From the Dust of the Earth
“Where did they get this junk from,” God asked himself. He set the Bible on the table next to him and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t care if they masturbate. Who doesn’t do it? I could barely keep my hands off myself when I was young. And that thing about Onan, I didn’t kill him. He and his brother died years later in one of those plagues. Has it been that long ago? Everyone seemed to be dying back then, but of course, it was I that sent the disease. Of course it wasn’t because they shit next to their drinking water, and perhaps if they would have invented toilet paper sooner.” God grinned, and thought about all of those men going around shaking each other’s hands. “Oh that is funny stuff,” he laughed.
“If anyone should have been struck down, it should have been that Levite who chopped up his woman, now that man was crazy.” His thoughts continued, returning again to where he had started. “They did spill on the floor though,” he admitted. “They did get that part right. You can’t blame them though; they were so young, and probably wanted to see the world before it was too late. Not that there was much to see in the world at that time—hell, not that there is much to see now, it is just messier. The funniest part about it is that the father was the only one who stayed in until the end—and that is only because he thought that she was a prostitute.”
God ran his hands through his hair, and left them crossed behind his head. He leaned back further into the soft chair and laughed. “So I killed them. Ha ha, that is funny, the things these people invent. Just like Jesus drinking grape juice. Where in the world do they get the idea that it was just grape juice? If only they could have seen that kid silly drunk, like the time they found him talking with the pigs.” He closed his eyes, his wrinkled face pressed into a smile, and the soft laughter faded into sleep.