What in Hell is up with Heaven? No rest for the wicked...

What in Hell is up with Heaven? I

No rest for the wicked…

Christopher David Petersen

Copyright 2011 Christopher David Petersen

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

It was a normal day, as far as anyone could tell. Dawn had just broken over the distant foothills of ancient Athens and the heat could already be seen radiating up from the desert floor. It wasn’t too hot at this time of the day, but the temperatures were on the move. The essence from the yuccas was now filling the air, attracting a variety of bees on their quest for the early morning pick-up and deliveries, and the sound of songbirds softly echoed in the lush valley just beyond the desert.

On the far side of the lush valley, on the edge of civilization, lay an apple orchard, and through the apple trees, a familiar sight began to take shape. Barely visible at first, then more defined as the sun’s rays illuminated subtle details, the figure of a woman in a white flowing robe appeared in the distance. Clutching a well-worn cane, her movements were slow and deliberate. This was an aging woman, her face indiscernible through her burqa, yet obvious from her posture and gait.

Carefully stepping over rocks and small depressions in the road, she made her way to a small pile of stones, stacked neatly into a pyramid just off the roadside. Delicate silk streamers lay across the stones and dried flowers decorated its base. She visited this makeshift altar every morning, always at the same time, and this morning did not prove out of the ordinary.

Leaning over and transferring her weight to her cane, she bent her knees slightly, preparing to kneel at the altar’s base. She stretched out her frail, wrinkled hand to balance herself on the stone’s top, taking special care not to disturb the decorations. In one big effort, she dropped to her knees and folded her hands in prayer. As she prayed, she rocked slowly back and forth in spiritual euphoria. The world and its problems were of no concern to her. Her mind, body and soul were overcome by the rapture of prayer.

Cresting a knoll in the distance, a young merchant rode his horse and cart toward the orchard. In a hurry, he cracked his whip to motivate the stubborn animal. On cue, the horse moved from walk to fast trot, kicking up dust from his hooves. Coming down the other side of the knoll, they picked up speed. The wind was now flowing though the young shepherd’s hair and a large grin embossed his face with approval. The sun felt warm on his face and body. This was the easy part of his day. Picking apples for his fruit stand in the village was always an enjoyable chore he looked forward to.

The old woman could hear the approaching horse and cart. Unaffected, she maintained her posture. Her slow rocking back and forth never changed speed; only her head made a slow rotation in the direction of the cart. Ever so slightly, she made eye contact with the horse, then returned her gaze to the stone altar and continued her peaceful prayers.

The young merchant, feeling the sun’s rays more intensely on his face now, determined the time of day by the heat of the sun. he ‘persuaded’ the horse to move faster. With a flick of his wrist, the horse received its message and increased its speed. Traveling faster than was customary, the young merchant felt satisfied that his time was now not being wasted.

Hearing the gait of the horse gathering speed, the old woman once again turned her attention to the approaching cart. She could now see the young merchant. his hand was fixed to his brow. She felt unconcerned, but a bit distracted. Her rocking became irregular. Refocusing on her prayers, she turned again to the stone altar. Hands folded, eyes shut, her rocking returned to its regular, consistent pace.

The merchant was closing in on the area of worship. Viewing the scenery to his left, the horse and cart started to drift to the right. The right wooden wheels were now moving from the much-used portion of the road to the area of little use. It was softer and bumpier due to the small rocks and pebbles that had not yet been compacted into the sand. Only mildly distracted by the slightly rougher ride, the merchant moved his gaze from the meadow on his left to the sun-distorted road up ahead. He squinted this time to see more clearly instead of shading his eyes as he had done before.

Yes, this was a normal day, as far as anyone could tell, but ‘anyone’ did not include Satan. Never one to pass on an opportunity, he cherished those moments when he could convert simple miscalculation into magnificent calamity.

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Beyond the apple orchard, back through the field of yuccas and bees, to the other side of the desert floor, stood a grandiose cliff; and at the base of this cliff sat a flat boulder made of sandstone. In the morning sun, a parade of ants innocently filed across the top of that very large stone in search of food.

If sound could be magnified, a drop of spit would sound like a hurricane to a tiny ant as it fell from the sky. Looking up, the tiny ants defiantly held their ground as they watched the wet, sticky substance rain down upon them.

With pinpoint precision, each fleck of spittle found its target and, one by one, picked off the ants as they stood in defense. Encased in sticky goo, the unfortunate ants struggled to move but the heat of the day dried them in place. Undeterred, other brave ants replaced their fallen comrades only to suffer the same fate.

Oh, the carnage, and so early in the day…

How’s it going there, Red? bellowed a deep, confident voice from behind.

Satan spun around, startled. Standing before him was God.

G! Satan blared in surprise. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Can you give a guy a warning before you just sneak up on him like that? Burp or fart or something, but at least make a dang noise.

God only grinned.

So how are things? How’s business? he asked.

Satan took a defensive posture.

"What are you, checking up on me? Geez, a guy has a couple of slow months and all of a sudden he gets the third degree? Not cool, G. I’ve had bad months before and everything worked out just fine, didn’t it? You don’t have to come nosing around here, climbing all over me, telling me how to do my job. I KNOW how to do my job. I don’t need YOU to tell me. Geez, I have my rights, you know."

"WHOA, Red, slow down there big guy. I was just asking how you were doing in a general way… you know, just being kind and all, God retorted. Wasn’t looking for a status report or anything."

Satan grinned with a bit of shame.

Oh… well, everything’s fine, he said in humble tone. Well, to be honest, now that you’re asking, I am having some workflow issues. Dammedest thing you ever saw. One minute I was in the black and the next, I’m in the red. Could get serious too, if things don’t change.

God stared with confusion.

Thought we weren’t going to talk about business? he said in dry tone.

Satan nodded.

Right, no business. It slipped out, he said in apologetic tone.

God grinned once more. He couldn’t help it. This was just Satan’s way: flighty.

He took a step to the edge of the cliff and peered down at the ant colony below, then glanced back to Satan.

Enjoying yourself? he said, cryptically.

Huh?.

Killing ants: you really enjoying that? he asked.

Does the Pope shit in the woods? Satan retorted.

That’s a bear, you idiot, God replied in exasperation.

Whatever… Anyway, did you see the freakin’ accuracy on that last one? Damn, I’m good! You know, someone oughta hire me out on a contract basis… he said, then added confidently, "Oh yeah, I’m that good."

Red, you’re so twisted. What am I going to do with you?

What…? Satan whined.

Spitting on ants? That’s so juvenile… and demented. Can’t you find a more rewarding hobby to occupy your time with?

You’re so judgmental, Satan countered.

"Judgmental? Say, genius, if you haven’t gotten the memo lately, that’s my job… I get PAID to be judgmental," God quipped.

I really don’t see what the problem is. It’s only a couple of ants.

Couple ants today, tomorrow the entire population will be extinct. You need to exercise more self-control. You’re just too overzealous in your work.

I’m overzealous? Satan retorted. Damn, G, you’re the one who’s always fooling around with that stupid human race you created. When’s the last time you had a vacation? When’s the last time you had a date, for that matter? Why don’t you take a moment and have some fun? You’re so uptight.

Fun? Like killing off a bunch of ants? Oh yeah, that sounds like fun, God replied sarcastically.

"Ever try it? It IS kinda fun," he shot back.

You gotta be kidding me. You actually want me to try spitting on ants? God replied indignantly.

Sure, why not? Satan said, then added, Five bucks says you can’t hit even one of ‘em.

What the hell would I do with five bucks?

It’s just a figure of speech… Damn, G, you really do need to get out more, Satan teased.

Satan took a step forward and peered over the edge. He looked down at the ants glued to the flat rock, then back up at God.

With a quick smirk, he said, Yup, now I’m sure of it: no way you can even hit one.

God stiffened, then brush Satan back with his hand.

"Stand aside, Junior. It’s on!" he replied.

God stood at the edge of the cliff and felt the warm breeze brush past his robes. Impeccably dressed, he wore a white flowing robe made of the finest silk, with delicate off-white lace that trimmed every edge. For contrast, an intricate Latin inscription was embossed on the sleeves and at the base of the robe that translated into, ‘The Man’. Some might have thought that this inscription was a bit overdone, vain if you will, but the Lord felt it commanded just the right amount of respect from his worshippers.

Standing at the edge of the cliff, a light breeze blew in and lifted his robe. Satan grinned.

G, did you fire you’re wardrobe assistance or something?

No, why? God asked, puzzled.

I think he forgot to lay out a sensible choice of undergarments.

Huh? What are you talking about?

Satan pointed.

G, you ain’t wearing no under-britches. What gives?

God grinned, then shrugged.

Eh… I developed a rash… down there, he pointed.

Eeeuu, Satan mocked.

It’s not what you think. It’s just a little rash. Figured I go commando for a few days until it heals.

Satan shook his head.

Could have lived without that, he said dryly, then, Why don’t you just lay your hands on yourself and heal it.

God glared at Satan sarcastically. Satan nodded in understanding.

Yeah, that came out weird, huh?

God only stared, then, "Besides, I believe in sacrifice by example… most of the time. How would it look if every time I had a problem, instead of working through it, I just waved my hands and made it all go away?"

I wouldn’t judge you… except for your beard.

What’s the matter with my beard, God shot back.

Looks like it’s longer on one side than the other is all.

God rolled his eyes.

Dang it! he blared. I blame my stylist.

"Ravishing Richard? Why, did he make a pass at you again?" Satan teased.

God shook his head.

Worse than that. He told me my salt and pepper hair made me look old and said he’d fix it. The bastard then went on to dye it rainbow colors.

Ouch!

"Yeah, no shit, ouch. I could’ve killed him!"

"I’ll bet you looked FABULOUS!" Satan blared.

God stared, unamused.

Anyway, I’ve been using one of those Noreco buzzers, you know, for hair and beards? Thought I did a pretty respectable job.

G, don’t take this the wrong way, but the job you did? It really sucks.

Oh no, why would I take that wrong? I appreciate your honesty… jerk!

Satan grinned, then returned to business.

So are we going to do this thing or not? I’ve got the souls of three innocent men riding on this.

I never bet the souls of three innocent men, God shot back, shaking his head with confusion.

Yes you did.

No I didn’t.

You sure, cuz I ‘m pretty certain that’s why we’re even here?

"Look numbnuts: I didn’t bet the souls of three innocent men."

Well… do you want to?

God glared with greater intensity. Satan shrugged.

Can’t blame a man for trying.

God ignored the last comment and focused on his task. Briefly, he took into account the atmospheric conditions: temperature, wind speed, barometric pressure, etc. Having mentally calculated the trajectory to the ants, he then factored in the mass and thrust required to propel the wad of spittle. Clearing his throat, he hocked up enough ‘liquid’ for a respectable loogie. Arching his back, then lunging forward, he launched the spit over the edge of the cliff. It was a valiant effort – a true master in action.

The spittle slipped through the air with very little wind resistance. Having just recovered from a nasty sinus infection, the Lord’s phlegm had a much lower drag coefficient than the average wad of spit, allowing it to pick up speed at a much greater rate. Like the path of JFK’s magic bullet, the spittle miraculously dodged dust particles and tiny flying insects as it carved an irregular path toward the flat rock below. The sound of the spittle at such a high rate of speed created a deafening rush. Seconds later, the gooey liquid reached the speed of sound and generated a sonic boom that could be heard across the valley.

God smugly gazed over at Satan, who now had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The ants, having heard the sonic boom, looked skyward. Though unable to see due to their natural blindness, they could sense their impending doom. Locking their legs to stand as one unified army, they prepared for battle.

Moments later, the wad of phlegm smashed through the center of the ants and continued through the flat boulder. One minute the boulder was there: the next it was gone, decimated by the speed and force of impact. The only thing that remained was the dust that settled in a small mushroom cloud above the impact area.

Peering over the edge of the cliff, Satan and God could now see that most of the dust had settled and all that remained of the flat boulder was a tiny crater and a ring of dirt that rimmed the outside edge.

Satan slowly turned his head toward God and said in a low, submissive voice, Show off.

Turning toward Satan, God shrugged his shoulders and replied, I have my moments.

Satan, contrary to popular belief, under all his piercings and ink, was a quite handsome demon. During special ceremonies, he cleaned up very well. He stood tall at 6’2", with black hair and a Romanesque profile. His body frame was quite muscular for his age compared to God’s who, over time, had let Himself go. He was always clean-shaven with short, styled hair.

Satan’s tattoos were rather extensive, with a ‘sleeve’ on each arm, several on his neck, chest and back, as well as a few extraneous ones located in ‘strategic’ areas. The most conspicuous tattoo and his oldest was an image of Jesus on a cross, with an inscription above the cross in small black letters reading, ‘My Co-Pilot’ and below the cross, in extra-large, red letters, the single word, ‘NOT’. his nipples, lower lip and left eyebrow were pierced. Strangely, his ears had never been pierced.

Unlike the Lord, Satan's wardrobe consisted of only one pair of tight black Levi's, studded at the bottom cuffs, and a pair of size thirteen black Vans, his footwear of choice lately. Since temperatures were usually elevated at his place of work, there wasn't a need for a shirt – and besides, he loved to show off his really cool ink.

God, who had now taken a few steps back from the rim of the cliff, clipped off the end of his favorite cigar, an Acid Kuba Kuba. Now, around town, it is widely known that the Lord was a huge fan of Acid cigars. he always received them for Christmas or after a Bris. Occasionally he would light up a Cuban or an Ecuadorian when supplies ran low while waiting for a fresh shipment to arrive, but for his money, nothing came close to the light flavor and smooth burn of the Nicaraguan.

Placing the cigar in his mouth and rotating it to wet the end, his eyes slowly scanned over to Satan, who was still looking down at the dust ring and composing himself after being shown up with the whole ‘split a rock with spit’ thing.

God asked, Got a light?

Without breaking his stare at the dust ring below, Satan extended his arm fully, clenched his fist and extended his index finger. he then curled his finger to his thumb and sparked the end with his thumbnail. The end of his index finger started to glow. A marvelous flame ignited, giving off tremendous heat, almost unbearable to the Lord.

Hey, Red, wanna tone it down a bit? he said, backing away slightly.

Snapping back to reality, arm still extended, Satan glanced over at God. Realizing the size of the flame, Satan blew on it until it became smaller and more manageable. God looked into Satan's eyes, then back at the flame as he placed the end of the cigar into it, then drew the smoke into his mouth.

Releasing the mild, pleasant smoke from the corner of his mouth, the end of the cigar became fiery red and well-lit. With a cordial smile and a few puffs of smoke, they both returned their scan to the distant apple orchard at the far edge of the valley.

You know, Red, you should really try these things. They're wonderful… very relaxing. They’re a nice distraction from work. All jokes aside, you really do take your job too seriously. Take me, for instance. I've got to be all things to all people, yet I still take the time to enjoy life.

Transfixed on the distant orchard, Satan replied, I know, I know. The Reaper is always gettin' on me for that. I don't know. I guess I'm just a work-a-holic.

Speaking of the Reaper, how is Grim? I heard he had an awful time last week. Did he ever find his lucky scythe? God asked sincerely.

Still staring over the cliff, he replied in ominous tone, Nah, he's really broken up over it. he bought a new one and has a few notches etched in it, sort of like the old, but it just isn't the same. Heaven help the man who stole it.

God shook his head in disgust.

"Well, there'll be no help from me, THAT I can guarantee. Taking a man’s scythe… that’s just not right… no sir, just not right."

Taking a heaving draw off his cigar, God exhaled deeply, sending a large cloud of smoke over the desert.

Turning his attention back toward Satan, God started, You know, Red…

Satan’s focus was intense. Piercing and determined, he became lost in his work.

God looked at Satan, then back at the valley, trying to find the object of Satan’s attention. He looked at Satan's eyes and followed them down to the far point out in front them.

Perplexed, God thought, ‘What is he staring at?’

Back and forth, God’s eyes moved from Satan to the distant point and back again. Having seen this look before, he knew it was the stare of a dog just before it attacked. Being a man of the ages, he couldn't just accuse Satan of something that hadn't happened yet, but he knew Satan was onto something that might need the Lord’s intervention.

Out in the distance, at the point of Satan's focus, was the apple orchard. God did not see anything out of the ordinary there: just a bunch of fruit trees, some birds and bees, a woman praying, and a horse and cart.

He zeroed in on some of the trees to see if maybe there was something special about them, such as an unusually large fruit for breakfast or maybe a new breed of honeybee that could produce high-grade honey. He refocused on the old woman praying to him. He could hear her prayers in his mind. She came to that same spot each day and prayed for world peace.

He shook his head and thought:

‘Lady, give it a rest. World peace? Talk about high expectations.’

He then moved his scan over to the horse and cart. he could see the merchant shading his eyes with his hand and holding the reins with the other.

‘Nothing out of the ordinary there,’ he thought to himself again.

Finally, in frustration and curiosity, God blurted, "What the HELL are you looking at?"

Startled, Satan composed himself, then replied casually, Oh, nothing.

Without another word, he returned to his stare.

Suddenly, without notice, a small gust of wind blew in from behind them. It traveled off the cliff and over the desert. God, who generally had his hand in on just about everything, sensed this was not his doing.

Strange, he said to himself under his breath. I don't remember ordering a climate change.

He returned his gaze to Satan, then out into the distant valley. The gust of wind had picked up speed and was traveling toward the orchard, picking up small pebbles, sand and grasses as it moved. Amused by this, God trained his focus on the scene in front of him.

The closer the wind moved toward the orchard, the more it picked up speed and debris. The more it picked up debris and speed, the more its path became obvious due to the bent grasses in its wake. After a couple of seconds, the flattened path of grasses created a detectable line of direction.

The old woman… it’s heading for the old woman, God said under his breath.

He glanced over at Satan. He could see the corner of his mouth curl up a bit.

He glanced back at the gust and the old woman. There was nothing alarming about this.