This week’s #writephoto prompt is

Terry Godd settled on the mountain top, tamped his pipe and surveyed the world. Yes, he could be pleased. Not euphoric and certainly not smug. Pleased. Content. Pretty hap…

‘TERRANCE!’

Terry sat up straight. If he’d invented the tie, he’d have straightened it. The Old Curmudgeon had noticed. Well, of course he had. Terry had exceeded expectations. ‘Yes, boss.’ Here comes the praise…

‘WHAT IN MY NAME DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?’

‘I … sorry, what?’

‘I ASKED WHAT…’

‘Yes, yes, boss. But I did what you asked.’

‘OH? ENLIGHTEN ME.’

Terry felt the need to stand which on the tiny peak proved to be tricky. He made a mental note to investigate plateaus for his next commission. He pressed his knees either side of the stony point which, he felt sure, made it look like he was posing for a tacky teenage boy picture. ‘You asked… no, commanded me to build a world. Mountains,’ he tapped the peak, ‘seas, forests, the usual backdrop.’

The Supreme Personage swept his gaze through 360 degrees which made Terry feel a touch nauseous. ‘BIT FOGGY.’

‘Yes, I thought that. The plumbing team had a bit of a problem with the thermostat. They tell me there’s a fix.’

‘A FIX? THIS IS A PERMANENT SOLUTION?’

Terry wobbled his hand. ‘That’s the plan. As long as the inhabitants don’t go buggering about with the temperature, it’ll be fine.’

‘HMM. THAT’S MY NEXT CALL.’

‘Yes?’ Terry felt it would be good to move the discussion away from him, even though he was sure he’d done everything asked.

‘SIDNEY GODD, YOUR COUSIN WAS MEANT TO LOOK AFTER THE FIRST COUPLE, BUT IT SEEMS HE LET A FEW… ERM… FACTS SLIP AND I’M GOING TO HAVE TO SORT OUT SOME CORRECTIVE MEASURES. THAT’S THEM.’

Terry peered into the gloom where some indistinct shapes mooched about. ‘Cows?’

‘WHAT? NO, THERE.’ The Supreme Digit pointed behind the ruminants at two pinkish shapes trying to collage themselves with leaves. ‘I SUPPOSE THEY’RE A BIT HIDDEN BY THE REINDEER?’

Terry was taken aback by the informality, but he hadn’t become lead world builder without being able to pick up the subtle God-Hints. ‘Well, I suppose it is more a light mizzle than fog… er, sweetie.’

‘SWEETIE?’

‘Maybe a drizzle. But not rain. Er, Hun.’

‘HUN? I REALLY THINK, GIVEN WHAT YOU’VE DONE, THAT YOU SHOULDN’T GET AHEAD OF YOURSELF WITH THE CHUMMINESS.’

Terry swallowed, suddenly aware of his faux-pas. He decided to wait for whatever mistake it was he’d made. He was sure it couldn’t be the thermostat. After all, weren’t the lifeforms, intelligent and sentient? He glanced at where the two pinkish shapes were now pointing at the other’s dangly bits – a bit more time and he’d have sorted them out too – and sniggered. Perhaps he shouldn’t rely on them. He’d have a word with Biotech peeps to maybe add that sixth sense after all. In retrospect, he should have known when they called it common they hadn’t been referring to its ubiquity.

‘ARE YOU LISTENING, GODD?’

Terry blanched. This would never do. ‘All ears.’

‘YES, WELL, DON’T HAVE TIME TO DISCUSS THE AESTHETICS OF YOUR CREATIONS. BUT WHY DID YOU MAKE THEM STICK OUT LIKE THAT?’

‘You did say I needed to be cognisant of the costs so we made do with left overs.’

‘THE EARS?’

‘Shells which hadn’t set properly.’

‘HIS DANGLY BITS?’

‘Spare turkey neck.’

‘HERS?’

‘We realised he needed bigger buttocks so we turned the rejects inside out. We had a bit of a struggle with the hole where the clasp had been but in the end we moved the milk dispensers from the armpits and hide the hole with some hair.’ Terry hoped his parsimony would meliorate whatever it was he’d done wrong but the thunderous expression suggested otherwise.

‘HMM. LOOK TERRY. I KNOW I CAN BE A BIT…’

‘…Of a bastard?’

‘DEMANDING. BUT WHAT DID I SAY I WANTED?’

Terry knew this. ‘A complete world with all the trimmings.’

‘YES. AND?’

Terry blinked. What else was there? ‘The dimensions? They’re always the same.’

‘NOT THE DIMENSIONS. IN HOW LONG WERE YOU TO BUILD IT?’

‘Seven days.’

‘AND YOU TOOK SIX.’

‘Too quick?’

‘DID YOU THINK I CHOSE SEVEN AT RANDOM?’

He had, not that he could say so.

‘IT’S A SPECIFIC SPAN TO ALLOW THE INHABITANTS TO MARRY THEIR RHYTHMS TO THOSE OF THE PLANET. NIGHT AND DAY, THE FEMALE FERTILITY CYCLE, THE MOON’S ORBIT… WHERE IS THE MOON, TERRY?’

Terry slapped his head. That was it, he’d forgotten the moon. ‘Look, no sweat boss. The thing’s not completely set so we can nick a chunk and make a moon. Take that extra day. It’s just a pitted ball.’

‘LIKE A DANGLY BIT?’

‘Yes. Ha! I’d not thought of that. We’d then fill in the hole with water. There.’

‘YOU’D BE MAKING THAT TWISTY BIT RATHER ISOLATED FROM THE REST.’

Terry waved the concern away. ‘There’s nothing there that’s important. It’s a bit of a dumping ground actually.’

‘OK. WHAT ARE YOU CALLING IT?’

Terry checked his notebook. ‘That one is… America. No one’s going to want to go there…’