"And it turns out that the longest way around is the shortest way home."

He didn't know how long it had been.

He'd watched his most cherished son fall into that hole, clenched his fist and sealed it up behind him. The world had moved on. He hadn't.

Afterwards, he'd left heaven almost immediately, went to 'walk the earth.' He wished he couldn't remember the way the angels stared as he shut the door. He couldn't look them in the eye. He couldn't stand the fact that he was abandoning them (you abandon a sister, you abandon a son, you abandon all your children), couldn't stand the way they all looked like Lucifer, eyes narrow with envy.

There was something honest about the physical realm, the dirt beneath his feet and the wind in his hair, that grounded him. He walked, endlessly, letting the ground beneath him convince him that it was worth all that they'd all been through. It was beautiful. He knew he created it, but he didn't feel that way, felt like it already existed, that he had to give it life.

Adam and Eve had let Lucifer corrupt them, so he didn't see them while he walked the earth, but he watched their family grow. Soon enough, he and Lucifer and everything not on this Earth became myths and legends in their minds.

As people forgot, he revealed himself to prophets, sent them out to speak the truth and remind everyone. He didn't assume the role of dictator, didn't want them to feel pressured or commanded like the angels had. He knew that they had to make the choice themselves.

And it worked, for a while. But after a few generations, it began to backslide. So he popped in again, sent out some more prophets, and it got better for a little while. But humanity grew complacent, got used to the prophets, and began to tune them out as senseless soothsayers.

Before long, humanity turned full-tilt into evil. They invited what few demons there were then into their homes, traded their souls for power and favor, chose hate over love and chose money over meaning. When their lives plunged into despair, they turned to him and cursed him. Spat in his face, said it was his fault, like he's the one who made betraying your loved ones wrong.

He'd thrown his sister into a cage, thrown his son into another, and it was wrong.

He couldn't stand to watch them make the same mistakes he'd made. He'd tried to create creatures who would love, and he'd failed. He created the angels for power, and they chose terror, and he created the humans for love and they chose hate.

He thought he'd wipe the slate clean, set his sister and his son free, let them destroy everything he'd created and it would finally be over. She was right, in the end, and everything just tore itself down in the end anyways. They were better off when it was just the two of them.

It tore his heart to raise his hand and summon the water, but he told himself it would be over soon.

But Noah labored every day, went home to his daughter and kissed her on the head, told her everything would be okay. As he raised the seas, he saw her perched over a fire playing with her toys. Noah's daughter.

He couldn't stand to wipe out that little girl, with her twisted brown hair and eager eyes by the fire as Noah told her a story of a God who loved her. He couldn't picture her drowning in the waves, never even getting her chance.

So he warned Noah, let him build a boat, and for Noah he didn't set Lucifer or the Darkness free. Hope springs eternal.

This time, he tried something different. He wasn't going to reign through authority, through distance, through commands. He'd tried to warn them as their wise father of the consequences of hate, and they didn't listen. He created them with freedom, after all, and nothing free wants to bow.

So he gave them the word of a loving father, of a father who would accept them no matter what they did.

His heart changed, bloomed, letting them in in a way he'd never done before. They stopped being little creations, little tiny people, and each person became a beloved son and daughter that he could never turn away.

It felt like he was being shredded each time someone chose hell, but they kept choosing, no matter how careful he was to take care of everyone. His heart tore into pieces every time someone summoned a demon, but he never turned them away, because they were his children and he loved them.

Eventually, the daily tragedy was too much. He had to do something, this had to stop.

He did what he hadn't done in so long, showed them who he was and why he'd done everything he'd ever done, told them the whole story, that he loved them so much, a desperate plea for them to please stop choosing hate.

And for his love, they nailed him to a cross.

The pain was excruciating, but it wasn't the pain of nails through hands. It was the pain of knowing that, no matter what he did, he wouldn't be loved. Even his own creation hated him.

He lifted his head to look through bloodied eyes at the crowd. They clamored for his death, pushing and shoving against one another.

My arrogance… I thought I could do something good.

He stood on the cliff, looking down at the town.

It was a south american civilization, in the act of selecting a young woman to sacrifice. She was so happy to be selected, grinning as they presented her to the town. Her life for the next year would be lavish and luxury, as a reward for being sacrificed, as if they knew they were doing the wrong thing even as they did it. It wasn't the first time he'd watched such proceedings.

It wasn't as if heaven was a bad place to be, but the point of life isn't to get to heaven, it's to make choices and learn from them, to have the experience. Heaven was merely a waiting place, for what he'd planned after it all was over.

But at this rate, there would be nothing after. There would be a hell full of souls who chose hate and a son and a sister who were right all along.

His sister was right. They were happy, and he had to go and tear it apart. He'd been so naive, to think he could just create more love. All he'd done is destroy what good there was, creating a world which produced hate and scorn like a factory.

But you started it, his heart said. You threw them in cages, you are the first betrayer.

He used to defend himself, to say they betrayed me first, but he didn't bother anymore.

Soft summer breezes were set on fire by a thrashing roman empire, warm heartbeats torn open by sharp spears halfway across the world.

But it was too late. He couldn't destroy this world, not again, not after the guilt ripped through him after watching everyone choke on the saltwater from the ocean before Noah. They didn't want him but they didn't want to die, they just wanted to live their own lives, tangled up together in the mess. He couldn't kill someone he loved again, no matter what, and he couldn't take from people their chance at life (even if they'd take it from each other).

He'd destroyed enough good in the world, he couldn't bring himself to destroy the tiny moments of good they found amongst his mess (no thanks to him).

He didn't want to do this anymore.

The pain tore through his chest like ice, just like the cage he'd created to contain Lucifer. If he were any sort of decent being, he'd fling himself down there with him and die in the ice. But it wouldn't do any good to make himself suffer, because the damage would still be done. Better to just wipe himself away and forget about it.

He studied the town, tiny in the trees below this cliff, watched the people walking by.

He couldn't actually die, because then everything would blink out of existence in an instant. But he didn't have to be god. He could tuck everything away, take his grace and lock it up in a box where no one could ever find it.

He put his hand on the chest of this vessel, feeling where his power met the body. He could pull, and his power would come out, and it would be nothing to hide it away. They didn't want him, and this way, he could give them what they wanted.

He pulled, and it felt like he was emptying as the white light pulled from his hand. He felt dizzy, his power and memories no longer in his core but in the palm of his hand. He felt weak, like he was no longer in his own body.

Using the power he held in his hand, he made the body small, transforming it into a child. With the power he tucked it out of sight, in a pocket of the universe only he could find, and as he sealed the gap he tossed his memories in with it.

The little boy blinked his eyes, sitting up from where he laid. He looked around, confused, but not scared.

He saw the town at the bottom of the cliff, and felt hunger gnaw at his stomach, and figured he'd find food there.