The gateway to heaven. The builder stands in front of the infinite-powered one, his hands folded in supplication, his eyes cast down, his heart fluttering expectantly.
“You” growls the infinite-powered one.
“Yes, master, me” says the builder, in a soft voice.
“You, you have destroyed my beautiful creations, my trees, my hillocks, my little lakes of water. You have made ugly tall buildings in their place. The blue colour of your buildings is a mockery of my powers. And now, and now, you dare stand in front of me seeking entrance to my home?”
“But, but, master,” the builder pleads, “its not I who wanted such buildings. It’s them, they needed a place to live. They, they said that houses cannot be built of straw or dreams. Wolves would blow such houses down. I was sought by them, master. I was the only one who could save them from the wolves and also give them good plumbing.”
“HMPH” growls He.
“Master, I am their saviour, ask anyone. In my houses they are secure, safe in the knowledge that they will not be eaten up. In my houses they grow, their mind seeking high planes of wisdom.”
“Oh all right” relents He, “Pigs, all of you. Pigs.”
He spits, gashing a red line across a fluffy white cloud.
