Traffic stopped and people gawked, their eyes and iPhones pointed toward the heavens.
All who gazed upon Him knew at once why He was here: Earth was saved and all their pain was ending.
His throne came to a stop above Times Square, beside the giant Sony screen. He was fifty feet tall and beautifully proportioned, with golden skin and eyes like polished sapphires. A pair of cherubs sat on his shoulders, playing silver trumpets. Their song was so beautiful that it moved people to tears.
“I am the Messiah,” the deity announced, as if there were any question. “And I have come to bring you all salvation.”
Some reporters had assembled on the street. The Messiah smiled down on them indulgently.
“Feel free to ask me what you wish,” He said. “Chris Matthews, you can go first.”
“Thank you,” the news anchor said. He was trying his best to remain composed, but his cheeks were damp with tears. “What, exactly, do you mean by ‘salvation’?” he asked.
By Simon Rich / continue
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