Roy Meets God

It was Tuesday, and Roy was bored. All of his friends were at work,
out shoplifting or looking for road accidents to gather around, so Roy
stood in the silence of his small living room and stared out of the
window.
As it was raining, he couldn't even go out for a walk, and see
whatever the world did on a Tuesday such as this (he imagined it might
involve eating scones with an Aunt, or waiting for a late bus). Roy sat
down at his table and idly doodled on his notepad.
Normally, Roy enjoyed drawing small maps of Britain, before scribbling
cartoon explosions on parts of the country that had recently annoyed
him, but today, he let the pen drift across the paper in whatever way
his subconscious directed it.
Soon, an angular, twisted shape emerged, full of triangles, squares
and random straight lines. Roy paused to fill in a trapezium he'd
inadvertently created, and at this precise moment, God appeared in his
living room.
His appearance was the quietest cataclysm; it was like having the sun
at arm's length, but with no harm befalling you; like an atom bomb of
tranquillity; a devastating, gentle silence, as if you were to be
blissfully deafened by a trillion feathers floating to the floor. Roy,
startled and amazed on this Tuesday, knew he was meeting his
maker.
Despite recently attending a night school course in bicycle
maintenance, Roy was unsure how to react; he thought it best to show
respect, so he worshipped as best he could, wailing, singing hallelujah
and averting his eyes until they ached.
'There's no need for that,' said God in a tremendous whisper. 'You
don't have to sing my praises just because I'm The Almighty.'
'I'm sorry,' said Roy, nervously. 'I felt I should say something
flattering.'
'Don't worry, I hear it all the time.'
'Ah, good, only, I haven't hoovered lately, and the carpet's a bit of
a mess.'
'That's fine, up you get. Now let me take a look at you.'
Roy stood up and realised, to his embarrassment, there was a pea stuck
to the palm of his right hand.
'Ah yes, Roy. One of my 1948 models, aren't you?' said God.
'Well, I was born in 1948, yes.'
'July 30th 1948, 2.46pm, son of Gloria and Henry, son of Arthur, son
of George, son of William, son of John, son of Robert&;#8230;' Ten
minutes later, God concluded the list of Roy's predecessors.
'&;#8230;Son of Abel, son of Adam. In a manner of speaking. Genesis
isn't exactly how it all happened, but it was the best I could come up
with at short notice. Lucky for Me the punters at the time weren't
too&;#8230;hey!'
Roy had stopped listening to God about thirty seconds into the recital
of his genealogy, and was watching a repeat of 'Ready Steady Cook' on
TV. Annoyed, God turned the TV into a pillar of freshly crushed sea
salt.
'Oh!' exclaimed Roy, 'Sorry, I drifted off for a moment.'
'Don't do it again, it's very rude. But then, you've a history of
rudeness, don't you? Refusing to tidy your bedroom, not wearing that
jumper your auntie made you for your eighteenth birthday,
short-changing a prostitute when you were twenty-six, offering visitors
the cheap brand chocolate digestives and not the ones you keep in a
special tin, murdering a teacher at school and framing the janitor's
cat, stepping on ants&;#8230; the list goes on and on.'
Roy thought for a moment. 'You have to admit, it was a horrible
jumper.'
'Yes. She went straight to Hell for that.'
'Serves her right. You seem to know a lot about me.'
'Well, I'm God, it's my job to know everything.'
'Is that right? Could you tell me when my can-opener is?'
'Yes, it's fallen behind the fridge.'
'Thanks! Now I can eat something other than unwanted jumpers for
tea.'
But as Roy walked into the kitchen, an invisible force held him back
and propelled him to where he'd been standing.
'Not so fast, Roy my boy,' said God. 'We need to have a chat.'
'What about? I haven't done anything&;#8230;ever.'
'I think you're overlooking an act of theft you've committed.'
'Theft? I'm not a burglar!'
'Last week, in a cafeteria, you did knowingly take a sachet of sugar
for your cup of tea, then took a second one to use at home, contrary to
the teachings of The Holy Bible, and cafeteria regulations.'
'Where does it say anything about cafeterias in The Bible?'
'Oh dear&;#8230;sounds like you haven't read it&;#8230;'
'I've read bits of it. And I saw the film, when it was on at
Easter.'
'Not good enough. You could've tried a bit harder to read my little
book.'
'So what chapter is the bit about cafeterias in, then?'
'Never mind that now, let's get to the matter in hand.'
'Which is?'
'Your death, Roy. Your demise. Your leaving of this Earth. Roy, 1948
to 2003. Rest in peace, Amen, etc.'
'Death?' shouted Roy, incredulous. 'But, but I'm only 55!'
'Age doesn't come into it. Your time is up, my child. So if you'd just
like to lie down and look peaceful, we can get on.'
'Hang on, why have I got to die? There's nothing wrong with me!'
'Oh, I see, My word's not good enough. You're going to be one of those
awkward people who want to know why they're going to die, as if having
God tell you isn't enough.'
'It's only fair. I had plans for this week.'
'Roy, looking out of the window, counting how many red cars go past,
doesn't count as "having plans". And don't bother showing me that graph
you've drawn, there isn't a pattern to them.'
'I was having a haircut on Thursday.'
God's sigh knocked a chair over. 'The barber cuts your hair a little
too short for your liking, and you step in a puddle on the way home.
Hardly the renaissance, is it?'
'I suppose not. But I just don't see why I should be killed off now,
in my prime.'
'Roy, you never had a prime, believe Me. If you want to find out why
you have to die, take a look at your notepad.'
'My notepad? I was only doodling on it.'
'Precisely! And that is the greatest achievement of your life, that
doodle is why you were placed upon this Earth. Nothing you do in the
future, if you had one, will match that scribble for sheer perfection.
Your purpose has been served. So if you could just lie
down&;#8230;'
Roy was indignant. 'You mean the only thing I'll ever amount to, the
only reason I exist, is to draw a daft shape in a fifty-pence
notepad?'
'You stole that notepad from the cornershop, remember? You put it
under your orange jumper when old Mrs Guttocks tried to fight off that
gang of ramraiders.'
'But all the same&;#8230;'
'Look, the last man I bumped off was only here to sneeze in a
particular way. Off he went. The one before was a woman whose greatest
achievement was complaining to her friend about the bus service, and
that was her lot. Anyway, you're being hard on yourself. That's a very
nice doodle you've drawn there.'
'I'm being unfair on myself? You're about to kill me for no reason
other than scribbling on a notepad in a pleasing manner, and you say
I'm being unfair?'
'Calm, my son. Be at peace,' said God, 'Death comes to us all.'
'Except you. You're immortal.'
'True. Anyway, if you wouldn't mind just lying down, so I can -
'
'No, I will not lie down. Stop picking on me!'
'Roy, I'm not picking on you. I visit everyone when their time comes.
The great and the good, the lowly and the wicked, the,
er&;#8230;mediocre.'
'Hey!'
'No offence. I feel it's My duty to pop in and say goodbye before each
of My beloved children departs My world. Not all the great deities do
that, you know. I could just as easily send a saint or an archangel,
but I like the personal touch. It's your chance to see Me
before&;#8230;look, you can lie down on the sofa if you want to make
the most of being comfy.'
'Leave me alone. I'm innocent!'
'Oh no you're not. None of you are. Original sin. You shouldn't've
eaten the apple in the Garden of Eden.'
'You said that never happened!'
'Well, it didn't, but rules is rules. It's in The Bible, all the
regulations.'
'I can't believe You'd be so cruel!'
'Come on, you wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for Me. I gave you your
life, and I'm letting you die peacefully manner, but all you do is
moan. You could be going to Heaven for all you know.'
'Oh. Right, OK,' said Roy, taking a shine to the idea. 'Will I go to
Heaven, then?'
'Don't know. I delegate the whole Heaven or Hell thing to St Peter,
him and The Devil sort that out. Nasty piece of work, The Devil. Funny
smell of Deep Heat about him.'
'Oh, great. You're going to kill me and I spend the rest of eternity
on fire with slugs up my nose and swords up my bum!'
'Oh, it's not as nice as that,' warned the Lord, 'And it goes on for
longer. Look, we're wasting time. I've got to wipe out three thousand
Peruvian villagers in an earthquake in ten minutes.'
'You're going to kill the whole village?'
'No, not all of them. A donkey survives. I've got big plans for that
donkey. But the rest of them have got to go!'
'Why, what did they do?'
'A fine act of charity: they clubbed together to buy old Mr Rodriguez
a new llama after he wore out his old one. He's going to Hell.
Actually, there're all condemned, because -'
'Don't tell me, the original sin. Sounds like St Peter's got himself a
cushy little job up there.'
'Now, just lie down. You might want to put a jumper on; it gets a bit
nippy sometimes, if you end up in the frozen wastes of Hades. You
should've kept that jumper your Auntie gave you, it'd fit in a treat
down there.'
'I can't believe this, condemned to die after scribbling on a notepad
turns out to be the best thing I'll ever do, then I get sent to Hell
because some daft woman made a bloke eat an apple on the say-so of a
talking snake!'
'Yes, that's stretching it a bit, isn't it? We had an eye on Disney
getting the film rights, you see. Look, I hate to depress you, but it's
more than likely you'll be going to Hell. The original sin means, apart
from the odd saint or pope, more or less everybody gets sent
downwards.'
'Bloody marvellous,' fumed Roy, 'You're omnipotent, you must know I've
led a decent life."
'That's right, and what you did in the bathroom last night didn't help
your cause at all.'
Roy turned pale with shock. 'You saw that? Oh no! Oh Jesus Christ,
help me!'
Christ appeared at God's right hand side. 'Did someone call me?'
'Sorry Son, false alarm,' said God.
'OK. Bye. I love you all and that,' said Christ, before
disappearing.
Roy sat on the floor, knees held to his chest, as he wailed and
gnashed his teeth in despair.
God regarded him sympathetically. 'Look Roy, I'm only doing my job. I
giveth life, I taketh away. You've got to go sometime. Hang on, I'll
just check my notes&;#8230;Roy 1948&;#8230;of course!'
Roy looked up, tears streaming down his face like two angry
waterfalls. 'Yes?'
'Your left big toe!'
'I'm sorry?'
'Your left big toe was one of the best I ever did that year. A
masterpiece. It'd be a shame to waste a toe like that&;#8230;'
'You mean I get another chance?'
'OK. Let it not be said I'm an unreasonable deity. Because I like one
of your toes, you can have another chance at life."
Roy was beside himself. 'Thank you, thank you! You won't regret it!
I'll be good and do kind things and be nice to everyone, and pray and
everything.'
'Just make sure you do. But don't forget, I have to bring you in once
you've achieved everything you can possibly ever amount to.'
'Fine, whatever you say!'
'Farewell, Roy. Be good, and look after that toe. Look at the time,
I've got to go and sort out that earthquake!'
'Goodbye God!' said Roy, cheerily.
The Divine Creator vanished with the force of a billion beating
butterfly wings and the room re-adjusted itself to normality.

Roy was left standing in stark staring silence and decided to make
himself a cup of tea. As the kettle boiled, he considered all the
things he'd do; the charity work, the good deeds, helping the needy,
while giving thanks to The One who'd given him this second
chance.
Roy picked up the sachet of sugar he'd pinched from the cafeteria,
stirred in the contents and raised the steaming mug to his lips.
Suddenly, God reappeared.
'Roy! That's the greatest cup of tea anyone will ever make! Well
done!'
'No!'
Shocked, Roy dropped his mug of tea; but there was no one left to hear
it smash upon the floor.