it in.

    Nothing happened.  He followed the cord, and found that it connected to a small computer tower.  Why should all of these things be so contemporary?  This was all created before the universe had form.  Maybe it was just how his mind chose to perceive it.  After all, there wasn't anything truly physical in the room was there. 

    He switched the tower on, and took a seat in front of the wall monitor that was now showing something similar to a Windows desktop.  That fool, if windows was the best he could come up with, then Keith would have this thing figured out and improved in no time flat.  Why was he so sure of himself?  He'd never been this arrogant before.  God!  God's ego was contagious.  Keith would have to rebuild his humility.  

    The screen in front of him indicated that he had over 10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000  unread messages. They were prayers.  Dating from over three thousand years ago.  God hadn't even been listening!  Well, Keith couldn't answer any of them just now.  Better send them to someone who could.  He had almost rerouted all prayers to heaven when it occurred to him that they would probably just stuff them into a corner and ignore them.  He sent them in audio files instead, marked "play upon arrival."  That would force them to at lest listen.  They should be ashamed of themselves, ignoring the populace all this time.  He clicked send.

 

    Phalius fought heroically.  If the term 'heroic' can apply to someone who is slaughtering angels.  He had taken a bad wound in his left arm, and had been forced to give up his heavy, two-handed sword, in exchange for a lighter one. The girl-warrior had gladly taken it from him.  He was glad she was along now.  He no longer felt as though he was fighting to protect her.  She was fighting alongside him.  The finest warrior in his ten thousand.  Who knew?  He made a mental note to ask her name at some point.

    The battle was more intense here.  The two of them had advanced to the defensive circle.  As far as Phalius could see, they were the only ones to have advanced so far.  He was planning to just charge up to them and break through the line, but he was stopped by the appearance of the Seraphim.  Tall and powerful.  Wearing armor that radiated divine light and wielding a sword of Divine thunder.  This was definitely an Angel to be reckoned with.  Unfortunately for Phalius, the angel was female.  

    He hadn't ever really thought about whether Angel's could be termed male or female or if they could reproduce and where the soul would come from that couldn't be manipulated by the Reapers.  But angels undoubtedly had the outward characteristics that Humans associated with gender.  She was definitely female.  All of the angels he had killed thus far were male.  He had more of a problem with fighting against a girl than he did fighting with one.  

    No time to think about that now.  She had swung her sword in a wide arc that would have cleaved Phalius in half had his sword not been there to block it.  As it was, the blow knocked him to the ground, which was one of the hardest clouds Phalius had ever crashed into.  He was sure that most of his ribs were broken.  He hadn't known that he had ribs to break.  

    He rolled away from another swing, and got back up just in time for her third swing to chop off his left arm completely.

    "D*mn," he muttered, involuntarily.  She was definitely fast.  He continued fighting a loosing, briefly wondering where the girl had got to.  He could sure use her help here. 

    The Seraphim was showing no evidence of strain.   Phalius kept baking away.  He noted out of the corner of his eye, that the girl soldier was busy fighting two lesser angels a few feet off.  She could have handled them easily individually, but together they were wearing her down.  Phalius wished there was something he could do to help.  But he didn't want to bring the Seraphim down on her as well.  He suddenly had an idea.

    He danced out of the Seaphim's sword reach, nearly tripping on his severed arm as he did so, and then threw his sword at her.  The Angel hadn't expected him to give up his only weapon so easily, and reflexively guarded her head and torso from the fatal blow.  Phalius hadn't been aiming for the kill, however, and the blade sank deep into the Seraphim's leg. Seizing his chance, Phalius hoisted his arm from the ground and hurled it through the air.  It caught one of the lesser angels that the girl soldier was fighting square in the head and sent him sprawling, giving her time to finish him off and focus on the other one.  

    The Seraphim was almost on him now.  She walked with a limp, but she walked.  Phalius was weaponless, his sword was behind her.  He didn't dare take his eyes off her to look about for another weapon.  He cursed himself for leaving his dagger in the skull of the angel fifty yards behind him.  He removed his helmet, determined to smash her nose before she killed him.

    Suddenly, echoing throughout the Heavenly realm, there came a soft plea for help.  The Seraphim briefly paused to listen before swinging directly for Phalius' neck.  The plea was followed by a chorus others.  Billions of souls cried out for help, for reprieve, for some sign that they were living right. Most of the Angels broke down under the weight of all the prayers.  Hands over their ears, trying in vain to block the accusing voices from their minds.  They were all soon incapacitated, and the war was over.  Purgatory claimed victory.  The remaining leaders of the army disarmed the Angels and quietly took them all prisoner.  Only when they were all safely in chains did someone switch the prayers off.

    Phalius didn't notice any of this, unfortunately.  Everything, for him, went black about the time the Seraphim cut his head off.