Most people would say the woods were quiet. They weren’t. The woods were full of noise. The rustle of leaves in the early autumn breeze. Occasional bursts of frantic wingbeats, flitting from tree to tree. The faint, distant echo of rushing water, betraying a nearby stream. The [i]swish[/i] of hard, dry earth flying through the air. And a regular, dull [i]thunk[/i]. [i]Swish. Thunk. Swish. Thunk. Swish. Thunk. Swish.[/i] And rest. A sigh. The man set down his shovel, and looked at his handiwork with a furrowed brow. The hole that he was digging could not even charitably be called ‘neat’. Dug only vaguely in a circular shape, the shallow pit looked woefully out of place amongst the rugged beauty of the surrounding terrain. Were someone to look around, they would see forest as far as the naked eye could see dropping away down into a nearby valley, and then up again over the mountainside opposite, it’s peak piercing what few clouds could be seen in the pale blue sky. Not a sign of human civilisation to be seen. Of course, there was no one else [i]to[/i] see. Just the man and his hole. And then there was. “...What are you even doing?” The sharply dressed man could not have looked more out of place if he tried. His suit was immaculate, tailored, and clearly very expensive, which made how boring he looked in it all the more impressive. His neatly styled hair, gleamingly polished shoes and frameless glasses all combined to give the distinct impression of someone who had been born, raised and nurtured inside of a company boardroom. It was therefore perhaps unsurprising that he looked on the hole and its creator with something that might have been called disdain were it any less unfailingly polite. The hole-digger glanced at him, then returned his critical gaze to his creation. “I’m trying to make a still.” The suited man arched one perfectly manicured brow, although the rest of his face remained in a perfectly neutral expression. “I see,” he said, in the voice of someone who did not in fact see, but thought it ill-mannered to say so. “May I ask why?” The hole-digger drummed his fingers along the handle of his shovel, still staring contemplatively at his hole. “To see if I can. Why are you here?” He turned to face the newcomer for the first time. Dark, sharp eyes stared out from a craggy, weather-lined face. Both his hair and full-faced beard had turned from their native black to the salt-and-pepper of middle age. His stern face, well-worn clothes and battered brown leather jacket all combined to create an appearance to strikingly dissimilar to his companion as to border on bizarre. “I asked to be left alone for awhile.” The other man inclined his head slightly, barely moving it at all. “My apologies. The instructions were relayed, but I wished to confirm them for myself.” He met his gaze unapologetically. “They were atypical.” The bearded man’s mouth pulled down into a frown. “Atypical or not, it is not your job to question my decisions.” For the first time the suited man’s neutral facade shifted as a flash of irritation crossed his face. It was there and gone so swiftly that one could have blinked and completely missed it, but both knew that the other had caught the slip. “I am your representative. Your voice to the world. Things are coming to a head, and people want direction, so they come to me. They ask me to tell them your instructions and I have nothing to give them because you are here. In the middle of nowhere, digging a hole with your bare hands.” “Not quite,” his employer replied, voice mild. “I do have a shovel, after all.” The suited man straightened to his full height, now fully scowling in irritation. “That is not the point! You are needed, and yet you fritter away time sitting here! You must return at—” “That’s quite enough, Enoch.” The now named Enoch shut his mouth with a soft clack, his scowl subsiding. The silence stretched out between them for a moment, the quiet but firm rebuke hanging in the air. Finally, the suited man exhaled slightly. On anyone else, it might have been called a sigh. “Very well. I will be waiting.” Then he turned, and walked off into the trees. The first man watched him go, eyes weary. Then he turned back to his hole. Setting his shovel down, he crouched by the rim of the rough-hewn dirt, and reached into his jacket. A moments rummaging produced a crumpled piece of paper, and after fumbling with it a little, he was able to unfold it and squint down at the roughly copied words. “Alright, step one complete. Now I have to—,” He paused, then squinted a little harder. “Hang on.” He looked up, staring at his hole, then back down to the paper, disbelief painted over his features. “Oh hell,” he mumbled, “I’ve got the wrong damn instructions.” [hr] The man leaned against the wooden outer wall of his cabin, scratching at his beard absently with one hand. In front of him stood a small wooden barrel, a length of rubber hose extending out of the top of it to connect to a small tap, itself attached to a large open drum. The whole thing was surrounded by bits of steel piping and a large wrench, all scattered haphazardly on the ground. From the corner of his eye could still be seen the sad remnants of his hole, the edges worn away by the rain and wind of the last few days. “Man. You’re really into this huh, Dad?” The man glanced over to the side, eyeing his new visitor with a faint smile. “Hello, Mikey. And you could say that. I want to give this a proper go, is all.” Mikey was a tall, athletic looking young man. Blond haired and blue eyed, with a handsome face and a slightly crooked nose, he had the look of someone who would be just as comfortable at a high society dinner as he would in the middle of a muddy sports field—old money, one of the boys down to the bones. He gave an easy laugh as he strolled towards the contraption, perfect teeth flashing. “Sure, sure. You do know you could have any alcohol you wanted with a click of your fingers back home, right?” His father rolled his eyes, chuckling good naturedly. “Oh I know, but I want to make it myself. Even if it’s terrible.” Mikey raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, suit yourself I suppose. But any reason you’ve got to do it all the way out here?” The bearded man smirked. “You sound like Enoch.” His son’s face instantly scrunched up in distaste. “Ugh, really?” he complained, leaning against the cabin wall with one shoulder. “That’s a low blow, Dad. Real low.” This got him a casual shrug, betrayed only by the teasing grin on his face. “If the shoe fits…” Mikey rolled his eyes, before levelling his father with a more serious look. “Jokes aside Dad, as much as I hate to say it ol’ gnocchi had a point. When are you coming back?” The levity slipped off the older mans face with a sigh. “Just, give me some time kiddo. That’s all I want. A little bit of time out here on my own, then I’ll come and clean things up. I’ll be back before you know it.” He gave his son a wry look. “But not if people keep coming and bothering me.” “Alright, alright, I get it,” Mikey laughed, holding up his hands in mock defensiveness, “I’ll leave you alone, and I’ll let the others know too. But Dad, don’t take too long.” He fixed his father with a serious gaze again. “Sam’s getting restless. Wants to be done with all this, I think.” The older man gave him an unimpressed look. “He asked for more responsibility, I gave it to him. If he didn’t want the job he should have kept his mouth shut.” “I know, I know. But it’s [i]me[/i] he’s whining at these days. Gotta share the pain.” His father shook his head fondly. “Brat. Hey, want to see if this thing works?” The younger man glanced over at the contraption as he gestured at it. “Sure, I guess.” The casual tone was betrayed by a gleam of curiousity in Mikey’s eye as the bearded man leaned down and turned on the tap. There was a faint [i]fwoosh[/i] as water began to drain from the drum through the hose into the barrel. The two men back up, watching with bated breath. Mikey opened his mouth. “Hey, how do we know it’s worki—” A faint groaning noise was all the warning they had, as with a loud bang the barrel exploded. The two gave identical yelps as they ducked, unable to avoid being pelted with splinters. Both stared wide-eyed at the remains of the cask, spilling water out onto the cold dry ground through its shattered body. “...I think you might need to rethink your approach, Dad.” [hr] The man crouched down, staring intensely at the fruits of his labour. His face was taut and tense. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, disappearing behind the collar of his jacket. His latest attempt was far more impressive than the last. Entirely made from copper, the blowtorch laid slightly off to the side amongst other tools betrayed just how much effort had been put into shaping the still into the exact shape necessary. He chewed his lip slightly. “You look uncertain, dear.” The man jumped. Straightening up, he turned wide eyed to the interloper. For a moment, he just stared. Then, almost hesitantly, he spoke. “...I told Michael I’d be back soon.” The woman in front of him smiled back patiently. “You did. I just wanted to see you. I barely get the chance these days.” The man winced. “Oh don’t be like that. I know you have responsibilities, this isn’t a guilt trip you daft child.” “Not a child,” he responded quietly, gaze shifting to look out over the horizon. The sun was not quite setting, but the late afternoon made the shadows long, and the trees hid its orange glow behind their tips. Her smile grew a wry tint that would have made it quite clear what she thought of his assertion, had the man been looking. As it was, she chose to let him keep a little dignity. “Of course. Now, why don’t you show me what it is you’ve been making?” He turned back to her, frowning slightly. “Mary…” This netted him a frown of her own. “You know I don’t like you calling me that.” He returned her gaze steadily. “Mary.” The older woman’s frown deepened, making the wrinkles in her lined face all the more pronounced. Her grey hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and despite her clear age she looked fit and alert. Her plain, practical dress had clearly seen many years of use, patches visible here and there. “You’re troubled.” It wasn’t a question. “I’d be just fine, if people would let me finish this. I’ve had quite enough of interruptions.” The look she gave him was spectacularly unimpressed. “And that’s all, I’m sure.” “Yes.” She sniffed. “I don’t believe you.” His frown turned to exasperation. “Of course you don’t. What, is my word somehow not good enough for you?” She continued to frown at him, ignoring his sarcasm. The man held her gaze, but his hands twitched a little. After a moment, he averted his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “You can do anything that you want to do,” Mary said firmly, “Anything at all. But you’re here, fumbling around with bits of metal, to try and make something you could have in a heartbeat. You tinkered the same way when you were young.” She smirked, if not unkindly, at the dismay that flitted across his face from being called out so easily, before her face grew serious again. “Something is troubling you.” He gritted his teeth for a moment, before all the tension bled out of his body and he slumped, sighing as he turned his gaze back towards the horizon. “The Trinity thing was a whole lot of bunk.” Mary blinked, opening her mouth, then closed it, watching him quietly instead. “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The divine in three parts. The truth is, it was all just me. Undivided, unaltered. The truth is…” He hesitated, chewing his lip, then set his jaw and continued. “The truth is, it was easier. The Father, who rules in Heaven, the Son, who lives on Earth, and the Holy Ghost, who moves in mysterious ways. Nice and simple. An easy lie. But still a lie. “The truth is that I didn’t care. For so, so long, I didn’t care. It was easy not to care. I’d built this world for me. Who else was there to build it for. And the humans… They were fascinating, burning so brightly despite how little they could do, how short they lived, but they were a fascination. Nothing more. “And then I came down among you. Then I became your son. It was supposed to be a, a [i]joyride[/i]. Just a fun trip. Something to do, something [i]different[/i], one more thing to stave off the boredom of eternity. “But it was so much more. “For the first time in my existence, I was small. I was weak, I was powerless, I could only make do with what I had in front of me. With what I could build with blood and sweat and pain. And it was incredible. “I’ve never felt so alive. “The truth is, it was easier to call the great almighty being I was ‘Father’, because how could I ever compare being that to being who I was then? I didn’t feel like the same person, so it was easy to pretend I wasn’t. And then it all ended and I returned to my place in Heaven and everything was as it was [i]except…[/i] “Except I cared, now. For the first time in my long existence I cared. That’s why I’m here, Mary. Because all this is about to go away, and I’m a selfish God. I should love all things equally, remotely, perfectly but I still remember building my first chair with dad—with [i]Joseph[/i]—and I wanted that back, just for a little while. “I just want to make something that isn’t perfect again.” After he finished, neither moved for a little while. They simply stood on the side of the hill, watching the sun sink ever lower into the trees. Then, very carefully, Mary pulled her son into a hug. “For what it’s worth,” she whispered, “you were never very good at carpentry.” The man made a noise into her shoulder that was almost a laugh, wet and fond and tired. “You kept that table for fifteen years,” he said accusingly. She laughed, eyes crinkling up into a smile as she pulled away to look at him warmly in the dying light. “And for fifteen years, I didn’t tell you how terrible it was.” He laughed again, smiling back. “[i]You’re[/i] terrible. A terrible mother who doesn’t appreciate her sons gifts.” He sighed dramatically, even as his twitching lips betrayed his amusement at Mary’s giggles. They stood there a little while longer, comfortably wreathed in the moment’s afterglow. “Well. I suppose this can wait a little while. Got to make sure the kids aren’t doing anything too stupid.” “You’ll need something to do while the world ends, dear. And what a view you’ll have from here.” Another laugh. “True! And I’ll be needing a break before I start it all again. This is as good a spot as any.” A pause. “Thanks, mom.” They turned away, and walked back towards the cabin. A minute later, the clearing was empty, and there was no one to be found for miles around. [hr] With a faint [i]glug glug[/i], the clear liquid tipped from the bottle into the glass. Eyeing it carefully, the man stopped when the glass looked to be about one third full. Turning to the counter at his side, he picked up the last bottle of tonic water in the world, and cracked it open with a [i]snap hiss[/i]. Emptying it into the glass, he finished up the whole affair with two small ice cubes, and a small slice of the last lemon. This first batch was pretty standard—Juniper, freshly picked from the trees outside, and a bit of Angelica root. Picking up the glass, he pushed open the door of the cabin and strode outside. The wind ruffled his hair as he stared out across the valley, a smile playing across his face. God looked out at the end of the world, and finally sipped his gin. It wasn't great. But it was Good.