An angel

The point, quite simply," said George, "is procreation. Nothing more, nothing less. Just get on with it, no matter how difficult it is."

"I disagree," said Susan. "I think that there's more to it than that - otherwise why would I have memories of yellow and ancient feelings of history?"

"They'll be explainable - a hangover from our days in the trees. There will be mechanisms which we evolved with but which we no longer need."

Simon snorted.

"I think you're talking out your arse, George. The point is redness, is art. The goal of us all is to prove ourselves to God through our own creations."

It was George's turn to snort.

"What the fuck?! Since when have you believed in God?"

"Since about five minutes ago," said Simon.

"And what happened five minutes ago to change you so significantly?" asked Susan, who was also surprised by Simon's statement.

"An angel appeared before me in the toilet cubicle and gave me a revelation," said Simon, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Susan and George glanced at each other, questioning.