Dark As Night

Department of Complaints

A man and woman sit alone in a room.

“Anything else?” he asks.

The woman sips a glass of water and clears her throat. “Puppies only stay puppies for a few months. And dogs only live about ten years.”

The man nods. “Anything else?”

“Humidity. Mosquitoes. Packages that say ‘Tear Here,’ when they almost never wor—“

The man raises a finger. “Sorry, that one’s not relevant. Anything else?”

“Hangnails,” she says. “Hangnails suck.” She considers her next words carefully. “Guess I’m nitpicking now. That’s everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“Excellent. Thanks for sharing, Marion. It’s been enlightening.”

“How long have we been here?”

“Days. Weeks? It doesn’t really matter.”

“What now? Am I free to go?”

The man smiles. “More or less. They’ll set up your divinity in the next department.”

“My what?”

“Your divinity. You’re about to become a god, Marion.”

“But I thought… aren’t you God?”

“Indeed. Now it’s your turn. After death, every sentient soul gets a godhood, it’s only fair. You’ll create your own universe soon, your chance to fix everything.”

“No shit?”

“Not if you don’t want any,” he laughs.

Then his face darkens. “Creation isn’t easy, however. Infinite decisions carry infinite consequences. Therefore, you’ll be required to hear the complaints of each inhabitant. Unless you design a lonely, mindless universe without any challenges or surprises, you’ll face uncountable critics. Every judge gets judged in turn.”

“Critics? Oh… like me.”

“Exactly. They’ll have opinions about your work, guaranteed. Billions of them. Just imagine, hearing all that. Endlessly. As my god warned me long ago, you can’t create your own heaven without creating your own hell.”