One day a bird flew into the propeller of God’s airplane. The bird was toast; God was stranded on a desert island, a la The Little Prince, only the little prince was dead. There was a garden gnome on the island; God named him Adam. Adam was useless. He didn’t even have ribs. Needless to say, this was devastating for God, and for humanity as well. He had been doing the best he could to take care of Florida; now the Floridians were fucked.

One day a bird flew into the propeller of God’s airplane. God was able to save the bird, even though he generally looked down on necromancy. “Call it resurrection,” He said. On the island, God didn’t need Adam because he had the bird to keep him company. The island was pungent with the smell of ashes and Florida Water.

One day a bird flew into the propeller of God’s airplane. The bird lived, but God died in a fiery crash. The garden gnome, who had no name, watched in terror from several feet away. He wasn’t made of wood, but he didn’t know that for sure.

(I was recently in a writing workshop and we wrote from the following prompts: Repetition, a bird, a smell, a disaster, garden lights or a garden gnome, a mention of Florida. This is what I wrote)