Thousand: Nine Hundred Forty-Eight

heard mention of cupcakes. Cream cheese frosting? Devil’s food?” The angel grinds his crystalline molars. “I,” says the angel, “I could. Get you. Cup. Get you cup.” “That sounds nice.” The angel steps backward into the campfire and is gone. Jesus looks again at the dead spider. With the now merely glowing stick Jesus pokes the spider’s side. It rocks stiffly, the legs frozen in curl. Jesus grunts dismissively and returns the stick to the flame. Bearing a plastic-wrapped cardboard tray the angel reappears. “Your cupcakes, lord,” he says, dropping them on the ground. “Those are muffins,” Jesus says. “But