When God came back, He wasn't what most people had been expecting. He packed up the planets and the stars, put the sun back in its box, and shook the ground out like a rug. He plucked out the trees and wrapped a rubber band around them, folded the mountains, and mopped up the sea with a sponge and a bucket. He coughed, then gathered up lives and souls, plucking them out and tossing them in glittering piles. When we shouted and cried out, He spared us a glance.
"Theft? Injustice?" He rumbled. "These are all mine. They always were."