Where it all ends

Despite what man and science may tell us, the end of the world can begin in only one way and in one place. With the first of creation. God and the Devil. The first and His favorite child. Yes, God is the father of us all, but Bambino Numero Uno was Old Scratch, the Morningstar, the Dark One and a bunch of other old names that the Sunday school crowd long ago stopped whispering in favor of money management and the languages of love.

“Oh, those humans,” the Devil told his dad one day in the conference room where they met every so often. “They really like to take what You told them and do the opposite. You remember Johnny Edwards?”

His father looked at the Devil. Of course He remembered Jonathan Edwards. He was God. He remembered the first atom because He made it. The first black hole. Andromeda. That’s what the humans called it. Andromeda. Some of His other children had different names. His humans weren’t the smartest of the bunch. They were still babies in the design of His creation, but He did see Louie’s point.  They were kinda disappointing and no matter how many chances dad gave them they just kept screwing up. They’d mostly destroyed their planet. They were the only children He had that killed one another in His name.

He didn’t watch them as much as He used to because a parent can only take so much before they just shrug shoulders, give the kids money to live on and say just do what you want. He did that around 2,000 years ago. Or what they call years. It’s a unit of measurement to mark the passing of their planet's rotation around their ball of fire.  After Abraham’s boys royally screwed things, the supreme creator just said do what you want. He copied Pontius and washed His hands. That was the last time He walked among them. That didn’t mean He was completely oblivious, God and all, but He relied on IAM for updates (Instant Angel Messaging for those not up on the lingo.) And then there was Louie. His first creation and His biggest disappointment.  

 “Johnny Edwards made it tough on me,” Louie, aka Lucifer Morningstar and all the other names, told his father while they were sitting in the conference room mentioned a couple hundred words ago. “I was front row center when he preached about sinners being in the hands of an angry You. He had those people terrified. I mean absolutely insane with fear. I just left after the first hour. It was too much. Dude cost me so many souls.”

The Devil leaned back in the oversized leather seat. It was more like a throne made of cow skin than it was a chair. God liked creature comforts just like all His kids. All his creations actually. Doubt that? You ever see a turtle under a dripping faucet? Little man will dance a jig in his turtlely little turtle shell. God created humans in his own image, the only creation to have that honor, and He handed them a lot of his own DNA as well. So God liked a comfortable chair so God got a comfortable chair. Of course when Louie saw the chair, he wanted one. “I come to see you in just one place. Here. Least you could do is give me a nice place to sit when I’m giving you the rundown.” He talked about it for a hundred years. He preached on. Made passive aggressive remarks. Eventually God just said fine and next time Louie was up this way there was a nice chair waiting for his skinny rear.  

 “You don’t make em like Johnny Edwards anymore.” He was clicking the end of his red pen. It was an annoying sound and God was fairly certain he did it for that reason alone. “Why is that? 

God was looking over the reports His son had brought Him. Earth was a lost cause. That’s what these numbers told Him. Disappointing. So so disappointing. They had progressed in many ways as in most of them weren’t waging war with one another, killing everything that was different, but regression was everywhere. What He meant by regression is that they were still fearful, panicky creatures. Morons. Incapable of learning. They went from a rock and a stone to gunpowder and splitting the atom. And now almost all of that is even gone. Great, right? Not so much. Regression, remember? Regression through progression. Sounds confusing? Not especially. Very few guns and guts any more. Just WiFi and digital terrosim. They’re killing their souls and enjoying it. Louie showed him something called Twitter during their last meeting. The grand deity could only remove his glasses, pinch the bridge of his nose and ask about the tadpoles in the oceans of Kepler 87, God's latest creation and one He knew wouldn’t disappoint Him like the humans.  

“I tried something different. We’ve been over this. Many times.” The papers before Him outlined the Earth's collective Moral Compass. That’s a system God was forced to create specifically for His humans. He gave Adam and Eve one very simple rule. They made it a couple of their hours before they broke it. This had never happened to the Alpha and Omega. Outright defiance and then blubbering apologies.

God looked at His son now. For a long time He blamed Lucifer for all the terrible things that happened on Earth. It was the easiest thing to do. God was like most parents with a troubled child. He was a workaholic and absentee. The humans liked to make Him out to be Superman, but he was far from the chiseled Man of Steel from the comics or Hollywood. He had weaknesses, the same emotions as the Earthlings. He was wrathful and jealous. So He never understood why so many of His followers deemed Him to be all loving and kind.

“They just aren’t afraid of you anymore, pop,” the devil said. “You kinda messed up when you went from eye-for-an-eye to turn the other cheek.” 

It was a fair point and one He had considered. Many times. But Lucifer was just pushing buttons. It didn’t matter how much God tried to make things right with His first born, the kid just kept pushing Him away. He was the original rebel and God was the original pissed-off parent. “You ought to get some more Johnny Edwards down there. Maybe those reports wouldn’t be so crappy if you did that.” 

Johnny Edwards, as Louie was calling him, was a devout Calvinist during the Great Awakening of the 1800s. He was a Puritan relic and preached exclusively from the Old Testament. He had the gift of gab and could hold an audience in silent rapture like no other mouthpiece He had ever molded from the clay. His heart was in a good place. He preached from the old word because the old word was the original word. God was a lot harsher with His humans in the beginning because they wouldn’t listen to Him, wouldn’t follow the few rules He had, but moreover they just wouldn’t stop being cruel to one another.  

“I’ve never understood why they do the things they do,” God said. The papers were forgotten. The glasses were off. And God was leaning back in his chair mimicking His son. He was tired and wondered why He ever came to this backwater part of a backwater galaxy and decided to create life. He checked in every hundred years or so and it just became worse with each century. He was ready to give up. 

“They aren't afraid, I’m telling you, they aren’t afraid.” Louie let that comment sink in. Then: “They think you are a pussy.” 

In a long ago age, God would have lashed out at such a comment. But that was then and now He was tired. So very tired of the humans and their constant squabblings, their violence and hate, their negotiations and generally making life a millions times more difficult than it had to be. They were His only creations that had politicians. A vile word and a vile subsection of creation.  

“What are you getting at, Lucifer? I’m tired of this. It’s always the same. You needle me, I ignore you. So just tell me what you want.” 

The original fallen angel sat up giddy and slapped the table with an open palm. It was a glass table, no smudges or fingerprints because God and His first creations had no fingerprints, or detritus, or dust. Dust-free zone here. “Just let me have them,” he said. “Like Job, remember Job? Good times.” 

God did, of course, remember Job. How could He forget one of His most devout? Job’s story was a lot like that movie with Eddie Murphy when the two rich white dudes made a bet to see if they could screw up a man’s life and set up another on Easy Street. Just like that but with God, the Devil, destitution, murder, and skin conditions. In the end, if you study your holy texts, you’ll know that Job stayed true. And that made God happy. He liked that story. God liked it more than any other in the book that the people created based upon his actions and words. They got a lot of stuff wrong, but not the bit about Job. He was a good guy and he was being rewarded right now as Lucifer sat in the oversized chair clicking that red ink pen and getting ready to try to manipulate his daddy one more time.  

God no longer wanted to do this. “Fine,” He said. “Take them.” 

Lucifer, who his daddy calls Louie, turned his head a tad and gave a “you sure” look. God nodded. “So what does that mean,” he asked pop.  

“I’m pulling out,” He said and picked up a Moral Compass report. “All the angels. We’re leaving. They don’t work. So they're done. Gone. You can take the humans.” 

The Devil considered this proposal, and he could see just now how tired the grand designer was. Satan said ok. God nodded this time and repeated his son’s “Ok.” Then he snapped a weathered pair of fingers (why do we always snap our fingers, the Devil wondered.) “It’s done.” 

Lucifer jumped to his feet, slapped his palms together and rubbed them quickly against one another like a fly about to feast on carrion roasting in the summer sun. “Fantastic.”  He made a motion now in the air, hands twirling around like a magician and a box appeared on the table. It was about a foot long and six inches wide. It was wrapped in brown paper like you’d find in a grocery store and two pieces of twine wrapped its width and length, meeting in the middle in a small, limp bow. Louie ran fingertips across the surface. He wanted God to ask what was in the box, but God didn’t because God just didn’t care any longer.

A moment passed and then Louie waved his hand and the box disappeared as suddenly as it made its appearance. Then he was across the room and next to the door on his side of the divide. An orange glow came forth and the smell of fire, rot, and decay hit God’s nostrils. That smell always made Him uneasy and sick. It was a smell that He had created and He hated Himself for it. Lucifer said no more. Not a goodbye. Not a thank you. He was through the door and it closed behind him leaving God alone. And in that moment the Creator of Everything, the First and Last, the Alpha and Omega, had never felt more alone.

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