"Even supposing you exist,"
"—and we've agreed to suppose you exist," I said to God, and she locked her phone and set it down, "I remain unpersuaded that your moral sense is any more objective than mine."
"I am the original mover of the universe," she hummed.
"Irrelevant." I waved a hand. She sipped at her tea. "Plenty of mythologies attribute the origin of the world to something to which that mythology does not impute ultimate moral authority. You think I will find the connection between the Originator and the Authority intuitive because it suffuses my culture, which it does because of the domination of your doctrine, which is to say: this argument is circular."
"Perhaps the universe contains a preexisting objective morality which I am capable of perceiving because of my divinity," she said, smiling.
"That is only possible if we allow that some other creator introduced elements to the cosmos that you did not plan."
"You would cast me as the Demiurge? Shackled and imperfect?" She licked her lips in excitement. I thought I saw her rubbing her thighs together to drive the point home.
"No, and don't change the subject," I growled. "When I said we were presupposing your existence, I meant you, the proper supreme being."
"I really am," she sighed dreamily, and our eyes met.
I said nothing. Privately I wondered if there were better dim sum places in town. There probably weren't.
She rolled her eyes. "Then consider my omnibenevolence, which you've kindly allowed per your supposition of my existence—thank you, by the way. I love this body you picked out for me." With the side of her thumb she traced down her bare arm: brown, thin-haired, strong.
"I wonder how this form reflects on you, don't you? She's a stunner."
"About the omnibenevolence."
"Well, would not an omnibenevolent creator prefer to create a cosmos which contained an objective morality?"
"No. Irrelevant." I jabbed in irritation with my chopsticks. "An omnibenevolent creator would preach the morals that minimized harm, without regard to their status as ultimate truth. And indeed, Lady, I find your morals disturbing and dangerous, and if they were cosmic truth I would weigh it as evidence against your omnibenevolence and thus against your being."
"And yet I clearly am," God said, and she winked.
"For five more hours." I took the last of the shumai.
"Did I only pay you through nine thirty?" she pouted.
"Yes," I said, "and the way I see it, any pretense of objectivity to your morals derives from your power to issue infinite punishment. It is uncomfortable to imagine such judgement being handed down by anything but impartial hands, so the objectivity of your morals is a necessary fiction to avoid seeing you as the monster you are."
"Oh, now I'm a monster," she said, leaning back, stretching, arms over her head. "Bet you're dying to show me just how deep that hate goes."
I weighed my energy for a moment. "You still have that knife?"
"I surely do," God said, and fidgeted meaningfully with her bra strap. "It's at my place, you about ready to head out?"
I glared at her until she left a proper tip on the table.
Her bedroom, lit with a thousand candles. Her bed, too neat, the purple altar cloth crossing it neatly in the middle.
"Hurt me," she gasped. I heard her dress rip as I shoved her down. "Hurt me, hurt me." One bare breast in candlelight.
I glanced over the supplies for patching her up afterwards, checking one more time that everything was there. Slapped her, hard. "Hold still."
She did. I picked up the knife. "You still want it, like we texted about?"
God nodded. "Right here, above the breast. 'Chaser.'"
"Six letters, it's going to be a lot of cuts." I found myself in one of my favorite breathing exercises. Get paid (in-two-three), do the job (hold-two-three-four), go home (out-two-three).
"I can take it," she whined, huge scared eyes searching for long-absent mercy in my expression.
