There is no god.
Physical safety, mental support, moral standards; none of these are things you pray for and receive. I believe they reside in each person’s own resolve. But humans are weak. It’s hard to resist bad habits and pursue good deeds on your own.
Fortunately, the church’s influence has grown lately. The idea that “God is watching” has motivated many to strive harder.
Compared to when I was a kid, fewer people stray from the path, and more show kindness to others. Thanks to that, unfortunate incidents have decreased.
Just recently, an orphanage was completed.
With all sorts of people seeking salvation and donating to the church, the little ones can eat their fill, play to their hearts’ content, learn, and sleep sprawled out like stars.
It’s all good. A state where everyone who believes benefits.
“Honestly, at this point, it’s a miracle, right? Even if it’s a lie.”
“Exactly. That’s why we have to protect it.”
“Well, I don’t get any blessings out of it, though.”
“We’re the backstage crew, not the ones on the other side.”
“No salvation for us, huh? Well, it’s a bit late for that.”
I place a hand on the procurement officer’s head as she shrugs and laughs.
We’ve known each other a while. I can tell a fake smile when I see one.
Once again, the sewing specialist raises her hand to the sky.
“Um, if we’re going to make it happen… how do we do it?”
“We make a Pegasus.”
“Huh?”
“A model. It just needs moving wings and to fly a little. The rest depends on the presentation.”
Right on cue, a laid-back guy in a loosened priest’s robe stands up. The production specialist.
“That’s right, Leader. The oracle didn’t specify where the Pegasus would land. If it’s the cathedral roof, it’s far from the audience’s eyes. They won’t notice it’s a fake.”
“Approved. Figure out how to stage it.”
“Of course. Leave it to me.”
After confirming his theatrical bow and thumbs-up, I solidify the plan’s direction.
I look around at everyone.
“We’re pros, all experts. If we work together, we can pull this off.”
The team’s expressions shift.
“Got it, Leader. I’ll analyze the weather conditions for the day.”
“Send the data my way once it’s ready. I’ll compile the model’s constraints.”
“I’ll whip up a few cool Pegasus designs real quick.”
“This is the crafting team. We’ll start working on textures.”
As each person taps into their expertise, the break room’s chaos level rises. I move around, reconciling conflicting opinions and tackling tangled issues.
It’s our usual division of labor, a seamless collaboration born from knowing each other’s strengths inside out.
I consider myself fortunate. Reliable comrades who never change, no matter the situation.
But that’s exactly why… there are times I want to throw it all away.
The ones who aren’t here. I can still clearly recall their faces and names.
What would they think if they saw us now?
Would they resent us? Or maybe they’d laugh.
Ask if it’s really worth living for this.
—One thing I know for sure: God is an illusion, and the day we’re forgiven will never come.
“What’s wrong, Leader? You’re looking so glum it’s clogging my nose.”
“Sorry. I was just… remembering.”
The production specialist, his voice cutting through—slings an arm around my shoulders with excessive familiarity.
My bad. Seems I made him worry.
“I get it. I feel nostalgic too. Things used to be livelier, huh?”
“That’d be a problem. If it got any noisier, I’d snap.”
The production guy bursts out laughing. Maybe it’s my imagination, but his face feels awfully close as he stares at me.
“I know, Leader. The depth of your love.”
“Hey, hey.”
“So, isn’t it about time you accepted me?”
Danger zone.
I reflexively shove his arm off, and he shakes his head with a theatrical “tsk tsk.”
“Cut. No good, Leader. You need more emotion. I want to see your soul scream.”
“With every fiber of my being, I refuse. Where’d you even pull that character from?”
What the—
Well, if he’d been serious, I’d have been in trouble. That’d open a door I’m not ready for.
This guy’s a natural performer with a habit of improvising roles on the spot. He’ll suddenly create a character and dive right in.
It’s genius, and he’s a good guy at heart… But the trouble this quirk stirs up is endless. I’ve got memories of running around cleaning up after some fool got duped by his act and came storming in.
“Enough improv. Focus on the production.”
“It’ll be perfect. Bow before my talent.”
“You said it. Alright, question: how do we handle the Pegasus’s exit?”
Honestly, I’m stumped.
The entrance is easy. We can hide the model under a cloth or set up some prep work.
But the exit? I can’t figure out how to retrieve it under moonlight without the audience getting suspicious.
Plus, they’re expecting a flashy show. Even if a Pegasus is a mythical creature, just perching it on the roof would be too dull. Disappointing the crowd could erode trust in the church. That’d be bad.
“Fireworks.”
Oh, looks like he’s actually thought this through.
“True, if fireworks go off, the crowd will look at them. We could clean up the model then.”
“Too simple, Leader. We can use fireworks to stage the Pegasus leaving too.”
“Go on.”
“We launch the model. Shoot it high and boom.”
“Blow it up midair?”
“Exactly… it burns itself out, scattering fleeting dreams. Just like us.”
“Uh, is this improv again?”
I’m suspicious of his bad habit flaring up.
“No, Leader. Dead serious.”
“Good to know. That plan might just work.”
The finale’s set. We’ll go big with the fireworks’ scale. It’s a chance to show off our technical skills.
“You hear that, design team? We’re making fireworks.”
“Sounds good. What kind?”
As we brainstorm firework ideas with the explosives expert, the bottle-glasses guy shows up.
A bookworm who seems to live off knowledge. The things he’s designed from books easily number over a hundred.
“Got the blueprints done. Please check ‘em.”
“Change of plans. We’re launching it with fireworks. Use flammable materials.”
I hand the blueprints back without even looking, and the design guy collapses.
Sorry, I feel bad about it.