Trying to bow out.

Trying to bow out.

“Dad, Dad, Dad. I don’t want to do this anymore. I mean, you’ve had me and my brothers doing this for millennia. You rested after 7 days. Yeah, yeah, I’m kidding. You never rest. Is your Dad still creating worlds? There must be a trillion by now. He must really be ‘old school’ just doesn’t need rest.”

“Well, son, number 34, if he keeps creating them, then we have to keep populating them. It’s our tradition.”

“But I’d like to just hang out in that world of talking animals and birds with beautiful girls without sexual organs and ‘wicked stepmothers.’ It’s fun. I made them when I was high on my own created product. Although I’m a minor God, I do like to make out sometimes that I’m not. I want to be able to lie in the fields I made and let the animals come down and talk to me. In fact, I’ve done that a few times until that bloody great conscience you endowed me with makes it impossible.”

“Please don’t tell me I screwed up with you, 34, I hate having to do the dis-create thing unless of course, a whole world of them has pissed me off. I gave them a warning once before and wet their arses, but the lesson seems to have gone over their head, ‘cos look at them now!”

“Look, Dad, I haven’t been around as long as you, but do you think your tinkering with them might be a little bit responsible for how they turned out? Do you think your memory is going to the pack?”

“Are you saying, 34, that their prickish behaviour is from faulty genes I created? I gave them free-will, so they are responsible for their screw-ups.”

“True, Dad. If you had wanted robots, that’s what they would have been. I think you wanted to have the illusion of them having free-will. It was free-will on your terms and you are protesting it now. You know that there is no such thing as goodness and badness, unless you label it such. Can it be that you are starting to resist something that just doesn’t matter?”

“You know I don’t resist things, 34, I smite. I don’t need to resist, but why won’t they just try to get along?”

“Well, Dad, you’ve got to ask yourself who put the ‘can’t get along’ gene in them? Anyway, there are millions of world’s out that we’ve peopled, animaled, fairyed apart from the witches, warlocks, and what the present lot you seem to be obsessing about, call aliens.”

“You’re right, 34. By the way, did I give you a name, or just the number?”

“You did. You actually called me Yahweh, not particularly original because we’re all on the same band-waggon. I mean, who’s going to do the creating if not us?”

“You’re right, I may have called you all that. However, let’s talk about this wanting to bow out nonsense, 34. I didn’t create you just to hang around and not be productive. I know I gave you free-will, but it wasn’t to be indolent. Your grandfather is out there creating worlds and it’s incumbent upon the rest of us to put stuff in and on them.”

“But what about this seventh-day rest lark? Can’t I take one of these off and go to my favourite world? I think I got it right, there. I was going through my colourful phase at the time and it’s magnificent, even if I do say so myself. By the way, why don’t I have sisters mucking in to do this work? It just seems to me that they swan off and have a good time. Us males tend to be a bit slap-happy with our creations. For example, Adam wouldn’t have finished up the whinny sod he turned out to be. Artemis would have given him an extra set of balls to shape him up. Did you give her an incipient pair so she wouldn’t moon?”

“Artemis, yes I’m quite fond of her, she’s number 47, but I don’t call her that, too impersonal. Anyway, don’t distract me, we’re talking about you. You accuse me of an obsession, what is it with you and the animal shtick, can’t you confront your own creations on the people front?”

“I can’t seem to make them as interesting. They are always looking at screens now. Yes, I blew it there, shouldn’t have provided the stuff for an industrial revolution. I should have made more Luddites, and kept them tilling the soil by hand. I suppose I’m really saying I’m overwhelmed with Grandpa’s compulsive creativity.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that he can be very irascible at times and do a bit of smiting of you. After all, he can bring you back, if he has half a mind and may just want to let Lucie, give you a bit of ‘hurry-up. At least he isn’t trying to shirk his obligations, he must enjoy the heat.’”

“Tell me, Dad, what’s the use of all this creative nonsense. Once created, what actual use is it? Why do we need to keep creating multitudes of whatever, it doesn’t make sense?”

“Programs, my son. Don’t try to kick against the pricks. I’m not talking about the figurative pricks, but the ones that will kick in if you go holus-bolus against our programming. My Dad, your grandfather, couldn’t quite let it go as far as real freedom is concerned. I guess he’s answerable to a program as well. He doesn’t seem to protest it, but then I don’t see him much. Have you tried imbuing your creations with a bit of power so they can answer their own prayers?”

“Funny you should say that, but I did, but I may have buried it too deep. It just sits there largely unused and some of them instead of looking for themselves get on their knees to try to get a few goodies from me. I’ve got ‘cloth-ears’ to that nonsense. However, on my fav. world, I pulled out the stops. Kids send messages to Santa by way of the chimney and he takes note. Of course, I have a thousand Santas. I purposely didn’t create electricity on this world or chimneys would become redundant. Well, we do have lightning, but that’s to strike down the goblins or wicked stepmothers.”

“So what’s all this complaining about 34, you seem to be enjoying yourself? Have you run out of ideas, if so, I may be able to give you a retread?”

“No, Dad, it just doesn’t make sense any more. I want to just lie in a field and watch my elves and wizards play. I even enjoy the ‘wicked step-mothers’ as they keep the others on their toes and inventive.”

“Well, you can’t, 34. I’m pulling rank. Get your arse out there and do your job, I have to answer to my Dad, and ‘back-sliding’ hasn’t built into a vibration of his body.

In a vindictive display of temper, 34 created a red-headed guy and put him in charge on one of his least favoured worlds.

“See how my family likes that?”