A bit of a content warning before I post the first chapter. Blasphemy. Lots of it. I never actually say anything bad about the Christian religion, but there is a lot of crazy ideas that were really just created for fun. So please do not feel offended. If you are strongly Christian then I advise maybe not reading it. But don't worry, because there are no ridiculous slash pairings between Satan and the Big Man, because that is weird. However, Jesus does have a girlfriend, but that isn't in this chapter. You have been warned, so if I have any comments saying "OMG!WTF! I am sooooo offended and such" then I won't be happy. It's your own choice to read it.
Part One – Of Lifts and Odd Secretaries
In which many jump to conclusions.
There was once a little bucket and it shone throughout the day and night with a sheen of awesome that only a select few things in the world can have (and no, Edward Cullen’s sparkling is certainly NOT a sheen of awesome. It’s the left over glitter makeup from the vampire’s production “Fairytopia”). It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever laid eyes upon. So beautiful, in fact, that many were entranced by its radiance and spent the rest of their life in a bucket shrine so as to worship its glory and brilliance.
However, one day the bucket was stolen! People all over the country were thrown into a blind panic, wondering where the bucket could have possibly gone.
“Who could have stolen something so awesome?” they asked.
It was a valid question, as the bucket was too awesome for most to touch and disintegrated all those who dare lay a finger on it. The people of Bucket-ville (for that was the town which the bucket’s resting place lay) decided amongst themselves it must be the work of some divine being.
They turned instantly to Jesus; since it was most likely he who had stolen it rather than his father. God was to busy up keeping his household and suppressing the angel uprising to go around stealing buckets. Plus, there was a small matter of the Ten Commandments, and while God may be a lot of things he certainly is not a hypocrite. They sought out the none other than the Muffin Man (cook extraordinaire) to help them, as he knew the entrance to the celestial realm. He did, after all, cook cakes for the big man himself.
“Now you see,” said the Muffin Man, “I cannot tell you where it is. It’s forbidden you see. God has enough on his hands with the dead without a bunch of mortals cluttering up the place inquiring about some bucket.”
“But what if it was Jesus?” the townsfolk asked.
“It is possible. Jesus was most likely dropped on his head when he was younger and has always had a surprisingly rebellious streak for a 2000 year old man.”
“So Mr. Muffin, will you ask Jesus if he has the bucket?”
“I don’t see why not,” replied the Muffin Man with a sigh.
So the Muffin Man set out towards heaven, a fresh parcel of muffins under his arm. He found the place the heaven’s entrance would appear and said clearly:
“To heaven I ascend, for that is where the paradise lost I shall find.”
As you can see, God likes overly glitzy passwords. He could have just made do with: “Urm, I brought muffins?”
The Muffin Man waited for a second before watching as a glittering crystal lift shaft appeared before him, its transparent walls soaring up into the sky. At its base sat the lift compartment itself, its exterior decorated with gold filigree and lapis blue marble.
The Muffin Man stepped into the lift. He was glad God finally got the money to upgrade his technology (climbing all those stairs was a nightmare). As he soared into the sky he looked down on the beautiful sights. Fields and valleys stretched for miles to his left and the glistening sea to the right. In the distance he could just make out the little town of Bucket-ville and he could imagine the bucket-obsessive residents fretting about and biting their nails in anxiety.
He soon got bored however as although this was much better than climbing the stairs it really wasn’t a lot faster. He sighed, leaning back against the mirrored walls. It was a pretty boring setup on the inside, despite its luxury exterior. Two of the four walls were covered with full length mirrors, one was transparent to show the view and let in some light and one was covered in blue paint and contained the sliding door. The ceiling was a dull white and the floor was blue carpet patterned with green and silver swirls.
The Muffin Man contented himself by listening to the tinkling music that ran throughout the lift from small speakers in the corner of the ceiling. Unfortunately for him, the only song that played throughout his entire vertical trip was Hey There Delilah, which is infuriating enough in its normal form, let alone elevator music style. There wasn’t much he could do though, so he listened to the repetition until he reached the top floor. An entire hour later.
He was sure he’d never get that song out of his head and was contemplating how he might update God’s playlist, until he saw a familiar mass of messy brown hair sitting atop the head of the manically grinning secretary sitting at the reception desk. Oh god, please no!
“Why hello there Muffin-chops, didn’t expect to see you here!” said Sebastian slyly, his unnerving grin never once leaving his face.
The Muffin Man was surprised to see Seb here. After all, the Muffin Man had believed that Seb never bothered working here on Sundays, or most other days of the week for that matter. The only day he bothered showing up was Friday. He briefly wondered where the normal secretary – Sally – was, but then decided it would be best not to think about it.
Seb noticed the Muffin Man’s stare.
“What’s your problem Muffin… is there something in my hair?!” Seb asked, fingering his brown locks, voice becoming increasingly flustered at the thought of not looking 100% attractive.
“No, Mr. Winters sir, your hair is fine,” the Muffin Man gabbled, not wishing to upset Seb in case he was blown to pieces. Yeah, Seb can sort of do that.
“Ah, eeeeeexcellent,” replied Seb in a slightly worrying tone, steepling his fingers and lowing his face so his fringe hid his eyes. Then, he added, “Oh, and call me Seb, Mr. Winters makes me sound so…” he paused, thinking of the best word, “…normal,” he spat in disgust. He had a point though; anyone accusing Seb of being normal had something seriously wrong with them.
“Of course Mr. W- I mean, Seb. Urm, can I go inside?”
“Sure thing Muffy the vampire slayer, just watch out for the flying lemurs, Jesus has been on the whoopsy juice again.” Seb said, making “drinky-drinky” motions at the Muffin Man.
The Muffin Man raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Jesus… was drinking alcohol?”
Seb giggled in a way only Seb could before replying.
“No stupid Actimel! Have you not seen the adverts?”
Another sceptical brow. He wondered to himself how anyone could possibly get high on Actimel alone, but he assumed that someone – he glanced suspiciously at Seb – might have slipped something into it. Shooting Seb another worried look, he stepped through the rusted iron gates…
…And into heaven.
҉
The Muffin Man shivered as he made is way through the winding streets of heaven. It was even colder up here than usual and he assumed that the heating bills must have risen on the heavenly plains again. The Muffin Man (whose real name is actually Marvin, though he’s never told anyone in his village) could see his breath crystallising before his face. He pulled his chief hat down to his ears in a feeble attempt to stay warm and he stuck his bare hands under his armpits to warm them up. He suspected that if they weren’t above the clouds and precipitation was actually possible then it would have been snowing like hell. Actually, perhaps that isn’t the best phrase to use. Maybe “snowing an awful lot” would be more appropriate.
The Muffin Man took a left at the next fork in the road, simultaneously jumping and ducking to avoid a band of flying lemurs (What do you know, Seb was right he thought) and floor-ridden drunken angels. At least, they looked drunk because it was odd to be slumped over like that voluntarily. He made his way up to God’s apartment, which was a rather unimpressive building considering who lived there. The only thing that made it stand out was its size; it was at least five times larger than the surrounding flats, all of which were dwarfed in comparison to the giant residence of God. Oh, and the golden double door that were decorated intricately with…
Okay, never mind. I lied; it is a little impressive.
Part One – Of Lifts and Odd Secretaries
In which many jump to conclusions.
There was once a little bucket and it shone throughout the day and night with a sheen of awesome that only a select few things in the world can have (and no, Edward Cullen’s sparkling is certainly NOT a sheen of awesome. It’s the left over glitter makeup from the vampire’s production “Fairytopia”). It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever laid eyes upon. So beautiful, in fact, that many were entranced by its radiance and spent the rest of their life in a bucket shrine so as to worship its glory and brilliance.
However, one day the bucket was stolen! People all over the country were thrown into a blind panic, wondering where the bucket could have possibly gone.
“Who could have stolen something so awesome?” they asked.
It was a valid question, as the bucket was too awesome for most to touch and disintegrated all those who dare lay a finger on it. The people of Bucket-ville (for that was the town which the bucket’s resting place lay) decided amongst themselves it must be the work of some divine being.
They turned instantly to Jesus; since it was most likely he who had stolen it rather than his father. God was to busy up keeping his household and suppressing the angel uprising to go around stealing buckets. Plus, there was a small matter of the Ten Commandments, and while God may be a lot of things he certainly is not a hypocrite. They sought out the none other than the Muffin Man (cook extraordinaire) to help them, as he knew the entrance to the celestial realm. He did, after all, cook cakes for the big man himself.
“Now you see,” said the Muffin Man, “I cannot tell you where it is. It’s forbidden you see. God has enough on his hands with the dead without a bunch of mortals cluttering up the place inquiring about some bucket.”
“But what if it was Jesus?” the townsfolk asked.
“It is possible. Jesus was most likely dropped on his head when he was younger and has always had a surprisingly rebellious streak for a 2000 year old man.”
“So Mr. Muffin, will you ask Jesus if he has the bucket?”
“I don’t see why not,” replied the Muffin Man with a sigh.
So the Muffin Man set out towards heaven, a fresh parcel of muffins under his arm. He found the place the heaven’s entrance would appear and said clearly:
“To heaven I ascend, for that is where the paradise lost I shall find.”
As you can see, God likes overly glitzy passwords. He could have just made do with: “Urm, I brought muffins?”
The Muffin Man waited for a second before watching as a glittering crystal lift shaft appeared before him, its transparent walls soaring up into the sky. At its base sat the lift compartment itself, its exterior decorated with gold filigree and lapis blue marble.
The Muffin Man stepped into the lift. He was glad God finally got the money to upgrade his technology (climbing all those stairs was a nightmare). As he soared into the sky he looked down on the beautiful sights. Fields and valleys stretched for miles to his left and the glistening sea to the right. In the distance he could just make out the little town of Bucket-ville and he could imagine the bucket-obsessive residents fretting about and biting their nails in anxiety.
He soon got bored however as although this was much better than climbing the stairs it really wasn’t a lot faster. He sighed, leaning back against the mirrored walls. It was a pretty boring setup on the inside, despite its luxury exterior. Two of the four walls were covered with full length mirrors, one was transparent to show the view and let in some light and one was covered in blue paint and contained the sliding door. The ceiling was a dull white and the floor was blue carpet patterned with green and silver swirls.
The Muffin Man contented himself by listening to the tinkling music that ran throughout the lift from small speakers in the corner of the ceiling. Unfortunately for him, the only song that played throughout his entire vertical trip was Hey There Delilah, which is infuriating enough in its normal form, let alone elevator music style. There wasn’t much he could do though, so he listened to the repetition until he reached the top floor. An entire hour later.
He was sure he’d never get that song out of his head and was contemplating how he might update God’s playlist, until he saw a familiar mass of messy brown hair sitting atop the head of the manically grinning secretary sitting at the reception desk. Oh god, please no!
“Why hello there Muffin-chops, didn’t expect to see you here!” said Sebastian slyly, his unnerving grin never once leaving his face.
The Muffin Man was surprised to see Seb here. After all, the Muffin Man had believed that Seb never bothered working here on Sundays, or most other days of the week for that matter. The only day he bothered showing up was Friday. He briefly wondered where the normal secretary – Sally – was, but then decided it would be best not to think about it.
Seb noticed the Muffin Man’s stare.
“What’s your problem Muffin… is there something in my hair?!” Seb asked, fingering his brown locks, voice becoming increasingly flustered at the thought of not looking 100% attractive.
“No, Mr. Winters sir, your hair is fine,” the Muffin Man gabbled, not wishing to upset Seb in case he was blown to pieces. Yeah, Seb can sort of do that.
“Ah, eeeeeexcellent,” replied Seb in a slightly worrying tone, steepling his fingers and lowing his face so his fringe hid his eyes. Then, he added, “Oh, and call me Seb, Mr. Winters makes me sound so…” he paused, thinking of the best word, “…normal,” he spat in disgust. He had a point though; anyone accusing Seb of being normal had something seriously wrong with them.
“Of course Mr. W- I mean, Seb. Urm, can I go inside?”
“Sure thing Muffy the vampire slayer, just watch out for the flying lemurs, Jesus has been on the whoopsy juice again.” Seb said, making “drinky-drinky” motions at the Muffin Man.
The Muffin Man raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Jesus… was drinking alcohol?”
Seb giggled in a way only Seb could before replying.
“No stupid Actimel! Have you not seen the adverts?”
Another sceptical brow. He wondered to himself how anyone could possibly get high on Actimel alone, but he assumed that someone – he glanced suspiciously at Seb – might have slipped something into it. Shooting Seb another worried look, he stepped through the rusted iron gates…
…And into heaven.
҉
The Muffin Man shivered as he made is way through the winding streets of heaven. It was even colder up here than usual and he assumed that the heating bills must have risen on the heavenly plains again. The Muffin Man (whose real name is actually Marvin, though he’s never told anyone in his village) could see his breath crystallising before his face. He pulled his chief hat down to his ears in a feeble attempt to stay warm and he stuck his bare hands under his armpits to warm them up. He suspected that if they weren’t above the clouds and precipitation was actually possible then it would have been snowing like hell. Actually, perhaps that isn’t the best phrase to use. Maybe “snowing an awful lot” would be more appropriate.
The Muffin Man took a left at the next fork in the road, simultaneously jumping and ducking to avoid a band of flying lemurs (What do you know, Seb was right he thought) and floor-ridden drunken angels. At least, they looked drunk because it was odd to be slumped over like that voluntarily. He made his way up to God’s apartment, which was a rather unimpressive building considering who lived there. The only thing that made it stand out was its size; it was at least five times larger than the surrounding flats, all of which were dwarfed in comparison to the giant residence of God. Oh, and the golden double door that were decorated intricately with…
Okay, never mind. I lied; it is a little impressive.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
Did ya like? Or are you ready to throttle me?
(Just to clarify, I'm atheist, so I'm not overly sensitive to the whole "Thou shalt go-eth to hell" speeches)
-Hannah
