Please God, let me win the lottery.
Denied.
Please God, let get this job.
Another few weeks of being jobless will be good for you. Builds character. Denied.
Please God, let me not make a fool of myself in front of her.
Oh, that shit is so denied.
“Lindsay, dear!” I call out.
My assistant comes in, “Yes God?”
“Can you make sure Simon Wiedman gets a sudden case of diarrhea tonight when he talks to…” I look down at the paperwork. “Susan. Make sure corn is involved. Also, let’s film it.”
“Yes sir.” She leaves.
Please God… yada yada… I’m 8 years old… yada yada… can I have a puppy?
Den… ah sure…
I stamp the paperwork with Accepted and sign it.
In the notes, I write: Dog has irritable bowl syndrome.
Kids these days…
God, please cure my husband of cancer.
Shit, I hate these! Luckily, there’s a coin for this. I flip it into the air and catch it.
A human bursts through my doors. “I told you! I can escape anything! And you didn’t believe me!”
Harry?
I slam the coin into my arm.
“It took me longer than expected. That Devil was… quite the devil.” He pauses and gives himself a smile. “But I escaped and even made my way here. By myself.”
“I’m so sorry! I couldn’t stop him!” Lindsay is following him.
“You’re okay my dear.” I reassure her. “Please close the doors.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll open them later.” Harry tells her.
This asshole…
Without any considerations, he walks up to my desk and sits in a seat. Plopping his feet right on my desk. Shifting the stack of inbound prayers.
If they fall. I’ll make sure they end up in his ass.
“Congratulations. How’d you do it?” I glare at him from across my desk, setting down my coin.
Damn it, I forgot to look at it.
“Let’s not get tied up in useless details.” He tells me with a smile. “I think what we should talk about is our little bargain.”
That stack is still swaying.
Leaning back in my chair, I can’t figure out how I’m going to deal with him. Maybe leprosy… Their attempt to suffer through the pain with humility is always fun. Maybe give him immortality and throw him into a star…
I haven’t seen a good crucifixion in a while… Old school… with Romans… those are the best…
No, a deal is a deal. I have to be the one that makes good on my deals.
“Fine.”
“I get into heaven and I get to torment all the psychics and the palm readers I want.” He reiterates.
Do I have horns on my head?
Am I the one that backpedals on deals?
Do I gallivant around stroking egos and killing entire families to prove a point?
Wait…
Damn it…
Asshole.
It’s a shame too… I enjoy watching psychics pull off all their little tricks on the gullible. I guess I’ll have to find a new hobby. It’s so much fun watching people fall for them. I could just enjoy their screams… He’ll probably just sing to them really. Harry’s voice sounds like two cats fucking. And that’s just when he’s humming.
Nevermind, I’ll find a new hobby.
“Yes, just get out.”
“Ah! Before that. Sign it.” Harry puts the contract we originally drafted in front of me.
I glare at him, “You know what happens to people who put a gun to my head?”
“And God always fulfills promises. Remember?”
Stamped and signed.
Houdini does his stupid little victory strut out of my office.
In the end, I have to admit, I am impressed. I didn’t think giving him those skills would take him that far. I must be better than I imagined. Glad I’ve been holding back on talent this recent generation run. Maybe a bit too much… Millennials are kind of useless… But it’s been nothing but trouble since the Greatest Generation’s been filling my halls. Those D-Day survivors keep parachuting off the Pearly Gates. Making hooch out of anything they can find. Let alone all the angels they keep seducing. The amount of work that’s been piling up because of them is biblical.
Makes me wonder if Lucy even knows he escaped yet.
He’s going to be so pissed.
Anyways, where was I?
God, please cure my husband of cancer.
Denied.
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