What a mess

What God could have done this? My room was a mess, shit was absolutely everywhere. Shirts strewn across chairs. Some clean. Others dirty. Nobody knew what the hell was going on. Scenes of carnage and despair.

Again I asked the question. Why me?

Somebody had to clean this up. And as sure as night is dark, it wouldn’t be me. But who? I cried out: why God why.

For the life of me, I couldn’t remember who had wrecked this room, which had been so clean. I remembered clearly the good times. Things in their place. Shirts clean and pressed, ready for the party. Always ready for the party…

But now this? The good times were so clear. In contrast with this monstrosity.

Lost in thought, frozen in place. My mother entered the room.

“Clean this up!”

How? I asked. How could I possibly tackle such a mess. Only a God, benevolent and merciful, could aid me in this. I was debt ridden to my own mother. Pants, shirts, socks, some with holes in them, God knows why that had happened.

So i went to seek help from the only man I knew. My Uncle.

“Sit down Johnny.” he said in his kind, wistful tone. “What is wrong?”

“Uncle”, I responded. “The situation is hopeless. I am debt ridden to my own mother. A closet half empty, clothes… everywhere.”

“Ahhhh…”, he coughed, grabbing his back which had also been handed a fate so wrong, so harsh, he had traveled to a Demigod to fix it, to no avail..

My Uncle, a wise man, knew my pain. He himself was debt ridden, to far more notorious Shepherds in the town. The richest and most awful devils that worked with Satan himself.