God’s Aquarium

I imagine God, as a little boy who has a new blue plastic aquarium in his bedroom, sitting by the window. Its clear in the bottom with a bright electric blue lid, with holes for air in which to go through. there's small pebbles, river stones. they are red, brown, all shades of brown. and in his little aquarium there's a little tortoise. A small green tortoise, its shaded like a mint leave, like the inside of a plump ripen avocado, with a golden pattern all over its shell. Its frail, its small, I imagine Him, taking the blue lid off, and with his soft perfect hands, lifting the petit creature out of its cage. his little fingers rubbing the ruff green scale-like bumps on the poor creature's back. the tortoise hides his head, his small tail and limbs all cave in, and the small boy begins to cry he changes the water, he makes sure its not too much or too little, he puts his mother's thermometer in and verifies that the water's warm enough for his reptilian friend, and he gently puts him back in. He puts small green pellets in the plastic world, and covers it with its blue ceiling. and as the boy leaves, the tortoise pulls his head out and begins to swim, eat, live. I guess sometimes I am too scared to feel his warmth, to see his gentle hands caring for me, I guess...