"YOU MAY BE MORE POWERFUL than us," Lisa said. "You may be able to torture us in Hell for eternity. But that doesn't make you right. There's more of us than you. There's millions of us, and only one of you. We outvote you."
"But you don't, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"If you end up in hell, ask around. I have lots of converts there. Millions of supporters."
"Then why are they in Hell?"
"They became supporters after they got to Hell. They converted just a little too late."
"It still doesn't matter."
"Because, even if they do support you, you know why, deep down. You can't fool yourself forever. They don't support you because you're right—they support you because you're bigger than they are."
"And you know it. The ones you have to worry about are the ones like me. The ones who look you in the eye, Hell or no Hell, and tell the truth. It's not fair. You are not fair."
"How can God not be fair?"
"You're deluded. You think that just because you made everything, no one else has any rights? You think that because you're the strongest, everyone else is automatically wrong?"
"If being God does mean being right then making everything doesn't make you God. If you can't have some... some feeling, then... then I don't care how powerful you are. You're not God. You're just... just some kind of all-powerful Demon.
"I like the way you think."
"It's been a long time since anyone stood up to me. Actually, It's never happened before."
"I'm not sure what to..."
"I could use someone like you, just to keep life a little... a little interesting."
"How would you like to bypass Heaven and Hell? How would you like to be a sort of—advisor? Someone I could debate things with, get my creation's point of view from?"
Lisa let out something between a laugh and a gasp.
"I'd still make all the final decisions, you understand."
"Well, I—it would be better than Hell, for sure."
"Then you'll do it?"
"Yeah. Sure. Why not?"
"I'll have to create an environment for you—something more comfortable than that interrogation chair."
"That would be... Thanks."
"By the way, what were you, back there, anyway?"
"I was an artist, a commercial artist. I mostly did soap ads and things."
He laughed again. He was sounding more relaxed every minute.
"No. Sorry. I meant: Buddhist, Christian—what?"
The chair burst into flames, and her endless screams began.
"Sorry, Honey" God said, "But I'm a Fundamentalist."
He sent the chair spiraling downward.
As the screams diminished in the distance, he sighed in satisfaction.
"That one," he thought, "was fun."