A Trickster's Daughter

Chapter 1: Oh Fuck

Over the millennia since His departure from Heaven and all the responsibilities that came from being, well, God with a capital G He'd sneak a peak at some of His angelic children on Earth. See how they were taking His final command and if they were actually following it. Not that He'd interfere if they weren't. After all, it's not free will if you're constantly following orders and not making decisions for yourself.

As the millennia passed less and less of His angelic children visited and interacted with His newest creation, and children, the Humans. Instead of being in wonder and awe of all that these little soulful and willful creatures, and all the potential they contained; His oldest children, the Children of Heaven, looked down upon them in contempt as something Other. Most saw something foul and insignificant, filled with all the sins of creation that Lucifer, the Morningstar, His second son, tempted and ultimately tainted them with. Granted some looked upon them as something not concerning them or had a more neutral view of them. Fewer looked upon them with slight interest. Even less saw them as something they were supposed to protect to the extent He had wanted. And among the throngs of angels that remained after Lucifer and his followers' Fall were the fewest still who saw the Humans He created, His somewhat (okay a lot) flawed masterpiece as something that was truly worthy of His love.

It wounded God to see any of His children in pain, and to see such a rift between the two Sibling species. Granted the Humans now a days aren't too sure if angels or even Himself is real or just a way to explain the once unexplainable phenomenon He had littered the Earth with, His bible being filled with old archaic notions that kept them in the dark and from striving forward technologically and socially. Honestly He should have proof-read that thing before it was mass produced and distributed. So much conflict and wars might not have happened. But again, it was their choice to interpret His word, spoken through Gabriel to some of the earliest prophets, as such. He really didn't care who loved whom or being in a relationship with multiple partners. As long as everything was consensual He didn't care, love was love, it was a connection be it of the emotional kind or just the physical. After all, one shouldn't have to go through life without connecting to someone else. That's why Lucifer's final punishment of being sent into the Cage was so cruel and heartbreaking. In the cage he could speak to no-one and no longer hear the Heavenly Host, all hopes to connect were lost to....

Chuck paused in his writing. He could tell he wasn't leading into the story he wanted to write the way that he wanted to. He was able to lead up to Gabriel but then went onto a slight criticism of religion, connection, Lucifer's punishment, and how God is supposed to think.

'Although,' he thought with a slight smirk, 'I would know better than anyone how God would think. At least the connection aspect came through alright.'

"Alright Chuck just keep typing, worry about flow in the edits, just get everything down first..." he mumbles to himself as he continues writing.

God was currently in Toronto, Ontario, Canada watching one of His angelic children, His fourth created son Gabriel who was being creeped on by a tall dark-haired, fair-skinned man at a nightclub. He was slight in build, boarding on lanky with little muscle, his dark hair was combed over with what looked like hair gel. If one got close enough to this man the rank body odor he produced would lead to a different conclusion. His face had red blemishes from acne, and one nostril seemed a little too big. His lips were thin, chapped, and slightly bleeding from where he'd bit at the loosened and dried skin there. He wore plain shirt that had a myriad of small burgundy flecks all over it and worn jeans stained with paint. From a distance he was quite unassuming, easily looked over and ignored. So why then would an archangel be want to be near him? Was he more interesting than he looked? Did his voice get less raspy and nasally the more comfortable he got around someone? Was he the next Van Gogh of the art world as his shirt and pants might suggest and just needed a little heavenly inspiration? Was he a soon-to-be prophet of the Lord? None of the above.