Short Story
Intro: In 2020, researchers discovered evidence of the gas phosphine on Venus (which implicated the existence of alien life). Inspired, I wrote a short story of a tiny microbe (Aphy) living on Venus talking to God about the human condition. It plays on the absurdity of a personal, authoritarian God. A dramatic reading was performed at the Speakeasy Writer’s Workshop at Hamline University in 2024 (first published online 8/20/26).
Meanwhile on Venus…
“Well, now it’s getting interesting” Aphy said dryly.
When no response came, Aphy followed up, “Right?”
“What? Oh yes, right. Sure.” God furrowed his brow with his eyes fixed upon the pale blue dot in the distance.
Aphy rolled his membrane in annoyance. “I mean, why do you care? They are SO focused on all these silly, little arbitrary tasks that they set for themselves. They see only the ground. There is no perspective, no understanding. Hell, they don’t even look up anymore.”
A puzzled look came over God’s face. “Sorry. Which species are you referring to?”
“The humans.”
“Oh, yes, right. My thoughts were on Camponotus ligniperda.”
Aphy wrinkled his nuclear envelope, confused.
“An ant species.”
“Ah,” Aphy uttered dully.
Aphy puffed out some phosphine. Why me? he thought. It’s always like pulling teeth talking to this guy. He’s straight up laconic most of the time and then suddenly he will rant for an age. Aphy pondered a polite escape from the conversation.
“Well, its been fun but I need to…” Aphy began.
“I gave them a chance.” God interrupted.
“What?” said Aphy, a bit concerned.
God turned to Aphy with an uneasy, half-hearted smile. “Oh, gosh, no worries. Let them have their fun while they can.” God paused and then shifted his gaze back to the blue dot floating in the distance. “It will certainly be rough for them later.”
Aphy glanced toward the distant blue dot stunned that God would so openly allude to the extinction of a species. He had been watching his young neighbors with interest and some worry.
“They won’t come here, will they? They know about the sulfuric acid gases, insane temperatures, and the crushing pressures, right? I mean I have some well-deserved budding coming on my next updraft so…”
“Aphy…” God said calmly cutting him off. “Don’t worry. You will long outlive the humans.”
Aphy inhaled slowly and straightened his vesicles. He felt better but then suddenly tensed his cilia. You dolt, he thought, God had bragged on and on about his ‘magnum opus’ and you are scared of them? Come on.
“It’s not that I fear the humans. I just…I don’t know.”
God stared at Aphy with a perfectly neutral expression.
“I mean they must love rectangles, amirite?” Aphy said trying to lighten the mood. “They used to be consumed by getting those green, flexible rectangles. Now, they all stare at other rectangles that light up their faces. I mean, it’s weird, right?” Hmmm, maybe those rectangles are supplemental sunlight, thought Aphy. “Are they extra nutrients for the humans?” Aphy asked earnestly.
“No.” God said flatly.
“Ok. Good. I guess that makes sense because they are mostly scowling when looking at them.” Aphy paused, waiting for God to add further details. But God simply scratched his nose and blinked. “If rectangle staring displeases the humans why are they consumed by it?”
God sighed. “Well…” he paused. “It’s complicated.”
Aphy rolled his membrane. Seriously? I’m making the effort here, dude. Maybe I can out awkward him in this conversation so he leaves. Just don’t say anything more…
“It’s not my fault,” God suddenly blurted with a hint of trepidation in his voice. “I gave them these amazing, deity-like abilities. And they will only use them to destroy themselves.” God clenched his jaw. “Do you remember those giant lizard species that ruled Earth a couple of ages ago?”
“Ummm. Yes. The dino-saws?” said Aphy uncertainly.
“Dinosaurs” God corrected. “You remember the end?”
“Of course,” Aphy remarked fondly. “Had the entire family over for the show.”
“Their fates were sealed billions of Earth-years before. It was when Chicxulub was nudged by Jupiter’s migration.” God grimaced. “They were destined to all perish on that day.” God slowly exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “The human species is just like that. Their fates were sealed the second they ate that damned fruit.”
Aphy waited. He knew this was a touchy subject. He discretely released some phosphine away from God so he wouldn’t notice. I need to go on a different diet, thought Aphy. This is just getting embarrassing. Maybe I should…
“When I persuaded them to eat the forbidden fruit, I sure didn’t think it would lead to this.”
Aphy wrinkled his membrane in confusion. “Ummm. Huh. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the snake offer humans the forbidden fruit?”
God rolled his eyes. “I am the snake. What do you think omnipotent and omniscient mean?” Before Aphy could respond, God mansplained, “It means all-powerful and all-knowing.”
“I did everything to set that world up.”
Aphy glanced toward God a little anxiously. “Right, of course. It’s really a beautiful planet.”
“What they never understood was that fruit did not give them the knowledge of good and evil, but rather the feeling of having knowledge. Knowledge, itself, was never a bad thing. However, the feeling that they know, even when they don’t, dooms the species. It is a mirage of knowledge. They are moths caught in the flame’s death spiral.”
“It’s ironic,” God continued, “Those that are most ignorant of true causes and true effects are also most confident in their wrong beliefs. And those that are most knowledgeable are least confident in their ideas. The ignorant even think that spreading their wrong beliefs isn’t bad because they each live in a subjective bubble. Whatever they want to be true is true.”
God scratched his beard in frustration, “That, of course, is the true evil. When you think only for yourself and…“
“Hey?!” God glanced at Aphy, who was slowly floating away. “Where are you going?” God said with subtle anger in his voice.
Oh shit, thought Aphy. “I’m sorry. My bad. My cilia just haven’t been working well this last circumnavigation.” Aphy hurriedly oared back toward God’s perch.
“They look fine to me.” God grumbled.
“Yeah, yeah,” Aphy consented. “Maybe I just need to stretch them.” Quickly changing the subject Aphy spouted, “Well, they are intelligent, no? I mean, you did name them sapiens. They are the wisest of the animals, correct?”
God closed his eyes, clearly infuriated. “I” God paused for effect, “did not name them that. They did. They should not have eaten that fucking fruit,” God mumbled, shaking his head. “The hubris of the ignorant ones is really astonishing.”
Aphy waited a second before he responded. A mad God is never good news. But something itched at him that he couldn’t let go. “Well. Huh,” Aphy said tepidly.
“What?” God asked demandingly.
“I mean,” Aphy said, then paused. “Please don’t take offence to this,” he preambled. “All glories to you, of course. It’s just, since you could see the future and that they would eventually destroy themselves, why didn’t you stop them from eating the forbidden fruit in the first place?”
God furrowed his brow in anger and stared daggers at Aphy.
Aphy maintained his gaze on Earth and continued, “Or why even have that tree in the Garden anyway? Seems odd to have a fruit that can grant god-like powers in easy reach of the humans? Perhaps, if you would have put the tree on Luna, or…”
“Shut up!” God sneered at Aphy. God brought his palms toward each other and lightning crackled between his open grasping hands. “I know what I’m doing. Do NOT interrogate the mind of God! How DARE you!” God roared.
Aphy froze. Oh god. Shit, shit, shit. Don’t say anything. No wait, complement him on something off topic. Yes, for sure. Ummm. What about?! “For sure, for sure, my God,” Aphy meekly offered, “By the way, I love your elegant arrangement of the local group galaxies! Really, it’s the epitome of true art.”
“You remember the story of Job, don’t you?!” God thundered. “Many disasters can still befall your idyllic life, Aphy.”
Aphy prostrated his cilia in a humble and subservient pose, “A thousand apologizes my wonderful, beneficent God. You are truly a genius of unparalleled abilities. I will never question your all-knowing decisions. Please have mercy on me and my kind.”
God relaxed his hands and turned his head back to Earth, but kept his eyes on Aphy. “You truly mean that right, Aphy? You have been known to use sarcasm in the past…”
“Yes, of course, my all-knowing master. You are the supreme being. Nothing can outshine your great goodness! I humbly submit to you.”
God turned back toward Aphy with an expressionless face. “No. Tell me what you really think Aphy,” God said slyly. “You think the humans are stupid, don’t you?” God demanded.
Aphy remained frozen. What? What does he want me to say? Help me someone, Aphy thought.
“I’ve known all along these were imperfect creatures,” God cajoled. “Actually, I wanted to make this flawed species. It was all part of the plan. My plan is the BEST plan. Don’t you agree, Aphy?”
“Oh yes, of course my great God,” Aphy said, understanding what God wanted from him. “I mean they segregate themselves based on arbitrary lines they put in the sand. Then they kill each other just because they budded on opposite sides of their imaginary lines. You are absolutely right. They are quite stupid.”
God, placated, looked back across the void at Earth.
“While they are stupid, of course, great God,” Aphy began, “I’m just a bit sad. They showed some promise.” Aphy gulped, “I mean…what will remain of them? Only their space probes?”
Suddenly, God disappeared in a flash.
Aphy immediately exhaled and puffed out some phosphine. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that? I need a goddamn vacation. Aphy began to straighten his now knotted up DNA. Why am I so unlucky? I have to change my lifestyle, my God.
Fears take life years, he thought.
