When God was bored He usually took it out on Job. That poor bastard got it in the neck a lot. One minute he was swimming in his own private pool and holding court on his own daytime TV show, the next he was face down in his own piss, wondering where his next meal would come from.
After the first ten or twelve times, and the first ten or twelve wives, Job became numb about the whole thing. It no longer rocked his faith like it used to; in fact it kind of reminded him God was just around the corner and coming home pissed, truth be told. Although he never quite knew when it was coming, Job became a dab hand at making the best of it.
This one time, the latest time, Job was sleeping. God leant over him and brushed a moonbeam from his face. Sorry son, He whispered, but the bastard Devil put me up to it. This time it could get rough.
Normally it went down that Job only woke after the fact, a face full of bruises, his fortune gone and a summons stuck to the side of his face. This time, however, something woke him up. Something told him it was different. Maybe it was the beard.
The sight of Him was beautiful and terrifying, like being trapped in the path of a tsunami but rich enough to survive. And Job was a survivor. He knew he’d recoup whatever he lost.
But this time was different. This time he was awake after so long.
God pulled out a rag, made from clouds or Angel shit or something, and wiped it across his sweating face. Tomorrow’s rain would scorch the earth.
You know that I love you.
Then, His breath volcanic, God took everything.