Paradise Abides

The Divinity uttered the command upon Judgment Day, and at His unopposable word rose everyone, every single thing that had ever lived on Earth that could have been called a sentient humanoid.

The Divinity looked upon the great brown sea of people with islands of pinks and tans, on the furry anthropoids, on one nonplussed UFO crash survivor, and was not impressed.

He gazed at glass and concrete cities, roadways, machines, bridges and ocean liners, and thought of a pretty marble He had once created, verdant, rich with life, to give as a paradise to… to…

The Divinity spoke with words of ice and iron. “Okay, I see what you did here, with my nice clean planet. Very clever. Now put it all back.”

An astonished human mass uttered a collective “What?”

“Everything. Every rock. Every clod of dirt. Every scrap of metal you dug out of the ground, and shaped into spear heads, aircraft, thinking machines. Put it all back exactly where each of you found it.

“Well? Get moving. You have a hundred million years.”

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