"Son, I really think it's time."
God leaned in the doorway. Head down, bulging shoulders slumped. His face cast in darkness. A faint light from the hallway illuminated the white robes at his massive, bare feet.
"I don't want to do it."
Jesus sat on the edge of his bed and stared at God. A painting, Penitent Magdalene by Caravaggio, hung crookedly in the corner of his room. Mary Magdalene gazed into her lap, crying, alone, dressed in 16th century garb.
"It's been 2,000 years! I think people were done waiting a long time ago. They need the truth."
"The truth? They already have the truth. Why do I have to say it?"
"Because they believe in you. You read the Bible. They expected you to help them, and soon. You let Odoacer end the Roman empire and look what happened!"
"It's not my job to do everything. Besides they're doing fine."
"You know that's not true."
Jesus stood up and began to pace, his wiry frame bounding with nervous energy. His room resembled a Spanish mission in California, with thick adobe walls framed by massive timbers. A solitary window overlooked a vast outer space of stars.
He pushed his thick hair away from his eyes and stopped, facing a wall.
"Oh, and you think they could handle the truth? They think there's a heaven where they reunite where their dogs and watch TV together forever. Even you don't know why humans exist."
"Alright, fine. Forget it. Just forget it. I figured it couldn't hurt to try. You're still going to Buddha's next week, right?"
Jesus flashed a smile.
"You know me. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
God turned and sauntered down the hall with a sigh, his robes billowing with each movement.
Now that God was gone, Jesus' face relaxed. He looked out the window, trying to spot Earth.
"Earth. What a strange, freaky, pointless accident. I know God thinks we should help them, but I sometimes I wonder if we didn't make a big mistake. Even the smallest interventions have huge consequences."
A UFO whizzed by, silvery and oblong.
"Heck, I still think he messed up big time with Reagan."