God

God hunched over his keyboard, the blue light reflected in his heavenly gaze. His eyes would have been goggling at the screen if his brow hadn't been so furrowed. Watching the comment section bloom before his very gaze, God was Cross.

Some celebrity or other had taken his Name in vain, and if that weren't bad enough, her words had been repeated all over the internet.

Ah! But look, blessed Joan from Florida had spoken up in his defence. He would be sure to save her a spot up here.

"I agree with her," Joan, Lake City, had written, "But I do wish she hadn't cursed the Lord's name."

Lots of people had responded to her comment with mocking laughter. Had God not been the omnipotent type, he would have scribbled their names in a notebook. Ah, what the heck, he would anyway, just for the look of the thing. He snapped his fingers and a little red notebook appeared. The thunderbolt probably wasn't necessary, but it made him feel better.

Right...

More comments were appearing every moment, most of them derisive... but lo! Christopher West in Denver replied thusly: "Thank you for speaking up about that. Some of us" (he didn't actually use italics, but he might as well have,) "Some of us wish to honour our heavenly father. There is no need for vulgarity."

Something eased in God's chest. It would be OK, down there, so long as Joan and Christopher were fighting his corner, puny though they were, and all-powerful as his corner happened to be.

"lol if your god has such beef with it he should smite me" said Scotty Pearson, Greater Manchester.

"Stupid English little twerp," God muttered, scribbling furiously in his little book.

+

Later that day, God waited eagerly for his arrival. Of course, it wasn't the same day for the hapless Scotty. God time runs different.

"There you are," said God, a delighted smile on his face. "Just put this on, will you?"

Scotty turned the copper helmet in his hands, peering at it, and only actually put it on his head to free up his hands for all the other odd things God was handing to him. He looked like he'd raided the strangest dressing up box in the cosmos, and he had a manic grin stamped on his Renaissancey face.

"This as well," God was saying, putting a wet coat around Scotty's shoulders. "Pop your feet into these-" Scotty slid his bare feet into a pair of metal flip flops. (When had he taken off his trainers and socks?) God's broad hands landed on Scotty's shoulders and steered him to the centre of a puddle a couple of paces to his left.

God stepped back, that smile still pulling his mouth as taut as a bowstring. It was unnerving, because it didn't match his eyes, where lightning seemed to flash.

It felt like the air darkened. There was a sound in the distance akin to thunder.

"Errr..." Scottty hesitated to question an actual celestial being, but he was very nervous, now. "What's going on?"

"I am so glad you asked!" A little red book appeared in God's hand. He flipped through the scrawled-on pages, and jabbed at one with a finger. "Scotty Pearson, isn't it? Lessee... 'lol if your god has such beef he should smite me' - that's what you said, wasn't it?"

Scotty's knees knocked. He said, "Errrr" again.

God waved a hand at the outfit, "Not strictly necessary," he said, leaning forward toothily, like a hungry shark, "but it should help you feel the full effect. Now!" He straightened up, all business-like. "This is going to sting. I hear it's like having a thousand angry wasps under your skin. You can't experience cardiac arrest, technically. Do you play the piano at all?"

Scotty shook his head.

"You might get a sudden urge."

God cracked his knuckles. There was a flash.

+++++++

Thank you for reading!

Just a silly one to get my feet wet! I often see people arguing about religion and so on online, which always seems like a wasted effort. It always makes me chuckle to imagine a God petty enough to get invested in what humans say online.

Oh, and apparently a surgeon was plagued by an urge to play the piano after he was struck by lightning. He gave up his job and switched careers because of it.