God bit his lip so unexpectedly hard that it distracted him, if only momentarily, from the problem at hand.
Someone knocked at the door.
The door opened. His mother walked in. She frowned, concerned.
“I’m fine,” God muttered, dabbing tissue on his lip. His mother stepped deeper into the room.
“No you’re not,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”
God cast the tissue aside.
“I just bit my lip,” he snapped. His mother smirked, “how very unlike you. So, what is the real problem?”
God sighed. He stepped over to his workspace and pointed down.
His mother joined him. She frowned. “What’s with all the blue?” she asked. “They don’t need that much.”
God gave her an annoyed look. His mother nodded. “Right, sorry, go ahead.”
God pointed down at a patch of green.
“Look there, look at all those people down there. Watch this,”
God bent down and fiddled with something his mother couldn’t see. He straightened up.
“What did you do?”
God sighed. “I saved them.”
His mother nodded, “okay, so?” She added, obviously not seeing the problem.
“So! Look over here.” God pointed at another patch of green with people milling about. All at once, they were gone.
“You see? If I save those over there, the ones over here die. And I figured out how to save them both, but then, a whole bunch more down there die, which is more than the other two combined!”
God gritted his teeth and scratched at the back of his hand, the way he did when he was frustrated. His mother reached out to stop the scratching. She held his hands tight in hers.
“It’s your first one, it’s not going to be perfect,” she said, softly. God let himself be held. His mother looked back at the project.
“It is very beautiful, you have talent.”
God snorted, “right.”
“What are you going to call it?” she asked.
God shrugged. “I was thinking I’d let them decide.”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “How very modern of you,” she said, chuckling. God pulled his hands away and looked at her face for any signs of patronization.
He sighed, not finding any.
“Why don’t you leave it for a while,” his mother suggested, patting his shoulder. “You’re father needs some help with a project anyways.”
God snorted. “Another one of his perfect worlds,” he grumbled.
His mother frowned down at him. “Jealousy is an ugly color on you,” she said. God shrugged. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Come on, let’s go.”
God took a last look at his labors. He nodded slowly.
“Come, come,” his mother said.
God allowed himself to be led from the room.
“You really do have talent you know,” she kissed him above the ear, “I’m sure the next one will be perfect.”
“Sure,” God sighed, closing the door.