God.

God sits at his cluttered table in his cluttered room cursing himself. He screws up what must be the thousandth piece of paper for the day and tosses it over his shoulder. Then he begins scribbling furiously on to a new piece.

What he is doing is coming up with ideas for people’s fates. Why he is cursing is because he has none. He has complete writers block.

After scribbling for a little more, he grows frustrated and tears his new piece of paper to shreds. Cursing more, he calls for his assistant.

“JOB!”

Job enters the room cautiously. He is well aware of God’s recent writers block and has been catching the brunt of God’s anger due to it.

“Yes sir.”

“This is crap!” God throws his Almighty Pen of Destiny to the table hard and gets out of his seat. He paces as his tirade begins.

“There’s nothing new to do! I’ve done everything. I am absolutely out of ideas.”

A short pause signals that God wants Job to reply, so he does.

“I see sir. No ideas at all?”

God turns to face his assistant.

“None whatsoever. September 11th was the last new idea I’ve had in ages. Apart from that I’ve just been recycling all my old ideas with minor adjustments made. Rock music, fashion, the gulf war, it’s all been done.”

“Everything old is new again.” Job says thoughtfully.

“Shut up!” God replies. “You do have a point though. Even the humans have started to realise. This is terrible. The way things are going now, only one in ten people is being given a destiny. The rest are pointless. They have no direction. No purpose. They are just background noise.”

Another silence signals it’s Job’s turn to speak, but he has no idea what to say, so after a time God continues.

“The world is turning in on itself. These people with no destiny, they all become depressives.”

“You mean YOU’RE the one that causes depression?” Job asks shocked.

God looks at him incredulously.

“Of course I am! I’m the cause of everything you dimwit!”

Job’s head tilts downward.

“As I was saying, these people become depressives. They become angry and act out.”

“But hasn’t that always happened?” Job asks.

“Yes it has. But now it happens more often. There are more depressives. More anger. More acting out. I fear that if this continues, it will end the world.”

God is then silent, thinking. His weedy little figure shakes with worry. He twitches and needs to reposition his glasses. He waits for Job to say something, anything to give him a new idea.

“I’m sorry sir. I don’t know what you can do. I can’t help you.”

God becomes furious.

“You can’t help me? Job, it is your JOB to help me. Give me an idea or… or…” God is staring Job in the eyes, trembling. “Or I’ll send you to eternal damnation!”

This threat scared the life out of Job. Eternal damnation was worse than it sounded. It was worse than purgatory. Worse than hell.

“Sir, please no.”

“I swear to myself, if you don’t come up with an idea in the next ten seconds, it’s eternal damnation for you. I will make you a roadie for Creed.”

The words petrified Job. He was almost too scared to think, but finally, at the last second an idea came to him. An idea so obvious it took such complex thinking to come up with.

“Dinosaurs.”

God looked at Job, perplexed. “Dinosaurs?”

“Don’t you see sir? I remember we had this exact same conversation about the Dinosaurs.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. And the idea we used then is obviously the solution for your problems now.”

“And that is?” God inquired.

“Extinction.”

“Extinction?”

“Extinction.”

The words rang throughout the silence they caused. God sat back down in his chair, thinking the suggestion over. Job sighed with relief on the inside, having saved himself from the worst of destinies.

After much thinking, God nodded. He picked up his Almighty Pen of Destiny and started a bew piece of paper. He drew the earth and then a comet. Then he smiled.

“Extinction it is.”

Job grinned. “And as for your next project sir? Your next species?”

Od leant back in his chair, a relaxed man.

“Already way ahead of you Job.”

God then, on another piece of paper drew a new picture.

A Dog-Donkey.