It was when your son called us to meeting when it really went to pot.

Your son, I'm afraid to say, is a brute.

A bully.

A cad.

I suppose in order for him to fit in, he needed to be part human, but I think you mixed the wrong parts of humanity in him.

He was still bitter about how it all ended.

And a snob too.

He hated you. I know you don't want to hear this, but you know it already. You must do. You know everything else.

He came in tall and proud and trailed your line of waiting angels, ready for duty. He looked at me and sneered.

'Mary.'

That's not my name.

But he wanted it to be.

I was too loyal to you. You'd pick me out of the crowd to talk to. I suppose it's because I got you. You weren't God. You weren't a name. You were everything. Every face, every religion, every deity, every cause, every action. It's kinda hard to put into words.

But I got it.

The minute you helped me up and pushed me to fly, I got it.

'Mary, father's chosen the day; December 21st.'

'The day, the day for what?'

Gabriel put the trumpet to his lips and blew it loud.

It sounded like the Whales I used to watch from my back garden.

'The day to end it all.'

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.