text: "What the hell were you thinking?!" He yelled, slamming his mighty fist on the table! The room went quiet. The projector shook a little after the commotion. One of these days, it would fall straight from the roof and stomp on his head like he was a goomba from Mario. But all focus remained on Death at the moment, who stared, poker-faced, at the one and only Holy Spirit as you humans like to call him. Or what I call him, the leading director of The Human Condition. Or, quite simply, boss. "Do you see what I see?!" He pointed to the screen which lit up the office. Death had always been more defiant than the rest of us. We watched as she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms like an angsty teen. "You said we needed to cut down the population, so that's what I did," she said, nonchalantly. "Sure, that's what I said," God voiced angrily, "but all we needed was to slow their progress down! Not WIPE them out completely!" Death just shrugged. "You can't blame me for being *too* good at my job." "25 million. Gone. Done for. Dead. It'll take nearly eighty years for them to recover. Hell, they even call it the Black Death. This wasn't according to plan!" "When is it ever?" Death smiled. "When have you ever been disappointed in my work? I get shit done, you know that as much as everyone else in this room. Because I don't make mistakes. I'm the result of them." God restrained himself before he could erupt like the volcanos which buried the Roman city Pompeii (which was an entire ordeal on its own. I stayed overtime many days after that, trying to fix the mistake I made which led to that moment). He took a deep breath in, paused, then let it all out, releasing a faint mist of steam through his nostrils. Rubbing his tired eyes, he looked to all of us with a new-found determination. On the board, there were a number of pie charts and graphs showing the mortality rate of humans, their progress, and possible evolution cycles we had planned for the future. God clicked his fingers, and the slides changed to present the words: *God's plan for 1353.* "This year is going to be different," he said with a smile. He looked over to death who's arms remained folded. "You," he said. "No more pandemics for a while. Not until the twenty-first century, capeesh?" Death's smug look returned. She unfolded her arms and said with great delight, "I've already got something planned." &#x200B; AN: Thanks for reading! First story I've posted on this subreddit, so I'm open to criticism and ways to improve my writing. I've made this little note to get over 500 words which is a required minimum to post something here. But still, thanks for reading again. Any feedback is welcomed :) Now I'm really just trying to get over the limit now. You don't have to keep reading honestly, it's fine. I only wanted to make a short story to so people's attention wouldn't drift, which is why this rule is strange in my opinion. But it's fine, cause I'm definitely over now.