“Ah,” said God. “My last cigarette.”

God reached for his thunderbolts, an extra pair of Greek leather sandals, two white robes, and his trimmer. It was all he could fit into his suitcase. Everything else would have to stay.

Where was he going? “Should I lock the gates?” asked St. Peter.

“No, no,” said God. “Keep Heaven open. I’m off to create another world.”

“Beyond this one, sire?” asked St. Peter.

“Right beside it,” said God. “Think of this as the Bath of Bed, Bath, & Beyond, and now it is time to create the Beyond.”

St. Peter understood. God put on his fedora and, with a single briefcase, set off to create a new world, beyond. He had much walking to do, which allowed for much thinking. He combed through his long white beard and took out his last cigarette. Lucky Strikes.

“Life is good,” he said. “Everything I need, right here, in a single briefcase, but will it be just as simple as beyond. I started simply in the last universe, one planet, and one intelligent form of life, but they’ve gotten out of control, and I can only send so many tablets of stone.”

God thought about the Beyond as he walked down what appeared to be a white void, but in reality was his personal hallway through the universe. He finished his Lucky Strike and stepped on it, though there was nothing to catch fire. He wondered if fire would exist in the new universe. He had been liking the color blue lately and thought of creating a universe completely submerged in a blue liquid. He liked this idea; he liked it very much, but while admiring a future universe completely submerged in water, he had not been looking ahead in his white void hallway and bumped into his biggest disappointment: Satan.

“Hear you’re off to create another universe,” said the Devil.

“You fallen angels are the worst gossipers,” said God. “But it is true.”

“Will I exist there?”

God stroked his long, white beard and thought.

“No.”

Satan jumped and slammed his devil hooves. Above that was brown, sexless fur, and from the waist up, it was as red as Jane Maynsfield’s lipstick. He had two large, black horns, yellow eyes, and a voice that suggested he was always disappointed. His teeth were razor sharp.

“But without me, why would anyone need you?” asked Satan.

“But why should they need me, and who is it that you are referring to?”

He slammed his hooves again.

“Damn, you! Like that blob you manifested in India. ‘I don’t need anything, I’m da Buddha,’ said Satan in a mocking tone. “You’re going to get bored awfully fast.”

God laughed.

“I think it is you who is going to get bored awfully fast. Why, Satan, who waged war against me between the pages of Milton. It is as if you already miss me. What will you do? Turn Earth into hell?”

“Mhm, I’ve thought of it, but what is it you have planned for this new universe?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. It’s nice to be a free agent for a change.”

“Any ideas at all come to mind?”

“Well, I have one. I’ve been fond of the color blue lately.”

“And?”

“Well, I’m thinking it’ll be a universe of blue liquid.”

“How will they see?”

“Who?” asked God.

Satan realized his folly and the Lord’s smirk. He had an idea. It was far-fetched, but they could still smell the remnants of smoke between MoM-z14 and JADES-GS-z14-0, two galaxies 13.5 billion light-years from Earth, Satan’s home. He reached into his pocket and produced a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes.

“You don’t mind if I have one, do you? I know you quit.”

God would be lying if he told himself they were not tempted, but he acted cool as an Earth cucumber and said, “Go right ahead, Satan. Enjoy your cigarette.”

“Mhm, that I will…Blast!”

“What is it?”

“All of my fire is in hell. Do you have anything to light this with?”

“I do. Hold on.”

God set down his briefcase and grabbed one of his many thunderbolts. He threw it at the end of the Devil’s smoke.

“Thank you,” said Satan. “Well, I’m headed off back to hell. Care to join me for one last one before you go?”

“Of course, Devil,” said God, wondering if one more could really hurt.

He took Satan’s Lucky Strike and leaned over, lighting theirs off theirs.

“Ah,” said God. “My last cigarette.”

“You’re quitting?” asked Satan.

“Yes, and, though it’s not official or anything yet, this new universe won’t have fire.”

Satan ashed.

“Hmm, interesting. Well, if you want another Lucky Strike, you know where to find me.”

“Of course.”

“Hell.”

“I know.”

They both took long, enjoyable drags.

“Nice hat,” said Satan.

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Ol’ Blue eyes. Wanted to see me right away when he came up. Gave me this hat, the very one he recorded September of My Years with.”

“Good album.”

“Something you and I can agree on.”

“He was a Camel guy, wasn’t he?” asked the Devil.

“Buried with a pack in his pocket.”

“This is what Don Rickles told me, and thanks again for letting him come down.”

God put his hands in the air.

“I couldn’t stop him. Said he wanted the hardest audience.”

“Between you and me,” said Satan. “He’s the reason I’m taking this walk.”

God roared. The Devil slammed his hooves.

“He berates me all day! I can’t stand it!” Then Satan did something God did not expect: he got onto his goat’s knees. “Please let me come with you? We can smoke and be away from Don Rickles!”

The Lord dropped his Lucy Strike and stepped on it.

“That’s my last one, Lucifer. I could only put so much into my suitcase, and I don’t have the thunderbolts for cigarettes, but this is what I can do.”

Satan stood and grasped his hand.

“Yes?”

“Send Rickles back to Heaven. He’ll bitch and moan, but tell him Ol’ Blue Eyes misses him, and to take over momentarily in my absence.”

The Devil’s yellow eyes became teary.

“You would allow that?”

God reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

“Yes.”

Satan fell back onto his knees.

“Thank you, God, thank you so much. I wish you the best of luck with this new universe, full of blue liquid and no fire. I’m sure it’ll be great!”

“Of course it will,” said God. “I have two others to return to.”