The messenger, dressed in white, approached the throne with his head bowed respectfully. “My Lord, Gabriel has returned.”

The bearded man sitting upon the golden throne lifted his head, eyes wide. “Did he bring it? The book? Was he successful?”

“Yes, my Lord. A copy was found,” the messenger answered as the throne-room door burst open. Bowing and backing away, the messenger removed himself as Gabriel approached the throne. Gabriel’s tunic was torn, shoulder to waist, bearing a deep cut beneath. Gabriel’s face was smudged with soot, and he clutched a tightly wrapped package beneath one arm. The Lord stood from his throne, wringing his hands in anticipation yet wearily eyeing Gabriel’s wound.

“Gabe, trouble below?” he asked. Gabriel bent to one knee and held out the package.

“No trouble, my Lord. It will heal. Here – the book.”

The Lord grasped the package and peeled away the cloth wrapping. He glanced at the title and smirked, then opened to the first page.

“The ‘Holy Bible’,” said God. “What a joke.”