The Bread of Shame (Fanfic)

The Bread of Shame

In the beginning, God was alone. And He was Perfect.

In His Perfection, God desired to give of His Goodness, for giving of one's Goodness is the ultimate Perfection.

And so God decided to give Goodness onto others. But first, God decided that He must create Time, for without Time, there can be no Causality, and without Causality, there can be no Change, and with no Change, God realized that he cannot really do anything, and creating entities that are capable of receiving the Bounty of One's Goodness felt like something that requires, you know, doing something.

"No part of that thought is coherent," God thought, Puzzled. God stared into the void, feeling like He had gotten off to a bad start.

God looked at the knot of illogic He had conceived and, in the interest of expediency, grabbed the thought and named it "Mystery."

"Well, that certainly makes this enterprise quite a bit easier," God thought, as he filed the Mystery away in a celestial cabinet labeled "We Cannot Understand These Things," with a smaller label underneath reading "Cosmic Placeholder – Do Not Attempt to Comprehend."

"I must share of My Goodness," God thought, getting back on track, and so He created Joy, and Pleasure, and Connection.

And God created a Host in the heavens because internal monologuing would quickly become tedious and because nothing can happen without a management layer of questionable usefulness. And God gave His Host names like Seraphim, Cherubim, Zurphaim, Chayalim, and Ophanim because he Wanted to and He did not have to justify himself to anyone.

"Let us make man in our image," God said to His Host.

"But we have a Problem," God mused out loud, happy to have a chance to use His Host for exposition. "For if I simply give man the Goodness I created, I am not giving Perfect Goodness©, for My Goodness was not given to Me by Another—chas v'shalom—it just IS, and My Goodness is Perfect, and, ergo, the Goodness that I give to man will not be Perfect Goodness, if I just give it to him," God said, clasping his Divine Hands behind his Divine Back, strolling back and forth in front of his Host.

The Host stood silently, unsure of their role and collectively deciding silence was the safest possible response.

Archangel Uriel thought that it would make sense to try to get a "Holy holy holy" going, but was quickly shushed by Archangel Michael, who had already worked out that today was not a "Holy holy holy" kind of day.

"I must make man choose his own Goodness," God continued, ignoring the aborted "Holy holy holy," "for the Goodness that I give him must be Perfect Goodness. It simply makes no sense to hand man Goodness on a silver platter, for such Goodness is something I like to call 'the bread of embarrassment.' A man taking such Goodness is not much different than a high school friend reaching out on Facebook with, 'Hey stranger! Long time no see! You look great in your profile pic! Say, have you ever thought about being your own boss?'" God said, as He created the concepts needed to make His points.

God's Host nodded along, expressions carefully blank, as they unsuccessfully attempted to follow the Divine Logic.

God looked at them expectantly, and the Host felt a collective pit forming in their stomach. They glanced around at each other, notes of panic in their eyes, as they each tried to appear deeply engaged while simultaneously hoping another would take the initiative and say something.

"Holy holy holy! Hallelujah!" Archangel Michael cried out, studiously ignoring Archangel Uriel's scathing glare. God Smiled, and the rest of the Host loudly joined Archangel Michael in, "Holy holy holy!" their voices filled with Awe and a palpable breath of relief large enough to inflate a small moon.

"It is a Mystery," explained Archangel Gabriel confidently later to the rest of the Host. "The fact that it sounded like complete nonsense to you is actually proof of its genius. The less something makes sense, the more Mysterious it is, which is exactly what we would expect from a Mind Infinitely more Perfect than ours."

The next moment, God created the heavens and the earth. And it was Good.

God summoned His Host. "I have endowed you all with wisdom, and you know My plan. So, let us make things of joy and pleasure for My creations, for that is what we are doing here." This was met with polite nods from the Host, none of whom remembered receiving any such plan but, as Archangel Gabriel explained in an onboarding Zoom meeting later that afternoon, it was a simple Truth that creating user engagement via joy-inducing short-form content was critical for the success of the divine revenue model, and other such Truths as would be obvious to anyone who had received an MBA degree.

And so the angels went off to Ponder and Create in their celestial workshops. "We must distill Joy and Wonder and Happiness for these entities that God will create in His image," they declared.

---

At last, God summoned the Host.

It was a Mighty day. God sat on His Throne, glorious and effortlessly intimidating, the angels stood around Him, Looming Silently as His glorious and holy Entourage. The atmosphere was thick with the odor of Divine Expectations and angel nervousness.

Archangel Michael, longtime employee of the month and one who was always one to adopt the pose of someone with a leadership position whenever the upper management was visiting, walked into the heavenly court first to present his Creation. Unfurling his mighty wings, he produced a small green-and-red ball from the folds of his robe. The Host leaned forward slightly.

"What is it?" asked God, for the benefit of the readers.

"I like to call it a 'Man…go,'" Michael replied, pausing dramatically between syllables. "It is an amazing source of vitamins A, B6, and C, as well as dietary fiber, folate, copper, and potassium. It is also yellow inside, and critical in smoothies and eating it feels like summer. No one can eat one and be in a bad mood—it is a Law.".

"Excellent," God nodded. "Let’s get it ready for production so we can roll it out by the end of Q3 latest. We cannot afford to miss the holiday season. lets go people! Lets go!"

“But,” God added in his Unfathomable Wisdom, "Make the pit of the mango bizarrely large and impossible to cut around without losing like, 30% of the mango. Also," God paused, "give the pit fur. Next!"

Next, Uriel stepped forward. Without speaking, they unfurled their wings, and suddenly, the hall was filled with the most glorious sensation ever conceived.

"I present the concept of love, Your Holiness," Uriel said.

"Wow," God nodded to Uriel and bid him to place a kilo of Love on the table. God carefully cut the saran wrapped brick of Love and extracted a bit on the edge of a comically large knife. God eyed the Love suspiciously before bringing it slowly to his nose and snorting it. "Tight. Tight. Tight. Blue, yellow, pink, whatever, man, just keep bringing me that. We're gonna make a lot of money together."

He paused, momentarily forgetting His Divine Dignity.

Another angel brought music, filling the hall with harmonies that made several of the lesser angels weep openly, and did not help the buzz filling God's head from all the Love he just snorted.

A tall angel with ivory feathers presented dreams and told God they would help humans process emotions while they slept, mostly by showing them their teeth falling out and putting them in situations where they couldn't find the bathroom despite desperately needing it.

As the presentations continued, the concepts began getting less dramatic. One angel proudly presented Dr. Pimple Popper videos. Another presented shawarma and petitioned that the correct way of folding a laffa to prevent everything falling out after three bites should be sealed away with the Divine Mysteries and only revealed to the thirty six hidden tzaddikim in each generation.

"Looks like that is all. Well, great work, everyone," God began, straightening His cosmic robes as the meeting came to a close. "Let's reconvene after the universe has expanded another 0.0002% to check our progress."

Suddenly, a loud screech filled the great hall, like the sound of a thousand celestial fingernails on a divine chalkboard.

"Wait!"

The Host, as one, turned around, wincing with perfect synchronicity. Some force was moving a giant metal pot across the hall.

In front of the pot, like a royal announcer, a smell filled the great hall, Mighty and Terrible. It was the olfactory equivalent of walking in on an anal leakage skunk recovery convention taking place in a World of Warcraft Discord moderator's armpit.

All the angels kept their faces stoic and unchanging, understanding that anything less would not become a Member of the Heavenly Host in the Conclave with the Almighty Himself. Metatron, Lord of Passion, retched quietly in as dignified a fashion as he could manage, which is to say he made a sound like a holy vacuum cleaner trying to inhale a cat while trying to desperately turn itself off.

Behind the pot stood a dehydrated-looking angel, visibly out of breath. He straightened up and surreptitiously fixed his zipper, the zip sound reverberating across the halls of the holy Conclave louder than a procession of heavenly trumpet blowers on their first day of practice.

"What is your name?" asked God, extending Divine Courtesy and pretending not to notice the zipper fix.

"Fred, Your Holiness."

God stared at Fred with the mild face of someone not entirely convinced Fred was a proper name for an immortal celestial being.

"From the Department of Blasphemy and Other Verbal Malfeasance," Fred added, unhelpfully.

"Well, Fred, what do you have for us today?" God asked.

"It is a pot of boiling Feces."

For a moment, God's face mirrored the stoic blankness of His Host as His gaze settled on the pot of Feces looming in the center of His Most Holy Conclave.

"Whose Feces are in the pot?" God asked the dehydrated Fred, Divine Curiosity getting the better of His Divine Good Sense.

"Well, Your Holiness, if you eat-"

“Fred,” God said, interrupting his angel, “Why have you created a pot of feces?"

"Well, isn't it obvious - to punish people."

"Pardon?"

"Well, yeah, if someone does not worship Your Holy Name properly when they are alive, we will put them in this pot," Fred explained.

A divine silence fell over the heavenly court, heavy and dense, like a divine cheesecake that smelled like a giant pot of feces.

"Fred," God finally said, with Infinite Patience that heretics would have been pardoned for questioning its Infinitude, "I feel like there has been a communication breakdown at some point. I created Joy, Pleasure, and Awesomeness. I Spoke of sharing Goodness. At what point did that translate to you as 'giant pot of boiling excrement for punishment'?"

Fred nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! I am happy you asked! What better way to motivate goodness than eternal damnation? If humans know they'll end up in this pot, they'll definitely choose goodness and avoid taking handouts! No bread of shame here—just well-earned punishment!" He patted his pot like a proud HVAC salesman talking about a lifetime warranty on their whole-home-HVAC-solution-package.

God sighed, turning to the Host, who were still trying to breathe through their mouths.

"And wait till You hear about the other pot I have. It is taking me longer than expected to fill, but it is almost ready for—"

"Fred—"

"—Your Divine Holiness! Anyone who dares not follow in the Commands of his Creator will be cast down and after we finish burning them, and spinning them on the Giant Sling, they will be forced to collect their own ashes—"

"Fred—" God interrupted once Fred paused for breath, "did you perhaps attend a different orientation than everyone else?"

Fred blinked. "I attended the session led by Archangel Gabriel."

All eyes turned to Gabriel, who blushed deep red.

"Gabriel," God said, "did we go off-script?"

God closed His eyes for a moment and the universe winked out of existence. When He opened them, He looked at the pot, then at Fred's hopeful face, then at His Archangel Gabriel.

"Fine," God said with Divine Resignation. "Fred, put your pot in the corner. We'll file it under 'Contingency Plans.'"

Fred's face lit up. "Thank you! And wait until You see my presentation on tznious, I am still Bata testing, but the plan is for mothers burn the—"

"Next meeting," God interrupted, mentally scheduling said meeting for after the heat death of the universe.

"Next time," God muttered, "I'm just creating cats and being done with it."