Almighty

The castle, Almon had to admit, was not exactly what he had expected. It did stand magnificently on top of some clouds, but the fluffy cirrostratus appeared to enclose a thunderstorm trying to get out. The castle itself was made of black marble, with few windows and its own personal plague of bats, yet it seemed to exude a sort of bumbling cheerfulness, and glowed golden when Almon wasn't exactly looking.

The prophet was shown in by a rather nice old gentleman whose hands were both stitched on, and who kept surreptitiously poking his eye back in. The green skin, encrusted blood and flies all seemed, for no readily apparent reason, very nice. Almon fidgeted in the waiting room for a while, picking maggots off the comfortable pastel sofa in confusion. Somehow, cheery black bat motifs were not what one expected of God.

The Supreme Being in question suddenly appeared in front of him, sporting rosy cheeks, a bad widow's peak and a worse expression. The effect of the creepy black robe was quite ruined by His rotund belly.

"Hullo there, I hope I haven't kept you waiting for long."

"Er, not at all, Divinity. Uh, nice, uh, place you got here." Almon shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the cheerful snake winding itself around his leg.

"Oh, that. Yes, well, when I took over from old Yahweh, black was not exactly what I was aiming for... um, to tell the truth, it was actually more sort of the complete opposite of what I was aiming for... which was, in fact, white. With little pink windowsills. Without bats. And somehow I end up with this. Don't mind Spot, he doesn't bite. How may I help you?"

The prophet swallowed uncertainly. "Well... uh, there's, what you might call a religious festival, you know, down below. In honour of Your, uh, new Godship. So I thought you might, ah, like to pop in for a little miracle or something."

The God cocked his head. "What kind of miracle?"

"Um, would turning water into wine be...?" Almon looked hopefully at the God, who scratched His head thoughtfully.

"Well, I could certainly try... only, well, I've been practising, and all I've accomplished so far is turning water into an oil slick..."

"Oh. Beg your pardon, Divinity. Perhaps, you could cure a man's boils?"

"Er, no, I don't actually think I could manage that. I... could probably give him boils?"

"Uh, no, that wouldn't be appropriate. Hmm... What else is God associated with... uh, lost sheep! How are you on sheep?"

"...sheep?" The God blinked in bemusement. "No... sorry, no can do. ...I'm quite good with creatures of the night, though!"

The prophet raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "I don't think that would serve the purpose..."

"Oh." The God looked crestfallen. "Plagues!" He suddenly said, brightening considerably. "I can do plagues!"

"No!" Almon cried, beginning to get cross, "We don't need a plague! What kind of good stuff can you do?! What about, what about splitting the sea? Can you do that?"

The God pursed His lips uncertainly. "I... guess I could do that... er, but the water might get a bit, you know, black and scummy, and I'd probably kill all the fish..."

"Oh, that won't do at all! What kind of God are you?!" Almon shouted.

To his surprise, the God's lower lip trembled, and with a sigh He sat down and put His head in His hands.

"Oh, I don't know. I try and I try, and I want to be a nice God, I really do, but I keep ending up with creepy trolls when I want pretty unicorns." He looked up, his mouth twisted in frustration. "You know, somewhere in the multiverse, there is a Dark God who is currently really, really pissed off, because whenever he tries to send a hideous monster to ravage innocents, THEY END UP KNEE DEEP IN MANNA FROM HEAVEN!!!!!"

Almon looked taken aback, and nervously patted the God on the shoulder. "It's alright," he said soothingly, "we'll try and make do with some ropes and a vacuum cleaner. You go and have a nice - a nice cup of tea."

The God blew His nose on a miraculous black handkerchief. "Coke."

"Sorry?"

"I can't seem to manage tea, either. Just Coca Cola."

"Er... yeah, just go have a nice cup of ...coke, and I'll speak to the people organising this thing, okay?"

"Thanks." The God sighed and waved His hand, and Almon, Prophet of the Twenty Second Century, was suddenly back on the mountaintop, surrounded by dissipating black mist.

He sighed and began to walk down to the waiting crowds of journalists and religious fanatics. "Well, at least that explains the state of the world today..."