The Saving Of Earth-777 (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2

God was leaning up against a wall in a long hallway, talking to Julie from accounting.

It was a Wednesday morning at the office, and God's hair was still a mess from the previous night's sleep. Steam floated off his mug of hot coffee, while Julie played with her hair, listening to him intently.

“. . . Yeah, I’ve been there before,” God said to her. “You think someone is your friend, you trust them, and then they betray you. Lucifer did that to me, and Judas did it to Jesus . . . and . . . Maybe I did it to Job? . . . Maybe I did it to a few people? . . . But, hey, none of us are perfect, right? We can only try to be better . . . Anyway, do you have any plans for your weekend?”

“Mary, from Transportation, wants to get drinks. After that, we might go do Karaoke. She is going through a nasty breakup right now, and honestly, anything could happen. Seems like she really wants to cut loose. Why?” she asked him, leaning in closer, still playing with her hair. “What do you have going on this weekend?” she said flirtatiously.

“I should probably work,” God said, lacking any enthusiasm whatsoever.

“You? Working on the weekend?” she asked, stunned.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just . . . there might be this kid from Earth-777 that can change things. He is turning out to be a real pain in my ass. But, there is something about him . . .” God said, its voice and eyes trailing off. “Something inspiring.”

“Change things? Like what?” she asked with a severe frown.

“He might be able to save his timeline.”

She laughed hysterically, and softly punched him on the arm. God winced. “Oh, God, you're a riot,” she said, wiping away tears from her eyes.

“Unfortunately, Julie, I am being serious,” God said, looking her in the eyes.

Her mouth dropped, and then she glared at him. “Don’t tell me that you’re starting to believe in them again?” she asked.

God looked up at her, meeting her gaze, before taking a deep breath in. “No . . . I don’t believe in all of them, just one of them. I’m pretty sure that’s all there is left.”

“You’re going to be crushed again. How many times can you get your hopes up, just to be let down by them? How many chances can you give them? One man can’t save an entire timeline! It’s impossible!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” God said timidly.

"How many other timelines did you create? And what happened to all of them?”

"Not all of them . . . There’s still a few lingering around . . .”

"They all imploded!” Her eyes were piercing, forcing God to look away from her.

"I know. But, this kid, he isn’t giving up. And, he still believes in me. He is rooting for me. Imagine a man like him rooting for you, Julie? It’s absurd . . . I know that it’s not possible, but he did increase the survival rate by quite a bit already. I think I want to root for him in return.”

She took a step back from God and crossed her arms. “You’re ridiculous.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just . . . if he doesn’t give up, then maybe I shouldn’t either? Maybe we have to start by believing in the impossible aga—”

"God! There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you! I was sure that you’d be back in bed.” A man said, running up to the two of them, waving around a folder in his hand.

"Trevor?” God asked, confused. “What’re you doing here?”

"You have to see this!” he said, holding up the folder, a giant smile across his face.

"Can’t it wait, Trevor?” God said, frowning. “I’m a little busy.”

“It doesn’t look like it? Hi, Julie,” Trevor said, waving awkwardly to her.

“Hello, Trevor. What is it that you want God to see?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

“It’s the latest progress report of Earth–777,” he said to her, and then he turned to God. “Guess how many punches he threw this week?”

"Er, I don’t know, Trevor, 2,000?” God guessed.

Trevor frowned at God. “Be serious for a moment,” he said.

God raised an eyebrow. “4,000?”

“You really don’t understand him yet, do you?” Trevor asked.

“Your tone hasn’t improved at all,” God said, glancing at Julie, who was looking concerned. “It’s still pretty condescending at times.”

"He threw 4,000 punches today,” Trevor said, handing the folder over to God.

What??” God said, flipping through the folder. "How?”

"That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The kid has thrown 30,000 punches this week. He is a force, Sir.”

God’s eyes grew wide. “30,000,” God said quietly. "A force?”

"So what?” Julie said, her arms crossed again and her eyebrows pinched together.

"So?” Trevor repeated, turning to face her. “So!? Go take a coffee break, Julie. And then get back to work. Those numbers aren’t going to crunch themselves.”

God chuckled. “We’ll catch up later,” God said to her without looking up.

"Sure we will,” she said, rolling her eyes and walking away. “I won’t be here for you when you spiral again,” she called out over her shoulder.

God turned to Trevor after she left and asked, “Do I spiral?”

“You’ve been known to be a bit moody at times,” Trevor answered without hesitating. “Listen, there is something else—or, maybe I should say—there is someone else.”

“What do you mean? Someone else? Who?”

"There’s this writer guy. He lives alone in the woods of Washington. He has the same spunk as the fighter kid. He won’t stop writing, Sir. And what he can tap into . . . well, let's just say that I think some of your power is leaking out of you and it’s found its way to this writer. He writes about you, Sir. He writes about you a lot, even if he doesn’t know that’s what he is doing. He also wants to help people. He wants to try to believe in their world. He’s a bit of an asshole at times, but his life hasn’t been easy. We think he has a good soul, Sir.”

God looked down at his body and frowned. “You think that I have a leak somewhere?”

"It’s possible.”

"Is that why I’ve been feeling so weak for the last two or three thousand years?”

"Could be,” Trevor said, shrugging.

God took his hands and felt for a hole in his body.

"I don’t trust writers, Trevor. They spread lies like wildfire. And they think they’re so damn smart, but really they’re just hairless monkeys with thumbs, who are more stuffy and smug than the rest of them. They can type, big deal. I’m the one that gave them thumbs. Ungrateful, arrogant, stuffy and pretentious snobs, the whole lot of them, Trevor.”

“You know the power of stories, Sir. Don’t pretend like you don’t,” Trevor said.

"I know the power of a good story. But people don’t believe in good stories anymore, and the writers of today sure as shit aren’t writing them. The stories that get published these days aren’t art, they're products to be sold and packaged. Money pulls the strings of the artist and makes them dance to its whims.”

Trevor pulled out another folder from the air and handed it to God. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he said.

"Hmmm . . . Oh? . . . Hmmm,” God said, reading the file on the writer. “I see . . . Hmmmm . . . Wait, WHAT?? . . . I’ve never thought about it like that before . . . Interesting . . . Ha! He really said that?? Haha! Oh man, this is something. This writer guy, he’s interesting.”

"I thought you’d think that. He’s all alone; very alone now. He needs someone. Something terrible happened to him. He needs you. Imagine what he could do if you believed in him?”

"Yeah, but by what he writes, I am not sure he believes in me at all. I think he might hate me.”

"He’s trying to believe, Sir. He’s teeter-tottering on the line that divides light and darkness. You might need to give him something to believe in.”

God closed the folder. “‘Something to believe in’ . . . I can try.”

Trevor smiled at him. “That’s all we can do, Sir. We can try.”

"A writer and a fighter? Is this how their spiritual revolution starts?”

"A writer, a fighter, everyone else, and their God—don’t count yourself out, Sir. You are the key ingredient in this pie.”

"Trevor?” God asked, his eyes dropping, his tone changing drastically.

"Yes?”

"Have you heard from Jesus recently? We might need him for this.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t been in the office since he heard the rumors that you sent him to Earth–777 so he could pay for your sins, not theirs.”

God was fidgeting nervously. “That wasn’t the only reason I sent him. And besides, my sins are theirs, and their sin is mine.”

"I know.”

"I needed to understand them better. I needed to reflect on what it was I was putting them through,” God explained.

"Some humans say that you must be real, because if you aren’t, then who is up here laughing at them.”

God sighed. “Aye, Dostoevsky was also a pain in my ass for awhile . . . I don’t laugh at them, Trevor. I weep for them.”

"You used to.”

"Aye, I used to. . .”

They walked down a long glowing hall together, passing The Department Of Transformations, before walking by The Department Of Dreams.

Trevor turned to God and asked, “So, what do you want to do now?”

“I think that I had better speak to him.”

"Who? The writer?” Trevor asked.

"No. Christ. Do you know where he is?” God asked him.

Weird noises came from behind the door of Dreams, and an array of different colored flashing lights came through the crack. “You really don’t know?” Trevor asked.

"I figured that if he wanted to talk to me, he would come to me. Christ knows where I am.”

"And you never wanted to talk to him?”

"I did. So many times, Trevor. I just . . . I never knew what to say to him.”

"Well, I am pretty sure you can guess where he has been.”

"I can?” God asked skeptically.

Trevor nodded slowly.

"Earth–777?” God guessed.

"The circle takes the square,” Trevor said with a playful smile.

"Never much cared for celebrity game shows. They get enough attention already,” God said, waving his hand dismissively. “What is he doing there?”

"He’s in a metal band.”

God looked dumbfounded. “Seriously?”

"Oh yeah. They’re pretty good, too,” Trevor said with another smile.

God paused, as if remembering a memory from a long, long, time ago. “Want to come with me?” he finally asked Trevor.

"To Earth–777? To find Jesus?? Of course I want to come. And I want to visit the other two while we are down there. It seems to be spreading, Sir.”

"What’s spreading, Trevor?”

"Hope, Sir. Hope is spreading again on Earth—777.”