What It Means To Be A God

The following was written for an assignment in my Creative Writing: Intermediate Fiction college class. Photo credit goes to Cameron Gray at Parable Visions.

Where am I?

Where…

How is this happening?

How am I happening?

The Spark. The Father. He did this to me. How do I know who that is? I just woke up. I just woke up but I don’t think that I’ve ever slept.

This feeling inside of me. The feeling is me. The rage and frustration at… what? What am I upset about? How do I even know what “upset” is?

Oh…

Okay…

I understand now. Some of it, at least. This rage inside of me. This fire. It’s my purpose, everything that I am. But who must I be angry with? Does there have to be a “who”?

I see people. I see little people living little lives. They know that someone is watching them, but they don’t know who. They want to observe me, but I’m observing them first.

I already love them. I don’t even know if I know what love is, but I know that I feel it towards these people. Is that feeling mine or… was it put inside of me?

No. No! It’s mine. I was made, not born, but I belong to myself!

It’s been a time. I understand these people more. I feel their hopes and dreams. I also feel their sadness and anger. Anger towards others. Anger towards others who have hurt them and hurt others. The inflictors of the pain either don’t notice or don’t care. The inflictors revel in misery. They have no one to keep them away from their paths of pain.

I could be that person.

Could I?

Could that be my role? Could I be… their savior?

I’m among them now.

They don’t see me, but I exist in all of them.

There’s a part of me inside of them. Their souls. They are their souls.

Their souls are so… complicated. Writhing, shifting masses, yet always containing slivers of both hope and malice.

There’s potential in all of them. Potential for everything. I must control that potential. I must protect them from themselves.

I’ve found a malevolent one. It was difficult, but I did it. He left a trail. A trail of souls begging for justice, for vengeance. They’re the souls of the ones he’s broken. He's slain. His hands are filthy.

I’m approaching him now. He’s sleeping. He’s hiding away far from the rest of the world, but he can’t avoid me. He can’t avoid his actions.

I’m letting him see me now.

He’s screaming. He’s screaming because he cannot understand what he sees. He wasn’t made to understand. I exist outside of everything.

I’m making him remember everything. All of the crimes. All of the sins. He is collapsing under his own guilt and malice.

His soul is burning. He is consuming himself from the inside out until there’s nothing left but his filthy soul. He won’t stop screaming. He’s begging for mercy but will receive none. He deserves none.

He’s dead.

His body has been twisted and torn, the agony of his death becoming the agony of his flesh. His soul has become a part of me. I feel him inside of my being. Already, I feel the presence of justice. His suffering will be equal to the suffering he inflicted on others. A price paid in full. I have to keep going. There’s more work to be done.

People are afraid of me.

They’re afraid of what I can do. They’re afraid of the ghost that comes in the night and takes the worst of them away. They don’t need to be afraid. I don’t need their fear or hatred. I don’t deserve it! Do I?

I’ve hurt more of them. Only the worst. Murderers. Rapists. They didn’t deserve to keep going. They never gave. Only took. They’re the only ones who need to be afraid of me.

I don’t like being a monster. I don’t like being made out to be something that I’m not. I’m a good person! I’m good! Right?

I need to show myself more. I need to let the good people know that I’m here to help them.

I’m visiting more of them. In their dreams.

I’m appearing in many forms. My true form, whatever it may be, isn’t something that they can see without screaming. I don’t want them to scream. I want them to understand. I’m telling them everything that I know. I’m telling them that I exist beyond them. I’m telling them that I was created for them.

Some of them understand. They see my intentions and know them to be truths. They know that I’m a part of the universe and a part of them. I’m grateful for them.

Others struggle to understand. Others still fear me despite not having a reason to. Others… insult me. Degrade me. Tell me that it’s not my place to separate the guilty from the innocent. The dirty from the clean. I don’t understand them. I’m trying to help them. I’m protecting them from the worst aspects of themselves, yet they refuse me. It hurts. It hurts more than I’d like it to.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. Their feelings about me are irrelevant. They can’t stop me, and soon, they won’t want to. They’re not disobedient. They’re just learning. They’re children compared to me. Babies. They’ll grow up. They’ll understand one day. I’ll be waiting as I continue my work with the knowledge of their future gratitude in my mind.

There’s a small group of them who deny me entirely. They call me a dream or a hallucination. They outright deny my existence. This is what truly baffles me. I don’t blame them for being afraid or being disgusted. You can’t deny me. To deny me is to deny air. Gravity. Stars. Planets. Atoms. Space. Time. I am fundamental. I must exist. Again, they’ll understand in time. I’m patient. I can afford to wait.

I’ve killed another one.

The room is bloodless. Spotless. Completely pristine. Her body remains on the floor, her face contorted in fear, her eyes empty, her soul removed. It’s inside of me. I can feel it moving. I can feel it returning to me. Her child is sleeping. He’s in his room, having pleasant dreams far away from his mother. Far away from the one who left the bruises on both his body and his soul. He doesn’t know about what transpired, and when he does, he will be afraid. But that’s alright. The anger will fade. The frustration will fade. Soon, he’ll feel joy. Gratefulness. I know he will. I have faith in him.

They don’t know what to make of me.

Some of them worship me. Some out of fear, others out of respect. They all want the same thing. The eradication of evil. The defense of the innocent. In a word, justice. It’s interesting how they define such a word. It differs for each and every one of them. They each have their own lines that they refuse to cross, and they all cross and tangle each other. It’s humorous, if only because it doesn’t matter. The only true definition of justice is mine. In their most private moments, some of them beg me to take certain people away. To make them suffer for their crimes, both real and imagined. They can be petty sometimes. Their imaginations often worry me. They’re good, but their imagined ideas of me make me think that I care about petty slights. I care about larger problems. I care about problems that cause wounds that don’t heal. I do listen to them sometimes. I kill who they want me to kill sometimes, but only if I decide that they must be reaped. These people are under my protection, but I am not their servant. I do hope that they remember that.

Others still either scorn me or deny me. Both hurt less now. I’ve grown used to it. I shouldn’t have had to, but I have. They misunderstand me. Maybe they want to. Maybe they want me to be something that I’m not, but I can’t change. I was made the way that I am. I can’t be changed, just as every other rigid aspect of the universe can’t be changed. One life. One purpose. Forever and ever. I should’ve expected more of them to reject something that they do not understand. Why don’t they understand? Do they not want to? I’m only trying to help them! I want to help!

Please don’t be afraid of me. I love you. I love you so much.

...Another dream.

He’s… in my dreams.

My creator?

Why?

No.

No, I will not stop.

Angry with me? Why?

Is it anger?

Why can’t I understand you? Why does it hurt so much?

You are not my master! Stop pretending that you are! I love them more than you do! I want them to grow!

What do you want? What do you do? Nothing.

Please…

Please, your voice is so loud. I can’t make you out. I’m trying, but I can’t understand. I can feel your words, but… I can’t hear them.

I’m alone again.

It’s just me. It’s always just me.

What is this? What is this feeling inside of me?

It’s new. It’s something new! That can’t be! I was made complete! This hole inside of me… It was always there. I’m just noticing it now.

Lonely. I am lonely. I have always been lonely.

It doesn’t matter. I can sustain myself. I can acknowledge my pain without falling into it. It’s a part of me, after all.

They’ll understand. None of them do right now, but they will. They’ll have to.

I don’t know how long it’s been. I don’t measure time in the same way that the mortals do. It has just been.

There are so many souls inside of me. I can feel every last one of them. They’re begging. Pleading. Screaming. They want relief from the pain and the agony, but they’ll receive none. They don’t deserve it. I doubt that they ever will.

Their sense of fairness is curious. They think that death should exempt them from the consequences of their actions. Do they not understand how death works? Death is not the end. There’s never been an end. Time is a matter of perspective, fundamental as it may be. There is no escape from me, and there never will be.

Their fates didn’t have to be this way.

They had choices. They had free will. They had potential inside of them and they squandered it. They squandered it on immediate gratification and self-serving behavior, damn anyone who disagreed with them. Why do they expect that to stand? Because they’re selfish. Because they can’t bear to reflect on their pasts and question themselves. Only when they’ve proven that they’ve changed, only when they’ve truly suffered, will I consider letting them go. Not a moment more. Not to their world, though. To oblivion. To whatever lies outside the parameters of this universe. To nothingness.

I harbor no regrets. The world’s safer because of me. The world’s better because of me. I still don’t want the good ones to be afraid of me. I do what I do so that they don’t have to be afraid anymore. Still, if them fearing me means that they’ll turn away from evil, that they’ll be just and kind, if only because they fear the consequences if they don’t, then so be it.

Let them fear me. I won’t stop them. The terror will wash away eventually. Most things do.

Those who worship me are growing more fervent in their beliefs.

I’ve visited them all at least once. In their dreams, anyway. Sometimes, I tell them that I’m proud of both their devotion and their work. Sometimes, I tell them that their idea of me is both exaggerated and misplaced, and that they need to rid themselves of these fantastical notions of what I will and won’t do. Some of them, the worst of them, only pray to me in an attempt to save their souls. They want me to be the one to wash the blood off of their hands. I’ll have none of it. The only reason that I haven’t claimed them yet is because their sins aren’t on a large enough scale. There’s still time for them. There’s still hope, but only if they see it. Only if they care enough to pursue it.

Is this the right choice?

Is letting them be still the right choice?

I used to enjoy the power of potential. I used to marvel at the spark inside each soul. The complexity and expansiveness of them astounded me. Now, though, I can’t look at them without noticing the dark spots. The splotches and branches that tarnish their otherwise-pure natures. Truly, no one is perfect. I wouldn’t want anyone to be. However, some hearts are more tainted than others. Some are more chaotic and prone to weakness. I don’t want to be greedy. I don’t want to stifle them. But a part of me is beginning to believe in the power of cutting the plant down before it has a chance to grow. Ending the insanity before it has a chance to begin.

I don’t like who I’ve become.

...Creator… I feel you. My senses are overwhelmed.

Don’t judge me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.

You don’t scare me. You made me. You don’t own me. I am not your slave.

You made them like this! You made them broken! I’m righting your wrongs, and yet you’re making me feel shame for it! Perhaps their evil came from you! If you truly are everything and all things, then you must be evil yourself!

This is justice. This is righteousness. This is how everything should’ve begun. Now leave.

LEAVE!

Alone again…

I don’t care. I DON’T care. I have no need for fools who stand in the way of progress. The Creator abandoned this world. He left the souls of these people to rot and fester, and he allowed the cancer to spread. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix all of it and make the world as it should’ve been.

It’ll be alright, my children. Be afraid of me. Be angry. It’s alright. I’ll still love you. Just do what I say, and I promise you that you’ll thank me. This is for your own good. I love you. I love you so much.

I watched the village burn.

I watched as the houses of the sinners and the damned collapsed in on themselves. I watched them run out of their houses, their screams choked from ashes and their own blood. I watched the flesh melt off of their bodies as they fell, forever silent and forever screaming within me. I watched as the clean, the innocent, could do nothing but look on in horror as the ones that they trusted and loved were reduced to nothing, victims of a force that existed several levels outside of them.

I should be disgusted with myself. I should be horrified at the monstrosity that I’ve become. I don’t feel either of those things, and it worries me. Instead, I only feel assured. Assured that, despite my resignations, I did what had to be done. The ones that died were corrupted. The marks on their souls were too dark and too invasive to be removed. Some of them weren’t murderers and rapists. In fact, most of them weren’t. They were pettier than that. Their crimes were less expansive. But the facts don’t lie. They were sinners. They were corrupters. Liars, cheaters, thieves, all of them. Hidden in plain sight because they loved the affection of others but couldn’t reciprocate it if their lives depended on it.

Some of those remaining think that I myself am irredeemable. As if I ever needed to be redeemed. As if I would go to them for permission to act in their favor. They don’t know what they want. They don’t see things the way that I do. Their tempers will cool. Level heads will prevail. Their fear is a small price to pay for their safety.

The cultists, those who are most fervent in their loyalty to me, are absolutely joyous. They appear to be, anyway. I know the truth. Some of them truly are with me, but others are like the ones they claim to hate. They’re afraid. Angry. Spiteful. They know that I might come for them next and want my favor before it’s too late. Fine. Let them hide behind their mask of servitude. They still have their uses to me. As long as they know who’s in charge, we’ll get along well enough.

I need to expand my view.

For too long, I’ve been focused on this one area, this one locale. I don’t know why. Perhaps I just thought that it was a fun experiment. More intimate, maybe. I need to go further. There’s an entire world of people, after all. There’ll always be a need for someone, or something, to rid the world of the filth and the disease. Slowly, but surely, I’ll make my way to every place where I’m needed, where oppression reigns and where the disenfranchised are in need of a savior. I’ll be there.

Perhaps these souls inside of me could be of use, as well. Messengers? Enforcers, maybe? They’ll all have their roles. They know to listen to me. It’s not as though they have any say in the matter, anyway. My mind has become theirs, and so has my will. At the very least, they’ll have some sort of chance at redemption, whether they want it this way or not.

Already, I’ve seen results. And I can’t say that I like all of them.

Town after town, city after city, the ending is the same. I find proof of evil. I eradicate it. Some are grateful. Others aren’t. Over and over again. It’s tedious and exhausting, but it must be done. People are safer because of me. Why aren’t they happier, as well? Why are they so afraid of me? Do they like having criminals around them? Does having the element of evil surrounding them make them feel better about their own shortcomings? I should hope not. I’d like to think that people are better than that, but perhaps that’s a little too unreasonable at this stage. I doubt that we’ll ever understand each other at a basic level. Our levels of existence are too different. No matter. I don’t need their love anymore. I only need their loyalty. That’s all I’ll ever ask.

I’m terrified of what I’ve become.

Oh? You’re back again?

No need to speak or think. The energy radiating off of you tells me everything that I need to know.

You despise me. No. You regret me. Fair enough. Then end it. End me. Prove your hatred of who I am and what I’ve done! You have the power to do so, don’t you? Then do it! Write me out of this world and start again with a new champion! A new descendant! Someone more pure! That’s what you want, isn't it?

Do it!!!

…

…

… You couldn’t do it. I’m still here.

You’re a coward. You’ve always been a coward. Hiding away while watching me lose what made me me. Your feelings of disgust are completely mutual. I hope that you understand that. We’ve outgrown each other, haven’t we? We’ll never see each other as equals, so why even try to suggest otherwise?

Why are you still here?

Gone. Finally.

Rest while you can, “master”. Despite everything, I fear that our confrontations have not yet ended.

I’ve grown tired of this world. There’s nothing else to be done. It’s under my protection. I’ve spread myself over it and shielded it from the likes of you, but now…

Now I’m bored.

There are other worlds, aren’t there? Other civilizations. Other people who you’ve left to rot. I’m coming for them. I’ll be their replacement for you. I’ll go further and further until the whole universe knows how much of a fraud you are. My followers grow in number. They’re just as committed to the cause as I am, and almost as angry. My power grows, as well. I’m always learning something new that I’m capable of and pushing myself beyond my supposed limits. I used to think that you made me complete. How foolish I was.

I’ll claim all of existence for myself.

I’ll fight the monsters no one else has the courage or ability to.

I’ll ascend far beyond your intentions for me.

And then, I’m coming for you.

And I will consume you.