Jerome

Jerome yawned, a huge, body-shaking yawn that left him feeling slightly light-headed when it finished.  He shook his head a little, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed.  From the looks they were giving him, about half of his maths class had seen it.  Or hear it, he’d sounded like a small bear roaring.

“Tired?” said Celine, her eyes twinkling with viciousness.  She was (in Jerome’s opinion) stunningly beautiful on the outside, and as rotten as old cheese on the inside.  “You should try sleeping.”

“Thanks, Celine,” he said, his voice level.  He turned away from her, and Gavin’s hand caught his shoulder.

“Ignore her, she’s a bitch,” he said.

“Don’t call her that,” said Jerome, though there wasn’t much conviction in his voice.  “She’s got an opinion, just like everyone else.”

“Her opinions aren’t like anyone else’s.”

“You’re a toad, Gavin,” said Celine.  She turned away, then looked back over her shoulder at Jerome.  “And you’re just selfish.  Why don’t sleep already and let the rest of us have Christmas?”

“Class, be quiet.  And be seated, why are you out of your chairs?”  Doctor Hasselmann had arrived and was starting the class; with a gentle grumbling but quick movements the students took their places and settled down to listen to his lecture.  Jerome braced himself for the struggle of trying to stay awake while he listened to Dr. Hasselmann, and hoped he’d succeed.

An hour later he’d only started to doze twice and was feeling quite pleased with himself.  He’d written down everything Dr. Hasselmann had said, including the ums, ahs, and the incidental asides, because he couldn’t fall asleep while he was writing.  And now he’d have to rewrite his notes into something coherent, which would give him something to do that night while everyone else was sleeping.  He slipped his notepad and pen into his bag, and got up from his desk, only to find Celine stood in front of him once more.

“Sleep, already, doofus,” she said, pushing him back down.  Her hand was pale and stubby, not quite the kind of hand you expected from a girl with high cheekbones, long glossy hair and eyes so blue they were nearly purple.  “It’s the middle of January and I’ve still not had Christmas.  Do you know what my parents have got me for Christmas?”

“No,” said Jerome, trying to stand up again.  She pushed him back down.

“A car.  They’ve bought me a car for Christmas, but I can’t have it until then.  You’re keeping me from my car, doofus, because you won’t sleep.  So get on with it and sleep already.”

“You make it sound so easy, Celine,” he said, twisting round so he could get up from the other side of his chair.  Her hand landed on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and got out of the seat.

“It is easy,” she hissed, leaning towards him.  “Just close those four little eyes of yours and wait.”

“Leave him,” said Gavin, standing next to him again.  “You’re such a cow.”  Celine gasped as though she’d been slapped, and her hand went up automatically, attempting to attract Dr. Hasselmann’s attention.  He, however, walked past her without stopping, and was out of the door before she thought to call him by name.  Gavin smirked.  “Guess he’s not got your back today, cow,” he said.  “Leave Jerome alone, go and pick on someone with your own IQ.”

“We’re in the same maths class,” said Celine icily.

“Yeah, but your daddy paid for you to be here, while the rest of us had to work to get here.”

The words hung in the sudden silence of the classroom, broken only when, a few minutes later, Jerome yawned again.

“Come on,” said Gavin. “We’ve got classes to go to.”

As they left the room Celine was still standing by Jerome’s desk, staring into mid-air and not saying anything.  Jerome glanced back at her, and then at Gavin.  “That was a bit mean,” he said.

“But true,” said Gavin.  “She’s only in most of our classes because she’s got a tutor to get her through the work.  She shouldn’t be in them at all.”

“How do you know?  She might be capable of doing them by herself, but her tutor just kind of means we don’t see it.”

“How can you defend her when she keeps picking on you all the time?  She knows about the nightmares, so she’s the one being selfish.  No-one should have to have nightmares like that.”

“Yeah, but Gavin, if I don’t then no-one gets Christmas do they?”

“Is Christmas really all that important?  I could do without it.”

Jerome laughed, though it was a tired laugh.  “Yeah, I’m not sure I miss not having it.  But…,”

“But what?”

“Well, what happens if I don’t get through the nightmares?”

“What do you mean, Jer?”

“Christmas only happens if I survive the nightmares.  What happens if I don’t one year?”

“Don’t talk like that!”

Jerome half-smiled.  “Sure.  What class are we in next?”

“We’re not, we’re done for the day.  I just didn’t want Celine following us.”

Our Lady of the Battered Wives

Joshua sipped his drink, and tried to ignore Celine's accusing glare.  She didn't stop glaring, and he found himself admitting, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that ignoring her wasn't working.  Surely that was something the Lord of Creation shouldn't have to put up with?  He decided not to think about that too hard, as he had a suspicion that the solution was to either move her somewhere away or somehow unmake her, neither of which he was all that keen on.
"Joshua!"  He jumped, nearly spilling his drink.  As the liquid sloshed over the rim of the glass it froze in the air though, and dropped neatly back inside when he stopped moving.  "Joshua, you wanted me to be your PA, damn it; what is it you want me to do?"
"Uh, well, there were a lot of voices...," said Joshua, feeling uncertain of himself.  Was this how the Lord of Creation was supposed to feel?
"And?"
"You were a good lawyer, weren't you?" he asked, knowing the answer to the question immediately.  She had been an excellent lawyer, and she didn't tolerate weakness, stupidity, or people not paying their bills on time.  How on earth had his subconscious mind retrieved her as the best choice for a secretary?  Did he have a secret death wish?
"Extremely.  What about these voices?  I'd quite like to get back to learning the harp.  It was interesting; the strings don't answer back, cite foreign laws at you, or just plain make things up and insist it's 'legal'."
"There were quite a lot of them," said Joshua starting to feel a little useless.  "They all wanted things."
"Supplicants?  Oh, you were hearing people's prayers!  Yes, well, you're God to all of them now, aren't you, so they talk to you.  They tell you what they want.  Why is that a problem to you?  You've never listened to anyone else's desires or wishes before?"
Joshua tried to looked pained and gave up when he realised he didn't know what facial expression went with it.  He sipped his drink again, noting yet again how good it was.
"I need someone to filter them out," he said.  "Someone to tell me what's important and what's just selfish."
"They're all just selfish," said Celine.  "Can I go now?"
"No!  What do you mean, they're all just selfish.  There was a little gir– child, of some kind, asking for her dog to be healed!  How is that selfish?"
"She wanted the dog to be healed because she wants the dog's love," said Celine without even seeming to think. "The dog might be the only way she has of not being nibbled at by rats at night, in which case she wanted it healed so that it would continue working for her and earning it's keep.  She definitely didn't want it healed just so she could feed it and let it live a life of luxury."
"Well...," said Joshua feeling a little foolish.  "She did seem to love it.  Her.  She was called Daisy."
"I don't care," said Celine.  "They're all selfish.  No-one turns to God to ask for something for someone else's benefit unless they're testing to see if the prayer works.  If it does, the next one will be for them, guaranteed."
"That's very cynical," said Joshua.  He had realised he couldn't see any of the hotel staff around anywhere, and wondered if he'd frightened them off somehow.
"Fine."  Celine sighed, and concentrated as though thinking about something.  "OK, let's take this one then.  A woman by the name of Angelisque, named because her mother saw the name attached to a lampshade in an IKEA catalogue and liked the sound of it. She's been pregnant four times by different men, and has never bothered to find out any of their names, nor has she kept any of the babies.  She's got an abusive boyfriend she keeps returning to.  She's praying for a little bit of help."
"Right!" said Joshua.  "That's what I want, the kind of person who deserves a little help in life.  Come on!"  He stood up, missing Celine's roll of her eyes, and stepped forwards, leaving the hotel behind and appearing in a crowded, dirty supermarket aisle somewhere hot.  A little way away people were talking in a language he didn't recognise, though he could understand what they were saying perfectly.  There was the intermittent ring of a cash register and the swoosh of the cash drawer opening and closing, and a smell of stale bread and dead rat hanging in the air.  A woman, Angelisque, was kneeling in the aisle and sobbing.
"What is this?" Joshua stared at Celine, who raised her eyes to the ceiling.
"This is your damson in distress," she said, noticing Joshua miss completely what she'd said.  "By the way –" She was too late, Joshua had already leant over the woman to get her attention.  The woman opened her eyes, saw him and started screaming.  People started walking over to the aisle just fast enough to see what was happening, just fast enough to keep on walking if there were guns or knives involved.
"By the way," said Celine, invisible to the mob forming, "she worships you in your form of Saint Mathilde , a middle aged woman with swollen breasts and varicose veins who kept her sexual deviances so well hidden that everyone thought she must be holy.
"Now you tell me!" said Joshua, feeling a little angry.  He gestured and the woman stopped screaming, though her mouth remained open and her eyes were wide with terror.  "Tell me, Angelisque," he continued, "what can I do to make your life better?"
"Kill my boyfriend," came the words from her mouth, her eyes getting wider still.  The words came from her soul, not from her conscious mind.  "Kill him, and let me have the life insurance.  There is another man with a bigger penis I wish to be with.  I am sure he will not beat me if I have his baby, and I have been trying for three weeks now."
Joshua's mouth dropped open, and he looked over at Celine, who shrugged.
"You knew!" he said, pointing a finger.
"I can't," she said.  "I can access the lists, and listen to the prayers, because that's the job you've given me.  Knowing the innermost workings of the soul – that's your job, Mister."
"But... but this is horrible!"
"Which bit did you want me to repeat now?"
"People shouldn't be like this!"
"You can always try remaking them in your own image," said Celine.  "I'm not sure that would help, but it might make you feel better."
"Remake them?"
"You can't touch them," said Celine.  "Your touch would completely change them.  So, and I should say that I'd like this to remain completely theoretical, you can mould them simply by getting close enough to them."
Joshua reached out, his finger moving to touch the woman's cheek.  As he got closer her face began to deform, sinking inwards on itself like a pasta shell.  He stretched out more fingers and her face started to warp like warm wax.  When he pulled his hand back the middle of her face, with her nose, eyes and mouth, were sunk into a deep valley and blood trickled down her neck.
"Oh," he said, and turned, stepping back to the hotel, taking Celina with him.  He sat down on his chair again.
"Oh my god," he said, ignoring Celine's quiet "That would be you, then, boss."
"What do I do about her?" he said, sounding faintly pathetic.
"Nothing," said Celine.  "She'll die in a couple of days with her head completely ruined like that."
"I can fix it!"
"Don't bother, she's not to see the light and become a better person because of it.  And anyway, you did it in front of lots of people."
"So?"
"So it's a miracle.  She'll be a saint herself after this, which is a bit of a kickstart to the afterlives.  You've helped her, even though you don't know how."
"A saint?"
"Yeah, her ruined face and head will be sculpted by poor artists and she'll become known as Our Lady of the Battered Wives.  She'll be useful in that community at last."
"Oh," said Joshua, not knowing what else he could say.

Lord of Creation

Joshua found himself sitting back in his favourite chair in a hotel in Bern after he'd finished signing the paperwork.  One moment he'd been in a strange, astral place, and the next he was here.  Twenty-five minutes ago he'd been in London, placing the right token in the right place at the right time; now his entire life had changed.  He was Lord of Creation.
He checked his hands, and then peered at his partial reflection in the huge glass windows that overlooked the lake.  He appeared to be about twenty-five, maybe a little younger.  That was definitely his favourite age as well.  He looked out to the lake, and tried to focus on the white shapes at the far edge.  Almost effortlessly they seemed to resolve, almost like a zoom effect from the cinema, and it was as though he was sitting only metres away from them.  With another thought, he was sitting metres away from them, watching in delight as startled birds took flight.  He realised that he'd brought the chair with him just after he realised that he'd appeared on the surface of the lake and wasn't sinking.  The chair legs were resting on the water, occasionally splashed by gentle waves, but otherwise the chair was motionless.  He thought himself back to the hotel and wondered if they'd notice the dampness.
Becoming Lord of Creation had been surprisingly easy; it turned out that the entity currently in that role was fed up with it and wanted to give it up so that they could go off and do more interesting things.  Joshua had found himself seated on something shaped but invisible in a massive space, buffeted by winds that he suspected were supplying him with air to breathe, opposite an entity perhaps best described as a numinance.  He'd explained what he wanted, and the entity had changed shape a little.  Joshua had wondered what that meant.  He'd waited a little, and finally some paperwork had been presented to him and he'd been asked for a signature.  The entity changed colour and shape a couple of times during that, and Joshua was only now starting to wonder what a numinance looked like when it laughed.
A waiter came up, raised an eyebrow fractionally at the little pools of lake water, but placed a drink down next to Joshua anyway.  It looked like gin, tasted like bliss, and Joshua had no idea what it was.  Then the voices started.
"please god, oh please god, don't let daisy die she's only a little dog and she doesn't deserve to go yet, please god, oh please god...."
Joshua shook his head and sipped his drink, but the voice wouldn't go away.  He wondered what Daisy was, and almost immediately he could recall a small Chihuahua with huge, melting eyes and prick-ears staring mournfully at him.  Daisy had been hit by a car and was very close to death.  Joshua, moved, tried to fix things, and Daisy seemed to stir slightly.  Her injuries seemed to close up and heal of their own accord, her eyes grew brighter and her breathing less laboured; moments later she was standing again and was looking happy.  The voice in his head reached jubilation, and then shut off suddenly, replaced by a deafening cacophany of other requests.  Joshua dropped his drink and clapped his hands over his ears, unsuccessfully trying to shut them out.
"I need a secretary," he whispered after five minutes of trying and failing to shut the noise out.  "Someone to handle requests."
"Oh, you remembered, did you?"  The din was gone, but now there was an ex-girlfriend of his now sat across from him in an identical chair, looking angry.  Celine, he thought her name was, she'd... wait, she'd died in a skiing accident.
"Yes," she said grumpily.  "Here.  Eighteen years ago.  When you cancelled at the last minute because of a book emergency and I came by myself."
"Oh," said Joshua.  He had an intimation that saying Sorry might be a really bad idea when you were Lord of everything and anything around you.
"I was enjoying life up there," she said, gesturing.  "I had a halo, I was learning to play the harp.  And now you're back, you're Mr Bigshot, and I'm your damn PA all of a sudden."
"I didn't ask for you!" Joshua reached out for his dropped glass which picked itself up off the floor, put itself back together and refilled, before returning to his hand.
"Yes you did, I'm the first thing you think of when you think secretary."
"Are you?"  Joshua realised that he did think Celine had been a secretary of some kind.
"I was Secretary of the Lisbon Lawn Club!  My job was IP lawyer!"
"This isn't going to be as easy as I thought, is it?" said Joshua, now certain he knew what it looked like when numinance laughed.
"Oh no, Mister.  Not in the slightest!"