Prompt 2

Talk about a bad day; it was first the parrots and then the mongooses. It was always 2 of this, 7 of that. Who could keep it straight? And the cubits! What in the almighty’s name was a cubit?

 “YOU DARE DOUBT ME?”

  “Would you be quiet? I can’t hear myself think. Oy. Look, I think the mongooses are right out, they’ll have to go extinct.

  “EXCUSE ME? HOW DARE YOU—”

“Look,” Noah shook his finger at the sky, imagining an old bearded man similar to himself. “If it matters that much to you, you can put those mongooses on my boat. I’m going to fashion a birdcall to get the parrots back. At least they have the decency to be colorful. And only repeat what I say.”

“That is my boat, my holy ark—"

  “Yes yes, impressive I’m sure. Look, my boys and I chopped down the wood, which was our wood by the way, then made MY boat. If you want a boat, cut down your own wood.”

  “But it was my wood…”

  Noah left the simpering deity to his ruminations and fished a pocket knife out of his flaxen robes. Then he grabbed up a spare piece of wood and began whittling as the first drops of the promised flood began to fall.

  “You’d better hurry.”

“This is your flood. Make it happen when you want. Or do want to lose the parrots too?”

  “I could just return the parrots and the mongooses.”

 “Then do it.”

  The heavens were silent for a moment, the rumbles of thunder ceased. Then there was a great gust of wind, pulling Noah sideways toward the ark, as if something had taken a deep breath.

  “There isn’t much point in it if I do all the work.”

  This again. “There isn’t much point in it anyway. Who cares if you make me build the boat or build it yourself? Outcome’s the same either way. And the flood starts when youwant it. And when its all done, and my kids have to repopulate the earth, they’ll screw up. Might take a few hundred years, but it’ll happen. There’ll be some city you have to turn to salt or whatever.”

  “Can you see the future?”

 “Of course not. But that’s how it always is with you. Here’s an idea. Why don’t you call off the flood, see what happens?”

 “But humanity has sinned. They must be—”

  “Oh come on. I’ve sinned too. How do you think I ended up with seven kids? You made the parts after all, you must—”

  “No need to get into specifics.”

  Noah banged his scrap of wood against the boat. “What, you getting squeamish? You’re all-seeing and all-knowing. How does se—”

  “I’m just an accountant!”

  “What?”

  “God’s on holiday and he left me in charge. And now I can’t turn the water off, and the mongooses and the parrots are missing. It’s a disaster. Who puts an account in charge of the world?”

  Noah thought for a moment. “Someone who wants the books balanced?”

  “Does a flood sound like balance to you?”

  “According to my many-times great grand-dad, this sort of goes with the territory. God of wrath and all that. Its exactly the kind of thing I’d expect.”

  “Oh…right…the garden…sorry about that.”

“That was you?”

“I happened to be having a conversation with a snake and—”

 “I’ve heard enough. Fetch the parrots and the mongooses. I’m going to make this boat salt proof.”

  “Why?”

  “In case you mess something else up.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“What part oof forty days and nights of water doesn’t sound bad to you?”

‘Well it probably won’t reach up here. So we’ll all be fine.”

“That’s great, for you! What about the rest of us schmucks down here?”

“Maybe it’s a good time to learn to swim?”

“Don’t you think if I’d wanted to learn swimming in the last 600 years I would have? I’m a little old to learn new tricks.”

“That’s dogs, which just slipped off the boat by the way.”

Noah looked behind him and saw two Labradors cavorting off into the wilds and his head fell.

“Don’t worry too much, they’re pretty much like all the other breeds. I’m sure people will work them out in a few hundred years.”

  “Are you going to help me get the animals back, or will we have three extinctions to explain to the almighty?”

  “Well, see, we’re not supposed to get directly involved.”

  Noah vibrated in place, thrusting his hands up to the sky. “Then what do you call this? Floods, talking to mortals, ordering them to save humanity, what part of that isn’t interfering?”

  “Well it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You want a better idea?”

“Sure.”

“Turn off the water.”

“Well, I would, but I broke the handle. But the boss’ll be back in a few weeks, so—”

“I hate accountants…”