Lack due to overabundance.

“…et le subjonctif du verbe etre est…” droned Flow’s not-really-favourite professor as he scrambled furiously to solve a sudoku with (or despite) Drag’s trusty help. The casual observer might or might not note the tip of Flow’s tongue peeking through the corner of his mouth as he frowns in mock frustration, but only those who contain more than meets the eye could see two shapes a few inches above his head, floating in mid-air as if gravity was selective, arguing about something and gesticulating furiously.

“Of course it’s not 4! There’s already one in that row!” says the darker one of the pair with a sigh.

“Well, at least I’m trying! You wanted to write a 666 in that middle square there!” comes the exasperated reply of his counterpart, but without any real conviction.

“What can I do, old habits die hard”
“Too hard, it seems… Why do you guys even bother with all those sixes anyways? I’ve always found them both unaesthetical and without any value. For example, why not take 8? Or maybe 2? 7 is a good demonic number as well…”

“You guys Up There don’t really care about things such as flair, but where I come from, it’s one of the few things we have left…”

“What you mean is flare, F-L-A-R-E, Snyde” quips the angel, Aziroth, with a glint in his eye.

“Oh, would you please cut it out, at least we have good company, needless to say the music is a lot better down there…” intercedes Snyde, obviously speaking about an unpopular topic.

“…but only when it’s not pierced by brief but extremely loud screams, n’est ce pas?” smugly finishes Aziroth, savouring in his first verbal victory.

Snyde, who was just preparing to launch a counterattack against the smiling angel, notices a sudden commotion in the classroom – their debate had engrossed them so much that they missed the bell and now their quarry had disappeared from their sight and protection.

“Oh. Shit.”

Only a few yards away, Flow is engrossed in a debate of his own, clashing opinions with Drag and Nut, two of his best friends, who seem to be holding out quite well against eachother’s assaults.

“No, man… If you keep saving yourself for the right girl, you end up being rusty and useless when the opportunity arrives,” Drag intones, with a serious look on his face “, but what does it matter, I’ve found mine and I’m in love and last time when we were doi-…” however, his storytelling gets momentarily interrupted by a quick flick of a wrist in a groin-ward direction which leaves him crumpled and more than just a tad annoyed.

“Flow, what the fuck did I tell you about doing that?!” he only half-heartedly yells at his friend, knowing that even though it hurt, his friend only reminded him of boundaries, of one sort or the other.

Well, I guess I’ll have to stop here for the moment, my eyes are shutting and with my new moleskine, I’ve got tonnes more to write in the following days.
Stay tune if you want to know what happens to Drag’s balls, Nut’s philosophy and whether Aziroth and Snyde finally settle a score.

Or maybe not.

The Chronicles of some God, chapter 2.

I’ve done what I could do

Not to think of you,

But there’s nothing left in front of me

There’s nowhere else to go.

NO!

My kisses on your cherry lips

The tender swaying of your hips

just don’t seem to disappear,

but now you’re out of here…

Nothing left to live for,

but dying’s such a waste,

Standing here in your room,

and wondering

wondering

wondering

WHO THE FUCK IS ANNA?
What is it that she’s got…

»Oh, I admit. It does sound corny now that I’m sober,« admits Flow as his friends try hard not to burst out laughing after hearing the first few riffs of a song he wrote »but when I wrote it, it gave me this feeling…«

»Of being a complete fag? «, his friend Drag quickly remarks.

»Not, that’s not what I had in mind…bah. Never mind. Another song just waiting to be scrapped…«
Without a thought, he presses the delete key on his PC, sending the pathetic emo recording into oblivion.

Unheeded by everyone apart from Flow’s dog, another debate rages just over the heads of our characters. And since the two stalwart debaters aren’t visible to the human eye, nobody notices the strange way they float in the air even though they don’t have to flap their wings, not to mention the wings by themselves.

“I found it quite good, to be honest, even though the guitar kinda sucked,” Aziroth the angel comments upon the musical misery he’d just overheard.

“You forgot to mention the drums” remarks Snyde the demon, “and the lyrics… and the melody as such. Even the title was horrible!”

“It might have been a bit on the sorry side, I admit it,” lamely finishes Aziroth, knowing he couldn’t beat his counterpart this time. The boy really had no feeling for music.

Four relatively uneventful days had passed since God had resigned from his post, but both the fallen and the good angel knew that it was a matter of days, if not even hours, before the Divine plan started kicking in, finding a substitute for His Omnipresence. And all the divine as well as the diabolical pointers indicated that this Flow guy, as he wanted to be called (but never was), was to take the Throne of Heaven, so it was only considered appropriate to send in a few of the “undercover guys” to keep track of and evaluate the poor soon-to-be Divine Being.

So far, there were no indicators of Godly power to be seen (apart from the occasional zit or bad hair day disappearing), so the forces of Good and Evil were starting to feel uneasy about the whole affair while doubt started permeating the very essence of their existence. What if this really was IT? The end of everything extraordinary, the beginning of the mundane trudging through a world filled with pollution and corruption?

Thankfully, neither those Up There nor those Down There really believed that God would do something as cruel to them and to the poor primates, no matter how many apples they ate.

The Chronicles of some God

“Another drink, and make it strong” a stubby figure sitting on a bar stool barks, muttering something under its breath. A glowing drink comes gliding along the smooth surface of the counter, stopping inches from his hand.Without apparent signs of shock or surprise, the figure takes the phosphorescent drink and downs it in one long gulp, sighing with pleasure as he feels it numbing his feelings.
“Damnit, those lightning bolts really do take it out of me, not to mention all this burning bushes business… why couldn’t I just send an email titled “How to make me into a major religion in 12 simple steps” to Jesus? All that cross business came out a bit too important for most people…I mean. It’s just a big plus or something.”
Whistling a tuneless melody, he conjures another drink and dives back into melancholy thoughts.
“And all that stuff with the Inquisition, the pedophilia…everything went wrong so fast! Making the world was easy, merely took me seven days, but trying to get it to work took me almost six billion years…I quit!” having said that, he unfurls his cloak, exposing a small old man surrounded by a crystal white glow. He clambers off the stool, pays his six digit cocktail bill with a wave of his hand and vanishes into thin air.

BEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP

“No, Avril, come bac-…motherf*** had to wake me up ten minutes before Avril Lavigne would’ve given it to me. Is there really no god?!” mutters Flow, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, using his free hand to repeatedly smash the cursed alarmclock into a nearby wall. As he proceeds to the bathroom in a zombielike trance, two shapes materialize behind him, one dressed in a designer tuxedo barely concealing his pointy tail, the other all in white with a halo above its head.
“How can he already know?!” asks the first one urgently, rubbing a tentative trident, swishing his red pointy tail back and forth.
“Relax, stupid. It was just a figure of speech, a metaphor. But I reckon you don’t use them much Down there, do you?” jests the white stranger, making whipping motions with his right hand whilst holding his left behind his haloed head, holding out his pinky and forefinger, imitating a certain horned deity.