The Lord laid on His bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked over to the blank space where the TV used to be, the latest prize of His Mother’s wrath. “My Son does not get C’s,” She said, the feet of the TV groaning against the hardwood floors. “Not everything can be perfect,” The Lord should have said. Instead, he guided the biggest asteroid to Earth to prove His Mother wrong.
The surgeon decides she had enough of the little brother made of Ken doll heads and his clumsy attempts at seduction. She ties him down to the bed while he’s sleeping, sets up magnifying glasses all around her room to refract sunlight onto his body when morning comes.
The mayor with chainsaw for arms blames vaccinations for what his arms became. Truth and fact aren’t one in the same, he says to his wife as parents throughout the city put ice on their children’s fevers.
The Lord rubs His hands as more new arrivals come everyday. He’s especially proud of the mayor with chainsaws for arms, how the mayor decided faith was more important than science.
You can’t let this go on, Michael says; the Lord removes Michael’s mouth.