“Thank you for calling God,” a vaguely female voice sounded. “All
our seraphic operators are currently unavailable--”
“In heaven?” The suicide tightened the noose, checking the knot as
he cradled the phone with his chin.
“—please hold until we can take your call.”
Gounod's Ave Maria began playing to his disbelieving ears.
“I'm sorry, but do you understand?” He spoke almost calmly into the
receiver. “I am quite literally on a stool, noose around my neck--”
Click.
“Your call is important to us. Please hold until--”
“--ready to kill myself, needing only one word from our Risen Lord
to convince me not--”
“--for your further satisfaction as well as training purposes, your
call may be recorded--”
“I'll do it! I swear!”
“Ave Maria, gratia plena--”
That was it.
“You brought it on yourself!” he cried into the phone, reaching for
the rope that would trigger the pulley mechanism he'd rigged to trip
the stool. “You never listened—and now I'll pull this—and then I'll
make my complaint right to your ear, because I'll be right there
in--”
He paused.
Slowly, he put down the phone, which had found its way into the Mass
in B Minor.
He loosened the knot and gingerly stepped down from the stool.
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