fic: The Seventh Day
notes: all the good omens stuff i keep seeing on tumblr reminded me i wanted to share this. it's my holiday project for writing group. (everyone gets the same prompt and we write during december and turn in our projects the first meeting in january.) the prompt was to either write a creation story, or use the biblical story of creation as a jumping-off point. i went with option 2. also, despite my trying very hard to not gender god or the angels, almost everyone in writing group referred to god as "he". >.<
There were angels in the workshop.
God heard them moving around, picking things up, talking to each other, and sighed. All God wanted to do was kick back, make some tea (with the tiny leaves of plants created on the third day, steeped in the water brought together under Heaven, also on the third day), and watch Man and Woman exploring their new world. God wanted to enjoy the creeping, crawling, flying creatures that had been created on the fifth and sixth days, and make sure the sun and moon and stars gave enough light, and really, God had worked hard to bring all of creation into existence, and the angels just had to ruin the nice peace and quiet that such work deserved.
God sighed again, and got out of the very comfy armchair that had been created on the sixth day, after the animals but before Man and Woman, and went into the workshop to kick the angels out.
“What are you doing?” God demanded, interrupting a bunch of curious, nosy angels in their speculations as to what this thing was for, and why was that thing that color, and what purpose did this other thing serve -
“Why did you make this such an ugly color?” one of them asked, holding up a lumpy, mottled fruit. (God had decreed that some of the edible things would be called fruits, some would be called vegetables, and some were still nameless so Man and Woman could have fun figuring out what to call them.)
“I felt like it,” God said.
The angel looked unimpressed.
“But this thing is so pretty,” said another angel, holding out a smooth-skinned, oblong fruit the color of - God winced - the bruise now appearing on Man's foot, because he had accidentally dropped a hard-skinned fruit on it. “Why didn't you make everything this color?”
“Because that would be really boring,” offered the first angel.
“Why are you in my workshop?” God asked, trying not to sound tired and frustrated.
“We were really curious what you were doing in here.”
God had given angels free will, way back when. That might have been a mistake.
“I was creating the world. I thought I told you that, and asked you to leave me alone.”
“We did!” said a third angel. This one had picked up a discarded swatch of dark yellow fur and was stroking it absently. “We waited until you left, and when you sat down we decided you were done and were taking a rest.” Angels nodded all around. “So we thought we'd see what you made creation out of. How did you create creation, as it were.” The angel looked pleased at this bit of wordplay.
“And what did you learn?”
“You don’t have very good color sense,” said the first angel.
There were shocked gasps that any of them would judge God in anything. The angel had the decency to look embarrassed. “My apologies. I didn't mean that.”
“You did say I created an ugly fruit,” God pointed out.
“I did. I apologize, again. I spoke without thinking. Both times.”
“Well, you weren't exactly wrong. It is an ugly fruit. I felt like making something ugly, after so many beautiful things. Don't you think creation is beautiful?”
The angels glanced around the workshop, at the bits and pieces lying around, the tools and scraps and discarded designs, the forgotten cup of water (abandoned during the fourth day, when God became distracted making patterns with the new stars), the pencils and crumpled pieces of paper (created at the end of the third day, when God realized how many secondary uses all those trees had). The workshop was a mess, true, and God could see how it might be difficult for the angels to believe anything beautiful had come from such chaos. But something had. Creation was beautiful, all of it, even the ugly fruit and Man's bruised foot and the misshapen toothy creatures swimming along the bottom of the deepest seas. It was beautiful because God had made it.
“Well?”
The angels now glanced at each other.
“Um,” one of them said.
“Actually,” said another.
“Humanity looks weird,” a third hazarded.
“Man and Woman were created in my image!” God said, shouting a little more than intended. Fully half the angels cringed.
One of the non-cringing angels seemed to be giving God a considering once-over, and God could practically see the words I don’t see much resemblance forming in the angel’s mouth.
Free will in an angel was definitely a bad idea.
“Out of my workshop,” God said sternly, pointing at the door. The angels shuffled out, finally cowed into obedience. The one holding the attractive oblong fruit had not let go of it. God let that pass unremarked. The world would be crowded with the things soon enough, so if an angel wanted to take this one out of the workshop, fine. It wasn't as if the heavenly host really knew what to do with it.
One of the angels turned, started to say something, caught the look on God's face, and elected to stay quiet.
“And stay out,” God said, still pointing.
“Can we go talk to them?” one of the angels asked.
“Can you go talk to who?”
“Man and Woman. We can teach them a lot of things.”
“No. Leave them alone. They have a lot to learn and you'll only confuse them.” God didn't want the angels giving Man and Woman Ideas. Man and Woman had free will too.
“Are you going to talk to them?”
It was a fair question, but God hadn't made a decision yet. “Don't you have things to do?”
The angels wandered off, some defiantly, some meekly, some with purpose. God looked at the armchair, which really was very inviting, thought about making and enjoying the first cup of tea in all of existence, thought about the mess in the workshop, and thought about how rewarding it was to create an entire world from scratch. There had been nothing, and then God had created Night and Day, and the Firmament, and the Heavens and the Earth and the Seas and the Sky, and the Sun and Moon and Stars, and everything that swam and flew and crept and grew. It was exhausting work, but rewarding, and, God had to admit, a lot of fun.
Some of those bits and pieces in the workshop might still be useful. The armchair could wait.
God chewed on a pencil and got back to work. The world had been created in six days, but it was never intended to be finished in that time. “What if I put this with this, then that could go right here - “
It was the seventh day and God had planned to rest, but making things was relaxing. The angels were off doing whatever best pleased them, or whatever they felt was necessary, and God was going to take advantage of the peace and quiet while it lasted.
There were angels in the workshop.
God heard them moving around, picking things up, talking to each other, and sighed. All God wanted to do was kick back, make some tea (with the tiny leaves of plants created on the third day, steeped in the water brought together under Heaven, also on the third day), and watch Man and Woman exploring their new world. God wanted to enjoy the creeping, crawling, flying creatures that had been created on the fifth and sixth days, and make sure the sun and moon and stars gave enough light, and really, God had worked hard to bring all of creation into existence, and the angels just had to ruin the nice peace and quiet that such work deserved.
God sighed again, and got out of the very comfy armchair that had been created on the sixth day, after the animals but before Man and Woman, and went into the workshop to kick the angels out.
“What are you doing?” God demanded, interrupting a bunch of curious, nosy angels in their speculations as to what this thing was for, and why was that thing that color, and what purpose did this other thing serve -
“Why did you make this such an ugly color?” one of them asked, holding up a lumpy, mottled fruit. (God had decreed that some of the edible things would be called fruits, some would be called vegetables, and some were still nameless so Man and Woman could have fun figuring out what to call them.)
“I felt like it,” God said.
The angel looked unimpressed.
“But this thing is so pretty,” said another angel, holding out a smooth-skinned, oblong fruit the color of - God winced - the bruise now appearing on Man's foot, because he had accidentally dropped a hard-skinned fruit on it. “Why didn't you make everything this color?”
“Because that would be really boring,” offered the first angel.
“Why are you in my workshop?” God asked, trying not to sound tired and frustrated.
“We were really curious what you were doing in here.”
God had given angels free will, way back when. That might have been a mistake.
“I was creating the world. I thought I told you that, and asked you to leave me alone.”
“We did!” said a third angel. This one had picked up a discarded swatch of dark yellow fur and was stroking it absently. “We waited until you left, and when you sat down we decided you were done and were taking a rest.” Angels nodded all around. “So we thought we'd see what you made creation out of. How did you create creation, as it were.” The angel looked pleased at this bit of wordplay.
“And what did you learn?”
“You don’t have very good color sense,” said the first angel.
There were shocked gasps that any of them would judge God in anything. The angel had the decency to look embarrassed. “My apologies. I didn't mean that.”
“You did say I created an ugly fruit,” God pointed out.
“I did. I apologize, again. I spoke without thinking. Both times.”
“Well, you weren't exactly wrong. It is an ugly fruit. I felt like making something ugly, after so many beautiful things. Don't you think creation is beautiful?”
The angels glanced around the workshop, at the bits and pieces lying around, the tools and scraps and discarded designs, the forgotten cup of water (abandoned during the fourth day, when God became distracted making patterns with the new stars), the pencils and crumpled pieces of paper (created at the end of the third day, when God realized how many secondary uses all those trees had). The workshop was a mess, true, and God could see how it might be difficult for the angels to believe anything beautiful had come from such chaos. But something had. Creation was beautiful, all of it, even the ugly fruit and Man's bruised foot and the misshapen toothy creatures swimming along the bottom of the deepest seas. It was beautiful because God had made it.
“Well?”
The angels now glanced at each other.
“Um,” one of them said.
“Actually,” said another.
“Humanity looks weird,” a third hazarded.
“Man and Woman were created in my image!” God said, shouting a little more than intended. Fully half the angels cringed.
One of the non-cringing angels seemed to be giving God a considering once-over, and God could practically see the words I don’t see much resemblance forming in the angel’s mouth.
Free will in an angel was definitely a bad idea.
“Out of my workshop,” God said sternly, pointing at the door. The angels shuffled out, finally cowed into obedience. The one holding the attractive oblong fruit had not let go of it. God let that pass unremarked. The world would be crowded with the things soon enough, so if an angel wanted to take this one out of the workshop, fine. It wasn't as if the heavenly host really knew what to do with it.
One of the angels turned, started to say something, caught the look on God's face, and elected to stay quiet.
“And stay out,” God said, still pointing.
“Can we go talk to them?” one of the angels asked.
“Can you go talk to who?”
“Man and Woman. We can teach them a lot of things.”
“No. Leave them alone. They have a lot to learn and you'll only confuse them.” God didn't want the angels giving Man and Woman Ideas. Man and Woman had free will too.
“Are you going to talk to them?”
It was a fair question, but God hadn't made a decision yet. “Don't you have things to do?”
The angels wandered off, some defiantly, some meekly, some with purpose. God looked at the armchair, which really was very inviting, thought about making and enjoying the first cup of tea in all of existence, thought about the mess in the workshop, and thought about how rewarding it was to create an entire world from scratch. There had been nothing, and then God had created Night and Day, and the Firmament, and the Heavens and the Earth and the Seas and the Sky, and the Sun and Moon and Stars, and everything that swam and flew and crept and grew. It was exhausting work, but rewarding, and, God had to admit, a lot of fun.
Some of those bits and pieces in the workshop might still be useful. The armchair could wait.
God chewed on a pencil and got back to work. The world had been created in six days, but it was never intended to be finished in that time. “What if I put this with this, then that could go right here - “
It was the seventh day and God had planned to rest, but making things was relaxing. The angels were off doing whatever best pleased them, or whatever they felt was necessary, and God was going to take advantage of the peace and quiet while it lasted.