The real reason for afternoon mass.
For the prompt 'resurrection'. None of the funny bits belong to me.
It was a bright and tastelessly pink dawn.
This was pure luck. For every deity who gets a rosy-fingered sunrise when his Son unstiffens on the slab, dozens rot under thunderheads while the Yggdrasil clocks up symbolic-number-of-days-spent-carrying-a-c
Still, the two glowing figures in the graveyard derived some satisfaction from it.
Satisfaction, tempered by impatience.
"Where is he?"
"Aziraphale's always late."
A meaningful pause.
"It doesn't matter, anyway."
"Oh?"
"New orders," explained the other, pointing at the Words written on the sky, which read as follows:
THIS IS MY SON, WITH WHOM I AM NOT TOO ANNOYED.
LET 'IM SLEEP IN.
It was a bright and tastelessly pink dawn.
This was pure luck. For every deity who gets a rosy-fingered sunrise when his Son unstiffens on the slab, dozens rot under thunderheads while the Yggdrasil clocks up symbolic-number-of-days-spent-carrying-a-c
Still, the two glowing figures in the graveyard derived some satisfaction from it.
Satisfaction, tempered by impatience.
"Where is he?"
"Aziraphale's always late."
A meaningful pause.
"It doesn't matter, anyway."
"Oh?"
"New orders," explained the other, pointing at the Words written on the sky, which read as follows:
THIS IS MY SON, WITH WHOM I AM NOT TOO ANNOYED.
LET 'IM SLEEP IN.