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A Good Glass of Gin
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 swish of hard, dry earth flying through the air. And a regular, dull thunk.
Swish. Thunk.
Swish. Thunk.
Swish. Thunk.
Swish.
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 to 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.”
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 me 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 fwoosh 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.”
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 joyride. Just a fun trip. Something to do, something different, 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 except…
“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 Joseph—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. “You’re 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.
With a faint glug glug, 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 snap hiss. 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.
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 swish of hard, dry earth flying through the air. And a regular, dull thunk.
Swish. Thunk.
Swish. Thunk.
Swish. Thunk.
Swish.
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 to 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.”
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 me 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 fwoosh 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.”
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 joyride. Just a fun trip. Something to do, something different, 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 except…
“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 Joseph—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. “You’re 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.
With a faint glug glug, 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 snap hiss. 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.
I like the concept! It's a cool idea, but some of the execution feels a bit rushed. The transition from 'descriptive story about mysterious dude and is visitors' to 'monologue from Jesus Dad & Holy Ghost' in particular felt a bit abrupt. And it's a bit unclear how it ties to the prompt?
Still, you've got something interesting here!
Still, you've got something interesting here!
Very nice:
I might suggest a few words sprinkled here and there about what cataclysm is engulfing the world and why God is choosing to let it happen--I mean, if he's looking for something that isn't perfect, all he's gotta do is look at the human race. :)
But if the idea is that these are the doctrinal "End Times" so God has to let them happen, well, when you say that the doctrine of the Trinity is bunk but the doctrine of the Apocalypse isn't, you're starting to pick and choose what parts of the biblical tradition are real for this story and what parts aren't. And then a reader like me starts needing at least a hand-waving explanation for the division between real and not. 'Cause what I get here is a God who can do anything but who can't stop the end of the world. That tells me that the end of the world is a choice he's making, but the story doesn't address that issue at all that I can see. So just address that somehow, and you'll really have something here.
Mike
I might suggest a few words sprinkled here and there about what cataclysm is engulfing the world and why God is choosing to let it happen--I mean, if he's looking for something that isn't perfect, all he's gotta do is look at the human race. :)
But if the idea is that these are the doctrinal "End Times" so God has to let them happen, well, when you say that the doctrine of the Trinity is bunk but the doctrine of the Apocalypse isn't, you're starting to pick and choose what parts of the biblical tradition are real for this story and what parts aren't. And then a reader like me starts needing at least a hand-waving explanation for the division between real and not. 'Cause what I get here is a God who can do anything but who can't stop the end of the world. That tells me that the end of the world is a choice he's making, but the story doesn't address that issue at all that I can see. So just address that somehow, and you'll really have something here.
Mike
Alternate Title: Third Impact
Two things I liked:
1. The concept, at least what I get out of it, is pretty damn interesting. We're told, or rather nudged in a certain direction, early on that this is a story with biblical implications, what with the inclusion of Enoch. The real meat of the concept comes around in the second half, though, where we're fully let in on the whole Gawd business, wherein we get something of a character study, and a promising one at that.
2. This is the first entry where the dialogue strikes me as particularly natural, and good thing too, because there's a lot of it. In fact this is the first entry that relies more on conversation than prose descriptions to tell the story, and I do think that for what it is it works out well enough. I especially like the semi-monologue that Gawd starts toward the climax.
Two things I didn't like:
1. I can't tell if I'm just the one who's confused, or if the story itself is also confused. Despite having more than two scenes this feels very much like a story in two halves, and there's a clear separation between the halves that I think could be muddied. It almost feels like we begin in one story and then jump into an entirely different one. It all adds up in the end, sort of, but there has to be a way to make these scenes get along with each other better.
2. As with >>Baal Bunny I'm confused as to what the apocalypse scenario has to do with the plot, or even why it's happening. Mind you, I'm not a Bible expert (I've only read Job, Ecclesiastes, and Revelations in their entirety), but there's something missing in the backstory, or rather something about Gawd's motives that are left horribly unclear, and I feel that's the one part of the story that could really use expansion.
Verdict: An interesting premise with an equally interesting ending, but I'm left scratching my head about a lot of it.
Two things I liked:
1. The concept, at least what I get out of it, is pretty damn interesting. We're told, or rather nudged in a certain direction, early on that this is a story with biblical implications, what with the inclusion of Enoch. The real meat of the concept comes around in the second half, though, where we're fully let in on the whole Gawd business, wherein we get something of a character study, and a promising one at that.
2. This is the first entry where the dialogue strikes me as particularly natural, and good thing too, because there's a lot of it. In fact this is the first entry that relies more on conversation than prose descriptions to tell the story, and I do think that for what it is it works out well enough. I especially like the semi-monologue that Gawd starts toward the climax.
Two things I didn't like:
1. I can't tell if I'm just the one who's confused, or if the story itself is also confused. Despite having more than two scenes this feels very much like a story in two halves, and there's a clear separation between the halves that I think could be muddied. It almost feels like we begin in one story and then jump into an entirely different one. It all adds up in the end, sort of, but there has to be a way to make these scenes get along with each other better.
2. As with >>Baal Bunny I'm confused as to what the apocalypse scenario has to do with the plot, or even why it's happening. Mind you, I'm not a Bible expert (I've only read Job, Ecclesiastes, and Revelations in their entirety), but there's something missing in the backstory, or rather something about Gawd's motives that are left horribly unclear, and I feel that's the one part of the story that could really use expansion.
Verdict: An interesting premise with an equally interesting ending, but I'm left scratching my head about a lot of it.
The first thought I had coming away from this story was that it was a missed opportunity to leave our all-seeing protagonist nameless. I mean, sure, he's God of all things, but considering the story's frame of reference, he came across as just another everyday person doing his everyday things, which I believe was thanks in part to his time as Mary's son. On that note, I guess I could call him Jesus but I find it's rather pedestrian.
Instead, from this point onward in this particular review, I will now refer to our protagonist as Bombay Sapphire.
The premise of the story is honestly a strange one. We have Bombay Sapphire doing a bit of menial labor as he builds for himself a still to brew some gin, which he drinks at the end of the story as he sits back and watches the end of the world. It's a premise I can appreciate, especially since I'm just fresh off watching the recent adaptation of Good Omens, which is another retelling of the apocalypse albeit with a different ending. Where that one portrays the events of Revelations as more of a caricature, however, this story's a lot more subdued about it by viewing it through Bombay Sapphire's biblical rose-colored lenses.
The interactions between Bombay Sapphire and everyone is pretty nice. Seeing as the majority of the story is carried by the dynamics of Bombay Sapphire's relationship with everyone, all you needed to do was to make those relationships feel grounded, mellifluous, and worthwhile, to which I can attest: "Mission Accomplished". Yet despite that, however, it didn't really draw my interest further into the story any more than the premise already did.
I think there are definitely some points of the dialogue that I think could be expanded further, like when Bombay Sapphire answered Enoch's question about why he was building the still, or his response to Mary calling him a child. As it is right now, it's good, but I personally believe more can be done to really let every one of Bombay Sapphire's moments with them shine.
The issues about the use of Revelations in this story pointed out by my fellow reviewers is definitely what stopped me from getting into the story properly, in that Bombay Sapphire's motives as the story progresses seems to be inherently asinine. In the beginning, we were given a look at him building a still; by the end, we learn why he's building it with his bare hands. Honestly, looking at it separately from the story, it's rather competently structured, and I would definitely have more positive notes written down had it been the case.
Instead, the ending seems to directly contradict the singular motive we were given in the story. I spent a good hour prior to writing this review thinking over the thought process that led Bombay Sapphire to do what he did, in hopes that I could proselytize the others to have this story in their good graces, but I really can't. You have Bombay Sapphire, digging a hole and building a still from scratch, and when asked why, the closest answer we were given was “I just want to make something that isn’t perfect again.”. He then sits back and takes a few sips as he watches his greatest creation — one chock full of imperfections — gets destroyed.
It's nice as a satirical comic in a newspaper clipping. Not so much as an ending to a story.
There's really no way to reconcile these two circumstances, no matter how hard I try. The closest answer I could get was the derivative one: that Bombay Sapphire works in mysterious ways. Though I will say he has a good track record of doing so, it definitely does not excuse Bombay Sapphire's glaring lack of insight at what he's doing.
That's not how it works in our neighbourhood, Bombay Sapphire. You hear me, I know you can read the WriteOff comments from up there, you tempestuous backwards mongrel.
Honestly, I feel like this story's bending backwards just to make the ending fit, though in executing the process, it broke its spine and shatters entirely. Really, if it withheld mentioning the end of the world at any given point, this story could definitely be a strong contender with its portrayal of Bombay Sapphire as a down-to-earth father, son and hole-digging spirit. However, it overreached its bases and came out worse for wear. Perhaps more effort can be made into sharply defining the confluence of the gin with the pending apocalypse, though I'd much rather have them separately instead of them being served in a cocktail.
Thanks for writing, and good luck!
Instead, from this point onward in this particular review, I will now refer to our protagonist as Bombay Sapphire.
The premise of the story is honestly a strange one. We have Bombay Sapphire doing a bit of menial labor as he builds for himself a still to brew some gin, which he drinks at the end of the story as he sits back and watches the end of the world. It's a premise I can appreciate, especially since I'm just fresh off watching the recent adaptation of Good Omens, which is another retelling of the apocalypse albeit with a different ending. Where that one portrays the events of Revelations as more of a caricature, however, this story's a lot more subdued about it by viewing it through Bombay Sapphire's biblical rose-colored lenses.
The interactions between Bombay Sapphire and everyone is pretty nice. Seeing as the majority of the story is carried by the dynamics of Bombay Sapphire's relationship with everyone, all you needed to do was to make those relationships feel grounded, mellifluous, and worthwhile, to which I can attest: "Mission Accomplished". Yet despite that, however, it didn't really draw my interest further into the story any more than the premise already did.
I think there are definitely some points of the dialogue that I think could be expanded further, like when Bombay Sapphire answered Enoch's question about why he was building the still, or his response to Mary calling him a child. As it is right now, it's good, but I personally believe more can be done to really let every one of Bombay Sapphire's moments with them shine.
The issues about the use of Revelations in this story pointed out by my fellow reviewers is definitely what stopped me from getting into the story properly, in that Bombay Sapphire's motives as the story progresses seems to be inherently asinine. In the beginning, we were given a look at him building a still; by the end, we learn why he's building it with his bare hands. Honestly, looking at it separately from the story, it's rather competently structured, and I would definitely have more positive notes written down had it been the case.
Instead, the ending seems to directly contradict the singular motive we were given in the story. I spent a good hour prior to writing this review thinking over the thought process that led Bombay Sapphire to do what he did, in hopes that I could proselytize the others to have this story in their good graces, but I really can't. You have Bombay Sapphire, digging a hole and building a still from scratch, and when asked why, the closest answer we were given was “I just want to make something that isn’t perfect again.”. He then sits back and takes a few sips as he watches his greatest creation — one chock full of imperfections — gets destroyed.
It's nice as a satirical comic in a newspaper clipping. Not so much as an ending to a story.
There's really no way to reconcile these two circumstances, no matter how hard I try. The closest answer I could get was the derivative one: that Bombay Sapphire works in mysterious ways. Though I will say he has a good track record of doing so, it definitely does not excuse Bombay Sapphire's glaring lack of insight at what he's doing.
That's not how it works in our neighbourhood, Bombay Sapphire. You hear me, I know you can read the WriteOff comments from up there, you tempestuous backwards mongrel.
Honestly, I feel like this story's bending backwards just to make the ending fit, though in executing the process, it broke its spine and shatters entirely. Really, if it withheld mentioning the end of the world at any given point, this story could definitely be a strong contender with its portrayal of Bombay Sapphire as a down-to-earth father, son and hole-digging spirit. However, it overreached its bases and came out worse for wear. Perhaps more effort can be made into sharply defining the confluence of the gin with the pending apocalypse, though I'd much rather have them separately instead of them being served in a cocktail.
Thanks for writing, and good luck!
I think what this story is missing is an idea of what the stakes are. It's the apocalypse, sure, but what does that mean to Jesus et al? Where do they end up after all this is over? Do they die along with it? Do they get another shot at this whole humanity thing? Maybe with less nails in hands and feet?
Maybe I would know if I'd gone to Sunday school.
But in the context of your story, Author, I never got a sense for what is about to happen to our main character, or any of those around him. If I understood that, I might be more invested in his little exercise, which if I'm tracking your story correctly is the entire point.
I also found the dialogue to be stilted in places, and I'm not sure how much of that is an issue with the dialogue itself, or with the amount of character description that's gone into these interactions. Between most every line, I have to read about what each character is looking at, or what their eyebrow just did, or what a bead of sweat travelling down their neck is up to. All this stuff just slows you down, Author, and suffocates the dialogue.
That said, I like the rant near the end of the story. From a storytelling perspective it does come off a bit heavy-handed, but it's well-written enough, and that kind of deluge of motivation really gets me going. But that said, I wish it had been sprinkled in and around earlier in the story, because for the most part I didn't really get a sense that what our main character wanted was so in conflict with what his visitors were telling him.
Does that make sense?
I guess I just felt a disconnect between MC/JC and his visitors, because I couldn't really tell what he was doing wrong, except for the vague "we need you." For what? What happens now? What'slove a glass of gin got to do with it?
Anyway, enough out of me. Thanks for writing and I'll see you next time :)
Maybe I would know if I'd gone to Sunday school.
But in the context of your story, Author, I never got a sense for what is about to happen to our main character, or any of those around him. If I understood that, I might be more invested in his little exercise, which if I'm tracking your story correctly is the entire point.
I also found the dialogue to be stilted in places, and I'm not sure how much of that is an issue with the dialogue itself, or with the amount of character description that's gone into these interactions. Between most every line, I have to read about what each character is looking at, or what their eyebrow just did, or what a bead of sweat travelling down their neck is up to. All this stuff just slows you down, Author, and suffocates the dialogue.
That said, I like the rant near the end of the story. From a storytelling perspective it does come off a bit heavy-handed, but it's well-written enough, and that kind of deluge of motivation really gets me going. But that said, I wish it had been sprinkled in and around earlier in the story, because for the most part I didn't really get a sense that what our main character wanted was so in conflict with what his visitors were telling him.
Does that make sense?
I guess I just felt a disconnect between MC/JC and his visitors, because I couldn't really tell what he was doing wrong, except for the vague "we need you." For what? What happens now? What's
Anyway, enough out of me. Thanks for writing and I'll see you next time :)
>>Meridian_Prime
Who's this moron?
Anyway, retrospective is a go! First off, I'm pretty surprised that this did as well as it did. As my own comment revealed, I was a bit unsure of my execution of it--what you got was actually a second draft I intended to go back to on Saturday night before a sudden and rather horrific hayfever attack that left be bedridden for most of the next 24 hours. But I'm still pretty happy with the concept, and I'm very happy with a respectable fourth place.
>>Baal Bunny
Both the next too reviewers had much the same issue that you did with the story, so it's something I clearly need to address. The funny thing is though that I didn't really think very much about the whole Apocalypse angle--more specifically, I wasn't worried about it clashing with his idea of liking being a little more normal. In retrospect, this was a bit dumb, and why I really should have badgered my random friend who I press-ganged into being pre-reader into actually reading the damn thing before the submission date. Sometimes you really just need someone else to point out "why is that there" for you to realise something obviously wrong with your story.
My vague thoughts on the matter were along the lines of how some people think about the big bang. Namely, that when the universe eventually goes into total heat death, things will eventually collapse inwards into another big bang and the whole universe will start again. I was sort of thinking of the apocalypse less as 'God destroys the world just because' and more 'the world already ended (hence why we see no human characters at any point in the story) and God is just cleaning up and starting again'. However, this was very much confined to my head rather than anywhere at all in the text. If/when I rework this, I'll definitely need to either add that subtext in as actual text (or even actual subtext rather than JK Rowling-esque author headcanon) or just ditch the apocalypse bit. I'm not sure it's needed.
>>No_Raisin
I'm glad you like the concept! Most people seem to have approved, which makes me think I've got something worth chipping away at here. I'm even more glad you like the dialogue, since it is (as you mentioned) most of the story.
I go into a bit of detail above in my response to Baal about my flub a la Apocalypse--suffice to say, I have read less of the bible than you, and did not fully think through "hey let's just have the end of the fucking world in here lol". I did have some reasoning behind the decision, but I really don't think it holds up under scrutiny, and I will definitely be changing this part quite a bit. Maybe just make the story about Mr. Holy Trinity just generally slacking on godly duties, rather than specifically putting the Apocalypse behind schedule.
Your other point is... not wrong. I only really noticed when re-reading if after your comment, but there's definitely an abrupt shift once Mary comes along. Things like this are why pre-readers/long-suffering friends are essential. :/ I'll work on it--maybe expand it a little? But just having visitor after visitor feels a bit like I'm adding words for the sake of adding words. I dunno. I'll work on it.
>>WritingSpirit
You always write me amazing comments. Bombay Sapphire bless you. ^_^
Speaking of, your suggestion to actually name him is an interesting one, and actually has a lot of merit. To be honest, I was kind of considering it early in the writing process, but discarded it once I couldn't think of a name that felt fitting. The closest I came was just calling him 'Abe' as in Abraham, or 'Jay' as inJay-Z Jehovah. But you've converted me back to the idea.
And man, the new Good Omens adaptation was great. Definitely part of where this idea came from (along with this Bon Iver song).
This was my big goal for this story, so I'm glad I got that right!
That's completely fair. More than that even--you've given me some great pointer on 'where to go and try and flesh things out more'. You're right, both the 'child' moment and the actual first answer he gives to 'why are you up here doing this' could use more depth to them.
Ouch. This, and the paragraphs following, pretty brutally deconstruct exactly how dumb I was being about the apocalypse issue. I answered in more depth above to Baal, but essentially I didn't think it through enough, and didn't make the rather shaky reasoning I had for God's actions clear in the text at all. The consensus seems to be this was a make or break issue that fell very much on the break side, and in retrospect I can only ruefully agree.This is clearly the biggest thing I need to fix here. And while I'm going to at least tinker with the idea of making the apocalypse angle work better, I think I am most likely going to stop serving the apocalypse and gin cocktail. Possibly start serving them in separate bars entirely.
Finally:
You really do write the best comments. Even when you're tearing me (and Bombay Sapphire) a new one.
Last but never least: >>Miller Minus
...Yeah, I really fucked up the apocalypse angle. I don't really have answers for your first paragraph here, as I didn't have any when I was writing this. And no, I don't think Sunday school would have helped.
Hmm. I was really trying to bring the scene to life, give the reader a proper mental picture of this dude and his surroundings. I may have been over-zealous with the descriptives. Thanks for pointing it out, definitely something for me to chew on.
As for the rest of your review, I think you're right about a bit of a mixup in terms of Big G being in the wrong. I was going for the 'don't run away from your responsibilities even if they kind of suck' angle, but it's not like he was asking for much. In some ways this is actually a harder thing to fix that the big issue about the Apocalypse, because I'm not really sure how to fix it at the moment. I'll work on it.
Thanks to everyone for the reviews. I truly appreciate the time and effort that everyone puts into them, it's one of the best bits of the Writeoff as a whole. See you next time!
Who's this moron?
Anyway, retrospective is a go! First off, I'm pretty surprised that this did as well as it did. As my own comment revealed, I was a bit unsure of my execution of it--what you got was actually a second draft I intended to go back to on Saturday night before a sudden and rather horrific hayfever attack that left be bedridden for most of the next 24 hours. But I'm still pretty happy with the concept, and I'm very happy with a respectable fourth place.
>>Baal Bunny
Both the next too reviewers had much the same issue that you did with the story, so it's something I clearly need to address. The funny thing is though that I didn't really think very much about the whole Apocalypse angle--more specifically, I wasn't worried about it clashing with his idea of liking being a little more normal. In retrospect, this was a bit dumb, and why I really should have badgered my random friend who I press-ganged into being pre-reader into actually reading the damn thing before the submission date. Sometimes you really just need someone else to point out "why is that there" for you to realise something obviously wrong with your story.
My vague thoughts on the matter were along the lines of how some people think about the big bang. Namely, that when the universe eventually goes into total heat death, things will eventually collapse inwards into another big bang and the whole universe will start again. I was sort of thinking of the apocalypse less as 'God destroys the world just because' and more 'the world already ended (hence why we see no human characters at any point in the story) and God is just cleaning up and starting again'. However, this was very much confined to my head rather than anywhere at all in the text. If/when I rework this, I'll definitely need to either add that subtext in as actual text (or even actual subtext rather than JK Rowling-esque author headcanon) or just ditch the apocalypse bit. I'm not sure it's needed.
>>No_Raisin
I'm glad you like the concept! Most people seem to have approved, which makes me think I've got something worth chipping away at here. I'm even more glad you like the dialogue, since it is (as you mentioned) most of the story.
I go into a bit of detail above in my response to Baal about my flub a la Apocalypse--suffice to say, I have read less of the bible than you, and did not fully think through "hey let's just have the end of the fucking world in here lol". I did have some reasoning behind the decision, but I really don't think it holds up under scrutiny, and I will definitely be changing this part quite a bit. Maybe just make the story about Mr. Holy Trinity just generally slacking on godly duties, rather than specifically putting the Apocalypse behind schedule.
Your other point is... not wrong. I only really noticed when re-reading if after your comment, but there's definitely an abrupt shift once Mary comes along. Things like this are why pre-readers/long-suffering friends are essential. :/ I'll work on it--maybe expand it a little? But just having visitor after visitor feels a bit like I'm adding words for the sake of adding words. I dunno. I'll work on it.
>>WritingSpirit
You always write me amazing comments. Bombay Sapphire bless you. ^_^
Speaking of, your suggestion to actually name him is an interesting one, and actually has a lot of merit. To be honest, I was kind of considering it early in the writing process, but discarded it once I couldn't think of a name that felt fitting. The closest I came was just calling him 'Abe' as in Abraham, or 'Jay' as in
And man, the new Good Omens adaptation was great. Definitely part of where this idea came from (along with this Bon Iver song).
The interactions between Bombay Sapphire and everyone is pretty nice. Seeing as the majority of the story is carried by the dynamics of Bombay Sapphire's relationship with everyone, all you needed to do was to make those relationships feel grounded, mellifluous, and worthwhile, to which I can attest: "Mission Accomplished".
This was my big goal for this story, so I'm glad I got that right!
Yet despite that, however, it didn't really draw my interest further into the story any more than the premise already did. I think there are definitely some points of the dialogue that I think could be expanded further, like when Bombay Sapphire answered Enoch's question about why he was building the still, or his response to Mary calling him a child. As it is right now, it's good, but I personally believe more can be done to really let every one of Bombay Sapphire's moments with them shine.
That's completely fair. More than that even--you've given me some great pointer on 'where to go and try and flesh things out more'. You're right, both the 'child' moment and the actual first answer he gives to 'why are you up here doing this' could use more depth to them.
The issues about the use of Revelations in this story pointed out by my fellow reviewers is definitely what stopped me from getting into the story properly, in that Bombay Sapphire's motives as the story progresses seems to be inherently asinine.
Ouch. This, and the paragraphs following, pretty brutally deconstruct exactly how dumb I was being about the apocalypse issue. I answered in more depth above to Baal, but essentially I didn't think it through enough, and didn't make the rather shaky reasoning I had for God's actions clear in the text at all. The consensus seems to be this was a make or break issue that fell very much on the break side, and in retrospect I can only ruefully agree.This is clearly the biggest thing I need to fix here. And while I'm going to at least tinker with the idea of making the apocalypse angle work better, I think I am most likely going to stop serving the apocalypse and gin cocktail. Possibly start serving them in separate bars entirely.
Finally:
That's not how it works in our neighbourhood, Bombay Sapphire. You hear me, I know you can read the WriteOff comments from up there, you tempestuous backwards mongrel.
You really do write the best comments. Even when you're tearing me (and Bombay Sapphire) a new one.
Last but never least: >>Miller Minus
...Yeah, I really fucked up the apocalypse angle. I don't really have answers for your first paragraph here, as I didn't have any when I was writing this. And no, I don't think Sunday school would have helped.
I also found the dialogue to be stilted in places, and I'm not sure how much of that is an issue with the dialogue itself, or with the amount of character description that's gone into these interactions. Between most every line, I have to read about what each character is looking at, or what their eyebrow just did, or what a bead of sweat travelling down their neck is up to. All this stuff just slows you down, Author, and suffocates the dialogue.
Hmm. I was really trying to bring the scene to life, give the reader a proper mental picture of this dude and his surroundings. I may have been over-zealous with the descriptives. Thanks for pointing it out, definitely something for me to chew on.
As for the rest of your review, I think you're right about a bit of a mixup in terms of Big G being in the wrong. I was going for the 'don't run away from your responsibilities even if they kind of suck' angle, but it's not like he was asking for much. In some ways this is actually a harder thing to fix that the big issue about the Apocalypse, because I'm not really sure how to fix it at the moment. I'll work on it.
Thanks to everyone for the reviews. I truly appreciate the time and effort that everyone puts into them, it's one of the best bits of the Writeoff as a whole. See you next time!