‘It’s in God’s hands now.’ Jayla dragged off blood-stained gloves, before rubbing her eyes. As she exited the theatre, her beeper sounded; yet another emergency.
‘Go away’ God addressed his eternal in-tray, stretching tired neck muscles. ‘Sleep; even a tiny sleep, would be good right now. Twenty-four weeks straight. This covid is beyond the pale. Even Satan is moaning.’
‘Another decision. Male. 46yo. Shot by his wife. Self-defence. So why send it to me? Cut and dried surely?’
Scrolling down, he reads out snippets. ‘Never hits his kids, just the wife. Drink and drugs. Silly lad. Supportive childhood. Professional. Masters degree. Hmm, better start than most get. Let me guess… aah yes, here it is. University parties, young and bulletproof.Marriage, career, mortgage. Pressures upon pressures. Forgot to go fishing. Doesn’t excuse subjecting the wife to her own personal hell though.’
God stretched his elbows behind, unkinking his spine, but deep weariness remained. Decisions, decisions. Life and death. Heaven or hell.
‘Will she cope if he dies, or, come to think of it, if he lives? Pros and cons?’
‘Life pros. He may come right. Cons; he might milk it, retaliate. Guilt may enslave her. Worse case, she turns up here early, leaving vulnerable kids.’
‘On the other hand, if he’s permanently committed to hell, no chance of repentance, she’s free, and safe. Condemning him to Satans clutches, versus condemning the wife to living purgatory. Decisions, decisions.’
‘Maybe an epiphany could save them both. Win/win. Everyone deserves a chance. High risk though, given most wife-beaters turn recidivist. I’ve only got three epiphanies left for this week, and it’s only Tuesday.’
Reading on, God found his decision.
Jayla recorded time of death. She dragged herself to face the wife.
Satan warmly welcomed his new resident.
God closed the file, sighing over two previous futile epiphanies.
Recognizing the wife’s scars, Jayla thanked God for the outcome.
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