Slice of heaven

Once upon a time (as all good stories begin), the gods were busy making people and angels. It was slow, tedious work on the “angels” side as it took so much time to gain perfection. As a side project in his workshop, one of the gods spent a very long time on one particular angel. The angel was crafted so well, the god believed he had peaked and done his best ever work. The angel was almost done when the god sat back and allowed himself a few moments to admire his work. He just had to attach a beautiful pair of wings that he had lovingly hand crafted and had set up on a rack behind his workbench. They were silvery and fine, and as the god ran his hands over them, they made his fingers shiver with pleasure. He sighed and thought about retiring.

Foolishly disturbing the gods’ moment of reflection, one of the production faeries rushed in waving a clipboard.

“We’re short of humans! We need to take this one over to the other side!”

The god set down his coffee cup and jutted out his jaw.

“No. You can’t have this one. I made him too perfect. He’ll never fit in on earth, the humans will realise he’s not really one of them. They’ll get jealous and try to off him. You know they do it, we’ve seen it before. Remember?”

The faery begged and pleaded, but the god was unmoved.

“Look, its out of the question. He’s nearly finished, and he was simply made to the higher specs. I won’t ruin my work now, you’ll simply have to get someone else make another human from scratch.”

“But the timing!” cried the faery, “We’ll never get one done in time! And the angels don’t mind waiting longer than the humans – they live forever.”

The god sighed and glanced over his handiwork.

“I can’t even figure out how to make him human without ruining what I’ve done. Do you have any idea how many months work has gone into this?”

The faery saw the god relenting a little and took his opening. “You could disfigure him somehow – give him an extra nostril or something.”

The god shook his head.

“I spent far too long on it – he’s my finest work! Look at those eyes, the curve of his jaw. I can’t do that. I couldn’t bear to have it all go to waste. And before you say it, I’m not crippling him either. His body is built to move. I won’t ruin him.” If at all possible, his chin moved even further forward. Jaw muscles pulsed and writhed.

“Well…” the faery hummed and hawed, “How about we make him bad? Mess with his heart somehow?”

The god stood up and pointed up to the drawing board.

“You see that heart? That is one of the finest available. Kind, caring, virtually glowing with fun and compassion. I even put in an extra capacity for love and acceptance in it, which is an upgrade on anything that is currently available. Mess with that and you may just find the heart won’t survive. I’ll not see you fooling about with such a highly tuned piece of equipment. It won’t last a lifetime. You do intend him for a full lifetime, I hope? I won’t have you taking this one for just a couple of years. I designed him for immortality, remember.”

“Yes! Yes! The human is scheduled for a full span,” the faery squeaked then glanced around, anxious that he connive a way to get the god to part with his angel.

“Well, what about his brain then? Shall we make him stupid? The humans will never realise he was to be an angel if we do that, surely?”

“No!!” The god cried, stamping his foot and causing lightening to shoot randomly on a sunny day somewhere over Australia. A couple of wallabies glanced at each other and opted to say nothing. “It’s just like the heart, you fool! Precision wiring, fully integrated special memory capacity and IQ up the wazoo! You just can’t mess with this stuff! It’s. Im. Por. Tan. Ttt!” the god bared his teeth and leaned in close, as the faery closed his eyes against the spray of spittle. “That’s what I mean! You will simply have to go away and make yourself another human. It can’t be done. This was simply designed for a different job, to modify it now…” the god’s voice died away as he thought about putting this perfect creature on earth. His heart ached for his creation. His eyes wandered of their own accord to the wings and drifted over their delicious texture.

The faery had a brainstorm. “What about the personality? I mean, angels do tend to be a bit, well, you know.”

“I know what?” growled the god. “Spit it out, you miserable little vulture.”

The faery knew he was walking on thin ice, but ventured (tentatively) anyway. “Angels do have a certain, ahem, you know, reputation.” The faery stopped and waited, bracing himself.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“REPUTATION FOR WHAT?!” the god bellowed, knocking a large crop of snow from a mountain, and forcing the urgent relocation of a herd of mountain goats who simply went without a backwards glance. Saying something certainly never crossed their minds.

The faery looked squarely into the gods’ eyes, but kept his voice very, very small.

“They’re known to be a bit – boring.” The last word was so soft the god almost couldn’t hear it. The faery rushed along, forcing himself to not actually back up away from the heated breath on his cheek. “You know, they’re so perfect and peaceful and calm. They can be a bit, well, flavourless once they’re up and running.”

The god thought back over all his perfect creations, of which this was to be the pièce de résistance. The wings he’d lovingly crafted, for this purpose, now hanging useless on their rack. To be recylcled. Used for another, most likely, inferior creature. And yet… The faery followed his gaze, waiting out the ghastly silence.

“Maybe you have a point.” The god mused. “They can be a bit tiresome once they hit the clouds. All that harping around and peace and goodwill and whatnot.”

He rubbed a mighty paw across his face, from hairline to chin, brow puckering.

“You have some dust?” the god asked, almost offhand.

“What?” the fairy looked confused.

“Some dust, you twerp. Dust. Faery dust. Surely you have some floating about amongst your clipboards and ridiculous demands?”

“Well, um, I guess. Let me see… I put some in this little pouch somewhere…” The faery patted frantically about his person, wings flickering uncertainly as he tried to work out what the god was up to. Finally he pulled out a small bag and handed it over. His fingers vainly tried to re-grip the bag as the god prised it out of his hand.

“I think, yes… yes this could work!” the god whispered almost to himself.

The god turned away and started rummaging around in his workstation. Odd bits of luminescent fluff and bloody dripping parts went west as the god ran his hands over the essence of his creations. Finally, he pulled out a single, golden spark. The faery looked on fidgeting with a pen and tapping his foot. He had been dreading this assignment, but the other faeries would have laughed at him had he refused. He’d hate to be called a sprite or something. Still, that might have been better than coddling this overbearing creationist.

“Quit your wriggling and get over here,” called the god over his shoulder. He was now taking the wings down off the rack.

“What’s that thing then?” said the faery as he shuffled over, “It’s all golden and liquidy. Not seen one like that before,” he reached over to poke at the spark on the workbench, suddenly recoiling and snatching his hand back. “Stupid thing bit me!” he complained nasally.

The god smothered a grin. “It’s a bit unstable, is all. I made them by accident, you see. It’s pretty volatile, but I tried to even that one out with that nice gooey stuff.”

“So what’s it do, then?”

“Ah, well, its kind of a new invention. It’s supposed to add a bit more zing to the personality. I haven’t been sure if I should give it to the angels because you’re right, they’re a bit - well, as you say. But if I gave it to a human, hey, they’re all a bit crazy anyway so they probably won’t notice. And it might make him fit in.”

The faery looked dubious. This time, it was the god who pressed on through the awkward silence.

“Well I’ve made them before, but I’ve had problems fitting it. It seems to create a bit of human insanity. Sometimes.” Almost always, he could just as easily have said.

“When, exactly, have you put them in before? You don’t normally make the humans.” The faery narrowed his eyes.

“Never you mind,” The god brushed aside memories of a couple of inadvertent wars that were the result of a malfunctioning spark. It was only one or two, he justified to himself. Completely unavoidable, no one could have predicted it. He knew the sparks were powerful and unstable, but was also pretty certain he knew the solution.

The god had the wings in his great hands and was slowly squeezing them together. His muscles burned as he compressed the wings smaller and smaller.

“Bring that spark and dust over here. Quickly now!”

While the faery whined about the almost constant zapping, the god directed him to rub the spark through the wings as the god squished them. When he was sure they were thoroughly mixed, the god ordered the faery to sprinkle his dust on. The ball of feather, gold and sparkling dust melded into one stable, spectacular artifact. The faeries’ eyes lit up for a few moments, fixed admiringly on the undulating ball of life.

“Right then, see how it goes, shall we?” said the god, secretly overjoyed to be able to experiment again with his spark. He had long known the wings helped the stability, and had been toying with the idea of faery dust for a while, but getting your hands on it, sheesh! What a mission. Anyone would think you were asking the faeries for their firstborn! Worse, in fact. And it’s not as if, as a god, he couldn’t have asked for that.

The god leaned over and blew the spark over the body of the angel. The spark hovered, then settled happily into place. The angel’s body shone briefly for a moment, then the flare died away, leaving something very interesting in the eyes. Up on the drawing board, the specs glowed and rearranged themselves.

“Woah!” The faery said, attempting to unruffle his feathers and pat out a couple of smoking patches of hair. “That is going to be one very interesting human to watch out for!”

The god allowed himself one more smile of satisfaction. He leaned over and looked into the angel’s eyes, relishing what he saw there. Way up in the back the lovely texture of the wings haloed the golden spark, which was still flaring a little. Faery dust sparkled in the glow. It certainly wasn’t a waste. He could see that his creation was good this time, working exactly as he’d hoped. But certainly, the angel was now way too excitable for a life on the clouds. Earth it would have to be.