The Making of a Psychopathic God

“I was once a man . . . not so different from you.”

The words slipped off my tongue lacking the condescension I had intended.

“I know, my lord.” Came his reply.

He knew? What did this poor slob know? He knew nothing.

I . . . I know everything. Rather, I can make them think I know everything. Close enough.

“I had gone to bed slightly parched,” I began to recite the tale I had told hundreds of times, “It was a hot summer day . . .”

“Yes, my lord,” the beggar took advantage of my pause. “I know the story. I have heard tell of how you woke to find water dripping from the ceiling, how it quenched your thirst and how mysteriously it vanished.”

“I had summoned it. Even unintentionally. That is how great my powers are.”

This story was a vague facsimile of the truth. There was water but it quenched anger more than thirst. That sordid fool never bothered me again.

“Perhaps you can explain to me one thing,” I pause to build the tension, enjoying the feel of his rising hope, reveling in anticipation of knocking it back down. The power to crush a spirit is truly the greatest power of all. “Why ever would I do something for a maggot such as you?”

He sputters searching for an answer. “But . . . you said . . . once you were not so different. I thought you might understand my situation.”

“Once perhaps, but I am no longer the man I once was. I am as unlike you as day is unlike night, matter unlike emptiness, life, death. You are nothing. While I, I am everything.” A lightning bolt followed by a rippling crack of thunder punctuates my sentence.

I hate this kind of nonsense. I was no common man. I am not unable to sympathize with this man’s troubles but even at my weakest I was so much more than he could ever be. A nothing like him could never wrest such power from the hands of fate. I deserve this power. I suffered for it. It is my right. I am wisest. While I am generous with my gifts, I am careful to keep everything in check. I can only do so much or who know what evil could be unleashed. I must pick and choose, decided and conquer for the good of all mankind. Only I know what is best. No regular mortal could face the challenges I must. Greedy and lazy the lot of them.

Well, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, as they say.

“At any rate, I will help you.” I declare. “You have asked me no great thing.”

I snap my fingers, unnecessarily, of course, just for show. A basket appears at the beggar’s feet. He bows low, thanks me profusely and leaves.

I should not be so generous. It only encourages them. These small, pitiful, powerless creatures ought to make do on their own, as I always had. No one should have things handed to them.

It is so satisfying to flaunt my dominion and I am so kind, so generous. Like a loving father, I daresay.

They owe me so much more than their feeble minds can comprehend. They ought to pay me back, yet there isn’t much they could offer. I don’t require anything from anyone.

They could work for me, though I don’t need them to.

I can make them suffer to prove their value, hurt them to prove their strength, all the while demanding they shower me with praise and honor just to let them live. I could force them to worship me, to suffer, bleed and even die for me.

I could promise rewards for them in the next life, the life after life. They don’t know any better. They would believe every word.

And you know what?

I think I shall.