The nucleus looked straight to its peer, which was visibly stoked. Around it, the electrons were orbiting at an incredible speed, and the swooshes they made was deafening. “You want to share what?” it said to the other. ”One of your electrons. It won’t last long. Just, you know, time for a quick [i]liaison[/i],” the other replied, smiling in an alluring way. The first atom recoiled a femtometer. “Whom do you think I am?” it protested. ”[i]Liaison[/i]? I get you’re a free radical, ready to break the moors when things get a little hot. I’m not in that sort of things. I need stable, covalent bonds. No, I will never share one of my precious little pets with you.” “You are so stiff.” The other one frowned. “If you don’t give me that electron, I swear I’ll… I’ll… [i]ionise[/i] you!” “Wow!” said the first one, “I’m positively scared. What will do you? Fire your Brownian at me?” “Quit ironising!” the second grunted. “May I remind you I’m an iron atom?” ”Oh come on, you’re such a drag with your rusty puns. Keep your electrons all right, I’m sure I can find someone much more fun than you.” It did an about-face and moved away. “Goodbye, boron!” the iron atom yelled as the other disappeared in the distance. [center]***[/center] “What do you want?” the ant asked. “Food. Please!” the locust at the threshold begged. “Crumb of bread? Grains of corn? Blade of grass? I don't ask for much, but you can't decently let me starve in this icy weather, if you have a heart!” “And what were you busy with when corn was ripe and fruits juicy?” the ant replied sternly. “I? Oh… Let me think about it… I think I was singing.” “It’s been about three centuries!” the ant exclaimed. “You still didn’t figure out you’re a terrible singer? Why do you think no one hires you and you’re bound to spend every winter on the breadline? Mmh? Still dreaming of Broadway? Come off it! Find a [i]real[/i] job!” The locust looked daggers at the ant. “Oh yeah? Well, if you don’t give me at least a speck of food each week, I swear I won’t budge from here and sing day and night until you’re so fed up you cave in.” The ant pouted. “Go ahead!” it said, and slammed the door shut. “LALALALALALA!” the locust began. The strident voice swathed around the ant’s house and shimmied up along the trunk and the logs of the old poplar it was carved in, until it reached the nest of a couple of sparrows. “LALALALARRRRGGG!…” the ant heard, as it poked the embers in the fireplace. It shrugged. [center]***[/center] God sighed as the Devil, almost in stitches, raked all the tokens that lay on the table. Each one, with a different galaxy painted on it, represented uncountable individual souls. Zillions of souls now damned because of that darn threesome of dice and the rotten luck He’d had since the game had begun. The shape of His adversary, sitting opposite to Him at the table, was almost hidden behind the huge heaps of tokens piled up in front of him. Only the tips of his horns, rocking with each of their owner's fit of laughter, still clearly emerged. God glanced sullenly at the table. He had one last token – a minor, round one with a blue planet drawn on it. What should He do with it? He felt a sudden rage well up in Him. “ARMAGEDDON!” He cried. “What?” the Devil blurted. Saint George rushed to God's side. “Lord,” he whispered to His ear, “Are you sure—” “Shut up George!” God snapped. “Do you have any other idea to recover all those lost souls?” “Lord, the Holy Spirit suggests—” “To Hell with the Holy Spirit!” God groaned. “No, not [i]it[/i]. It’s so boring!” The Devil chortled. God didn’t answer. He grasped the three dice and tossed them on the table. They rolled on and on. On and on. God snapped His fingers. The dice froze. “1 1 3” God announced with a big smile. “Seems I’m in luck again!” He put the two “1” aside, picked up the “3” and re-rolled it. It settled on “1”. God exulted. “1 1 1! In two rounds!” he boasted. “Try to beat that!” The Devil picked up the dice wordlessly. He tossed them. They landed on 4, 2 and 2. God’s smile died out. The Devil threw a 2 die again. It stopped on—