Decisions, decisions

God cleared his throat. Down on earth, a volcano erupted.

“Pete, drop what you're doing and come over here,” he boomed. God was wearing a white lab coat that didn’t quite close over his portly frame and peering intently into a large vat. "Tell me what you think of this new animal I’ve created."

St. Peter yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Sure, why not? It’s pretty quiet at the Pearly Gates right now - not many new admissions arriving these days.”

He closed his registry, put his feathered pen in its inkpot, and floated over to the adjoining cloud. Scratching his bearded chin, he stared down into the vat. “Hmm, it needs stripes … and less teeth.”

God frowned. A comet streaked across the heavens. “You think? I like it the way it is.”

“Whatever, G! Look, this is a complete waste of your time. And yes, I know that is just a figure of speech since you are outside of time." Peter lifted his spectacles and pinched his nose. "Still, what’s the point of going to all this trouble inventing a new species when that nasty lot down there on earth are just going to wipe it out anyway?”

“Too true,” God said, shaking his head sadly. “The humans are very bad caretakers.” Rain began to fall on the plains in Spain.

Peter sneezed. He surreptitiously wiped his nose on the sleeve of his gown. He thought he might be getting the flu.

“You haven’t got the flu!” God assured him. “Trust me, I’m a doctor – and everything else.”

Peter frowned. “Stay out of my head, G! It’s an invasion of privacy.” He added, “You could be wrong. I feel rather feverish.” He ran his hand over his forehead.

“I’m God, I’m never wrong!” God said with a glare. Somewhere, a star exploded.

Peter looked down his nose and adjusted his glasses. “Oh really? How about the appendix, the platypus, the cockroach?”

God stuck out his lower lip. “OK, so nobody’s perfect.”

“You’re supposed to be.”

“Hummmph!” God banged his staff on the ground and dark clouds began to form above his head.

“Chill, G. I’m just sayin’ …”

God took a deep breath and shook himself like a terrier. The elements calmed. “Forget it! Now, where was I? Oh yes.” He bent down and stuck his finger into the vat. The new animal turned aqua and purple. “How about that?”

Peter put one hand on God’s shoulder. “G, stop it, this is all just a diversion to put off that decision you have to make about the human race.”

Tears sprang into God’s big blue eyes. “I know. But it’s so hard. I LOVE them, Peter.”

“G, this is no time for mushy sentiment. Look, let me play devil’s advocate for a minute …’

God pursed his lips. “Poor choice of words, Pete.”

“Sorry. But let’s face facts, G – mankind already has a space station and space rockets. They’ve been to the moon and now they’re eyeing up Mars. They won’t fix the problems on their own planet, but they want to move onto another one … or two. You know they’ll wreak as much havoc on the new planets as they have on earth.”

Peter pulled a hanky from his gown and blew into it. “The Space Federation is having a cow. They know from their brief visits (I warned them that was a mistake!) that all earth people do is fight, kill and destroy. If they’re allowed to get any further out into space, the whole Universe and all your other life-forms are in grave danger.”

God wafted over to the celestial balcony to peer down at the earth below. He rested his elbows on the railing. “But mate, humanity has produced some extraordinary contributors to Earth's advancement over the years. Beethoven, Shakespeare, Einstein, Mother Teresa, Ghandi …”

“Hitler, Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao, Pol Pot, the Trumps…”

“Hey, the Trumps weren’t my idea! You can’t blame me for them.”

“They and their supporters sure drop your name a lot!”

“That doesn’t mean I endorse them – far from it.”

Peter drifted over to join the old man. “Still, G, look what humans are doing to themselves and their planet. You created a beautiful world for them, a real jewel. But do they appreciate it - no! It’s the only home they’ve got and they’ve gone from just trashing it to virtually destroying it, all because of their greed and selfishness. Cheating, pedophilia, murder, hatred, televangelism – they haven’t abated, just gotten worse. War is never-ending, climate change is ignored, women are treated as second-class citizens, animals and children are used and abused everywhere.”

“You think I don’t know all that? I know everything.” God turned his face to Peter and it was filled with despair. “I know it’s bad.”

“Did you try that thing you did way back in biblical times – send a holy man into a city to find fifty righteous people, or twenty or even one, to justify saving the world? It worked then.”

“I tried, but …” God looked down at the ground and shuffled his sandals. “I couldn’t find a holy man to send in.”

Peter threw his hands up in the air. “Then you know what you gotta do, G. Really, it’s for the best. The earthlings are in turmoil, they’re miserable. You’d put down an animal if it was suffering, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I would cure an animal.”

“Ah, but you gave the humans free will, though they blame you for all the messes they make. You can’t just snap a finger and fix their problems for them. They’re free to create their own choices and decisions – and problems.” Peter paused, then added in a melodramatic tone. “And they must be prepared to pay the consequences of those choices and decisions.” He used his most awe-inspiring voice, but not a breeze blew nor did any sea begin to churn.

Peter moved closer to God and put his arm around his mighty shoulders. “Take the advice of your best friend. Do it quick, you know, like pulling off a band-aid. They’ll never know what hit ‘em.”

God sighed. A hurricane hit the eastern coast of Australia. “An asteroid, you reckon, a really really big one?”

Peter cupped his left elbow with his right hand and rubbed his face. “Hmm, not completely fool-proof. Maybe snuff out the sun to be sure.”

"That's a bit OTT, don't you think?" God stuck his chin out mutinously. "No, I still think I should give them one more chance to do the right thing and evolve into decent, mature beings.”

Peter sighed. “That’s what you said after the Mongol conquests, the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Holocaust, and 911. How many chances do they get?”

“Oh, Peter, I can’t decide – what should I do?” God wrung his hands together. The Moon quaked.

Peter pulled a silver dollar from his pocket. “I came prepared. I knew you wouldn’t be able to decide. You’re such a wuss for humanity.” He handed God the coin. “So let’s use a time-honoured method of deciding. We’ll flip for it. Heads, you wipe out the earth and all life on it; tails, humanity remains alive until they wipe themselves out.”

“Deal!” God cried, beaming. “Let the Fates decide!”

As God flipped the silver dollar into the air, Peter hid a smirk behind his hand. Little did old G know that he’d slipped him a double-headed coin. And he was too distracted at that moment to read Peter’s mind.

'Bye bye Earthlings! You had your chance, but you blew it.'

St Peter sneezed hard. Oh darn, he just knew he was getting the flu!