[SP] Genesis Untold

I’ve always found that you can tell a lot about a human by how they sin. And I’m not talking about big, horrible, inconceivable sin like a genocide, or a suicide bombing, or a mass shooting. Those always have an agenda. It’s about power or land or proving a point. No, it’s all about the small, almost insignificant sins people commit that tell me a lot about them. It’s about that choice to flirt with your best friend’s girlfriend or go next door and set a flaming bag of shit on the neighbor’s door that really says a lot. Maybe you’re an opportunist or you’re vengeful. Or maybe you made that conscious decision to stab George with a pencil in the 7th grade because you’re a guy who can only take so much crap before you have to show them the kind of man you really are. There are a lot of sins and a lot of revelations. I’ve seen them since the sun’s rays first kissed this planet.

So now I watch Dinah because I need to prepare for something and she’ll make a fine soldier in this war for the soul of the planet, but first I simply need her to sin. Her life the past few weeks has been a series of small allowances that she’s given to herself in preparation for this moment. First it was petty theft. It was shoplifting precisely 11 candelabras for the ritual because humans swear that it’s a sacred number in the occult world. Multiplying it by three, the number of the supposedly “blessed” trinity, they get the most sacred of numbers— 33, which is a multiple of 666, the highest level of freemasonry, and a multitude of other numerical coincidences they hold dear. They have such wild imaginations. In truth, it means absolutely nothing, just the number after 10, before 12, but most importantly, the number that follows a 7 when I want a small cup of coffee and an expired hot dog, but who am I to snuff out anyone’s creativity? Nonetheless, that was her first act.

The second allowance was bolder, darker. The ritual called for her to sap the blood of vagrant souls; those whose vessels know no home or peace. She would need enough to do what is ultimately some small arts and crafts painting, but the task proved easier than she thought. Poking a few people with a needle is surprisingly easy when your home town is in the midst of a crippling opiate epidemic. Any given acquaintance supplied her with a limp carcass strewn about the sofa as gravity evacuated their bodies and they let the satisfying high take them to more comforting places. The third act, though, that was the real act. It’d really show how much sand she possessed for her master. For weeks she sat on the park bench outside her wreck of a building in the freezing cold, surveying and fighting off the pervert junkies looking for a warm body to share a night with. Still, she stuck to her plan, searching out the shit fathers who would walk their babies through the park, but turn their backs to make some secretive deals that almost always involved the exchange of money for contraband. Some of them even used the strollers to block the view. I love humans, but they have painfully stupid vices. There was one, Tony T., who would stop at the same spot every day looking for a fix. He’d always leave the stroller unattended for around 30 seconds while he walked behind a hulking tree that conveniently blocked the view of any passing law enforcement, so she knew she had to act fast. Like clockwork, he appeared and vanished behind the tree. Dinah timed her walk perfectly as to nonchalantly walk by the stroller, pick up the child, and abscond with him as she muffled any potential cries into the breast of her jacket. She did not disappoint.

For as long as I can remember, and I remember literally every detail of my life, people paid tribute to me in the most gruesome ways. I’ve been painted in a far too negative light by my detractors for millennia, but certain…personalities have taken to me regardless. I’m here to change that today, but I needed someone who did not possess the zeal or excitement of some of my prior “followers”. What they follow is not me, but warped illusion of me. All the sacrifices: the goats, the children, the blood, none of it is me but an image of me propagated by those who would see their agenda shine in the heavens while a true protector of humanity rots down below. Let that lie rot up there with the filth in Heaven.

Dinah’s importance doesn’t lie in her in her willingness to go through the motions of these false rituals in dedication to me, but the reluctance she has to fight to go through with it anyway. She doesn’t fight it because of some bullshit belief that Luciferian ideals should conquer this world. That’s Hot Topic goth girl horseshit. It’s her hatred of Him. She goes through with it because she despises Him and everything he’s put her through; it’s for abandoning her. It’s for taking her father away when she was supposed to be finishing school, for having to look after a mother crippled by depression and pill popping rather than looking for colleges, for losing their home and moving them into this shit neighborhood. It was for the rape, the fantasies of death, and the realization that life everlasting was the biggest lie promised to man. It was because turning to the dark side just made more sense.

“Ugh,” Dinah almost gagged as she smeared the shape of a pentagram into the unfurnished, warped wooden floors of the abandoned studio she squatted in, “this is so gross and that baby won’t shut the fuck up.” She set up the candelabras to my liking, or whatever she believes my liking is, symmetrically arranged around the pentagram on the ground. The air was thick with symphonic smell of metal and wax and feces that did not help settle the war raging between illness and anxiety in her stomach. Meanwhile the baby unrelentingly wailed in the background, further unnerving my would-be priestess.

“Alright, come here you little shit machine,” she whispered to the child almost sympathetically, “trust me, I’m doing you a favor. This world is cold and no matter how many layers you wear, you’ll always end up freezing to death.”

She justified her actions to herself as she slipped into a dark, hooded robe (how cliché) and held the baby close to her bosom. A sharpened blade laid on a podium in the center of the circle, but she could not lay a finger on it until she recited the cursed worlds of old. Or some dumb rule some guy with a lot of imagination made up a long time ago. If I had to guess, the likely culprit was Crowley. He was always a nut and always looking for a reason to justify his sexual exploits.

“Cum sanguinis innocentis: et ego invocabo te domine tenebris,” Dinah closed here eyes and recited the words in an almost monotonal hymn.

There’s really no guiltier pleasure I have than listening to poorly spoken Latin. Her grammar is way off and her pronunciation is garbage, but so is the language. I actually prefer it much more dead than alive. Maybe I’m just biased, but my name had been slandered in the language for centuries. Dinah grabbed her knife eagerly, almost as possessed by those false worlds, shut her eyes and brought the knife to the infant’s throat. Then: hesitation.

Time can feel like it’s standing still in moments like these, faced with difficult, life-altering decisions. It’s rare that time actually does stand still, but that’s a benefit I can happily offer her. She doesn’t need it to never go through with what she’s doing. She was never going to do it. Do I know it because of who I am? No, I’ve never prided myself on the powers of the omniscient. I know because I know humans. I know this girl’s soul. Compassion is as much a vital tool as hatred. It’s how I knew she was the one, but I had to be sure. I watch the infant dissipate into ash atom by atom, every shred of its reality being carried through the open window through the ebon shroud of night. Dinah is coming to just in time.

“Wha-, what did you do to the kid?” she questioned me as she stumbled back towards the wall. Her hands gripped the hilt of her dagger but shook uncontrollably.

“You were going to kill the child in my hallowed name,” I took a step closer to her as she began to swallow down big gulps of breath, “perhaps I just wanted to finish the job.”

Dinah swipes her blade clumsily at me, but still I must advance. I must admit this part of the process is a little tedious, but fun. She knows who I claim I am, but she doesn’t believe it. It’s a shame I have to toy with her until she buys it.

“I-I wasn’t going to kill him! Get out of here, whoever you are! I swear I’ll tear out your insides! Get out!” she swipes and swipes, though still I advance until the tip of her ritual dagger pierces a significant portion of my skin. Well, what I suppose passes as these disposable flesh bags at least.

“You know who I am, my dear,” she’s trembling and still my false flesh passes through the dagger as if I’m made of softened butter, “just as I know who you are, Dinah King, daughter Richard and Kory King, both deceased. A beautifully put together creature of 24 years who has lived the ill-begotten experiences of a 60-year-old war veteran. Frequent sexual abuse, homelessness, drug abuse, petty theft, kidnapping, and an absolutely lovely hatred of our “lord.”

Dinah begins to speak yet no words escape her lips as the blood from my open wound covers her clenched together hands like syrup heavy handedly poured over a sundae.

“I get this all the time, my queen. Star struck and all. Allow me to introduce myself by the names man have bestowed on me: Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, and so on. Then there are the cute titles like “the betrayer,” “the tempter,” and “dark lord.” Those are the names you’ve given me, but not the name I choose. My real name contains characters so far beyond your comprehension, it would take several centuries for you to etymologize just the first letter, and that is IF you unlock a few of the more obvious cosmic secrets,” As I begin to slip free of the blade, her eyes slide down from meeting with mine, drawn to the open wound as the atoms comprising my flesh and clothing begin to dance and stir to unite once more, rebuilding my skin and saving me a few dollars on a new shirt, “All that said, I really like the name Monday.”

She motions to wipe her blood-drenched hands on her shirt, but nothing smears but the dirt that already coated her hands and the walls of the room. The panic sets in and her arts dart around the room, almost certainly looking for the child she once threatened with the tip of her blade.

“The child, what did you, how? Where?” her eloquence eludes her, but it’s understandable. She is face-to-face with the embodiment of sin and evil now, right?

“Is he dead?”

“Dinah,” her eyes meet mine once again as her adrenaline begins to adjust to the situation, “did you ever question why there was no commotion after you left? No sirens, no yelling, nothing.”

“I…I guess I didn’t consider it. I just ran, you know. I just stole a damn baby,” her head lowered at the revelation, almost shocked she never notice the stunning silence surrounding such a rotten act.

Her head lifts at the touch of my fingers to her chin. I need her to look at me when I tell her that the whole child sacrifice schtick is his thing. He built a reputation out of the death of infants before he sent down his own spawn. There was a good century or two where I thought it softened him, but I realized he just found new, more creative ways to lay waste to human beings: he inspired them to do it to each other.

“So, he’s not real,” there was a sense of relief in her eyes, though the gravity of everything happening still weighed heavily on her, “but I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? Why me of all people?”

For all the time I’ve taken to assure this moment could happen, I never quite took the time to articulate why we’re doing this. I could tell her about how we share this profound hatred of God. How we’ve both been betrayed and abandoned and made fools out of. How could she possibly understand? Still, I do my best to express the reasons why.

“What is it that you know about me, Dinah King? What does history say about your ‘dark lord’?”

“That…that you’re the villain,” she takes a second to ponder her choice of words before continuing on, “not the villain, maybe, but you’re everything he’s not. He’s eternal good and you’re evil. That he’s peace and order and you’re war and chaos. He inspires good and you inspire wickedness.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her succinct summary of my eons of existence. So simple, so black and white, and so wrong. That was his work, though. He has spent his whole life suppressing my existence so that his would be infused with power and praise, “You, then? Why do you follow me?”

“Because you’re everything he’s not. There’s nothing good in this god forsaken world anyway, so we may as well send it all down to Hell, right? Burn with you and everyone else!” I admired the fire in her voice, but this was everything wrong with their perception of me. It’s the greatest hypocrisy my so-called followers never realize they’re committing.

“God, Iehova, whatever you want to call him…he’s made fools of us both then, hasn’t he?

Dinah looked to me with her expression changing from anxiousness with a hint of fear to confusion, “Fools…of us?”

“It’s right in front of all of you, but the truth is too plain for any of you to grasp. Have you ever realized that everything you say I am, everything everyone knows I am is based on knowledge bestowed down by him? I am evil because he says I am evil. I am chaotic because he says I am. I am the corruption of the world and humanity because he says I am, and whether you hate me or love me, it is for those reasons alone,” her expression is unchanged as I tell her this. Is it another lie from the deceiver? She has dedicated her life to me, but it’s different now. Here I am. Is this another trick from a trickster? I feel the questions drum off the raging beat of her heart and rattle off her shaking bones. Words won’t be enough and never could, but there’s another way.

“Here,” my hand extends towards the girl as she continues to grasp the new reality she’s been introduced to, “take my hand. I’ll show you what I mean.”

Dinah stares at physical invitation reluctantly. Perhaps she thinks I’m here to drag her soul down to the depths of Hell, or maybe I’m not Satan, but some lower demon here to feast on her flesh and this is just some sort of trick. Maybe I’m none of these things. Maybe I’m another in a long line of humans that’s drugged her and is having my way with her and this is just her memories coping with what’s happening. Her life was a twisting road of misery, she thought, but she placed her hand in mine anyway. It could either be another miserable act or the start of something better, different.

“Where will we go?” her voice shook with a concoction of fear and wonder. For the first time in a long time, she had something to look forward to, even if it was certain death.

“Where any story has to start, my dear. The beginning.”

As her fingers intertwined with mine the physical world seemed to melt away. It wasn’t painful or horrifying, but peaceful. It was peaceful in the same way we watch wax melt off the tip of a candle and ooze down the side until it reaches the plate it’s resting on. It all builds up on the bottom like it’s hardened white magma, but there’s this chaotic beauty to it. The world looked like that now down below us. Just running, oozy matter, but it was a wonderful mess of colors, lights, people, and just…stuff. Dinah stared in awe of it all, but she did not fear this. No one was here to harass her or disappoint her. We watched the world melt away and were surrounded by the vastness of the dark. No sound or light, no matter or mass, no oxygen or water. There was nothing but nothing.

“Where are we?” she wondered to herself as our bodies floated through infinity. When it’s this silent, I can hear what she’s thinking.

“I told you, Dinah. This is the beginning,” she looked over at me, understandably still confused, “so, is God gonna create this in 7 days now? Is there gonna be a big bang? This is just nothing. It’s kinda nice, but it’s nothing.”

I could tell her that the Universe is actually the most powerful being that exists. I could tell her that people got it all wrong thinking that God created the world, and the universe, and the galaxy, and literally everything, but I could have told her back in the apartment. It’s time for her to see.

My hand gently pushes her eyelids close so she can see more clearly the events that created us all. She can’t see the Universe, but senses It because while it is a being, It is beyond physical constrictions. Its aura, however, is undeniable. It pulls on those who realize Its existence like nails to a magnet. She senses Its loneliness and boredom; Its infinite and limitless power, but nothing fulfilling born of it. It is wise and she feels the gears of thought turning within it. Eons pass, but time is just a construct of mankind, so these billions of years are but moments of the Universe deciding how to best use its time and powers. Suddenly, the darkness almost explodes with light, as a limitless number of white, gaseous lights pepper the darkness far beyond what Dinah or even I could ever physically see. Stars were born first because the Universe conceptualized beauty and these were the first items to represent such an novel idea. It is why poetry is littered with imagery on stars, but humans will never know this; it’s the only thing It has ever directly inspired humans to do, to write about the stars. Some stars grow larger than others. This is a mistake, but Universe isn’t a shamed of mistakes. It just changes the course and adjusts to them. It loves this mistake because of the warmth and the light and realizes It needs to create something to benefit from such an accidental gift.

We feel more explosions abound as heavenly bodies made of rock and water and fire form around the larger stars. It’s messy and the Universe has all this rocky debris floating through space, but that’s beautiful too. Still, this is all not enough. Out of all the stars and planets floating around, It picks the third rock from the sun to grace with Its experimentation with life. The ground swelled with grass and hills, mountains and plains, volcanoes and glaciers. It thought of every detail of land and sea we know, but it was still not enough. These things lived, but could not enjoy. It has a hell of an imagination though. The ground and the sea began to birth real, breathing life as everything from the tiniest termite and plankton to the towering giraffes and elephants began to roam the planet. The Universe was pleased, but it was not enough. They could enjoy but they couldn’t think, not like the Universe could.

That’s where we come in.

“Wait, so the Universe created you and God,” she thought as we found our way somewhere above the atmosphere of the Earth, “and you, let me guess, are the actual creator of humanity?” It was a funny thought, but I implored her to just keep watching.

The Universe thought and thought and reached into the furthest corners of wisdom and imagination until the concept of a man and woman entered Its mind. It worked out the kinks and all the wonderful physical mechanisms that humans enjoy of each other and they were placed on Earth. Yes, technically man predates God and Lucifer. Funny how that works. Regardless, the Universe was pleased and knew they would enjoy the fruits of his labor. Its quite innocent in its almightiness, really. That’s where we come in. The humans were made in the Universe’s image so much in that they could think, but knew they were far from perfect, which the Universe also appreciated the beauty of. However, It could not stand to watch these imperfections at their worst, and so created two curators for the world and henceforth promised to not involve Itself with the details, leaving it to us.

Dinah opened her eyes to find us floating above what the “good book” calls Eden. Truthfully, it had no name. It was just a beautiful corner of the earth as beautiful as any other corner. Mankind hadn’t laid a finger on it yet and maintained the pureness the Universe created it with.

“We were tasked with giving humanity guidance when needed; sort of spiritual advisors,” I told her as she opened her eyes to physically gaze on the infinite beauty of the planet at the time, “and the Universe imbued us with a fraction of its knowledge and a whole lot of power. The Earth was ours to take care of and, for a while, we did. For the first of what would be considered a couple of Earth years, we just observed the first two. We marveled at how they figured out how to live. They rationalized eating and drinking. They experimented with fire. They sang songs and made love. It was a trip to watch. I loved them, I truly did. I had a great appreciation of all they accomplished with absolutely no guidance from us. ‘God’ took great issue with that.”

“He didn’t like that you loved humanity,” she asked, not quite grasping the situation at hand.

“He didn’t give a damn about me, other than the fact that I possessed the same power as him. He hated that they didn’t need us. He rationalized that we were created to be needed by them. He feared that they would eventually figure it out, figure us out. That they would fathom a way to become more powerful than us and exterminate us. He tried to convince me that we should suppress their will, that we needed to ensure our survival. I rebutted that this isn’t about us and the Universe created us to take care of them, but it fell on deaf ears.”

We came to hover over the infamous tree that cursed humanity. Seeing it again filled me with mixed emotions. The tree was my doing. I had infused the apples with knowledge. It was but a fraction of ours, but I became increasingly concerned that God would bring them harm and wanted to arm them with something.

“So the part about the serpent isn’t true, I assume,” she was starting to grasp that things are not as they were told, but some things were true, but twisted.

Almost as if to save me the trouble, a serpent slithered its way through the branches of the tree, with a single fang penetrating a couple of the apples hanging from the branches. Not venom, but knowledge flowed from the fang through the core and juices of the apple. This form didn’t represent anything evil back then. It didn’t represent anything at all. I thought they were the Universe’s loveliest creatures and creatures that had the ability to move silently without detection. God, to his credit, is no fool. At the time I thought very little of the rain storm that pummeled the area as I hid in the tree, but that was his contribution to the humans, as we’ll see.

Dinah watched as I offered the first two the apple and frowned. She sensed the disappointment I felt in watching my two favorite humans begin to realize shame and fear. Adam turned first, slapping me away with the fear that I would harm him. He feared me and any snake-shaped creature and passed that fear down to every generation of humanity save for the few that were able to overcome it. He began to feel shame for his naked body, but more so began to feel ownership for his companion. He hollered at her how he was the one who did all the hard labor, how his strength is what kept them alive. She felt nothing but subservience. She felt only weakness and fear of him and that she should live in his service. Unequal. It was disgusting. They gained that knowledge he infused, yes, but it came at the cost of their innocence.

“But you were powerful! You’re a creation of the Universe! Why didn’t you stop this,” she gazed down to see the imagery shifting through different scenes. That of Adam beating Eve, of him using her body to give him sons. He also saw Eve toiling to keep him happy while tending to their kids. He would enjoy some happiness while she had none, “why did you leave them like this?”

“The Universe believes in balance, but once it’s upset something has to pay a certain “price” in return. Once the first two turned on me, God appeared to them and showed them his great power. They were in awe and fear of him and offered their lives to his service. Them, their children, their children’s children all loved God and he became increasingly more powerful as people dedicated their lives to him. I just could not compete with his growing power and influence. He was rewarded with a lifetime in the immortal plain, this concept of “Heaven,” while I spent the rest of my time here among you, the humans I loved so much. He thought of it as a punishment, but I made the best of it.”

I feel her thoughts scramble like the scattering of an army ants at the sound of a giant thud. This experience had certainly come crashing down hard on her. Yesterday, God the Good vs Satan the Bad was the norm she recognized. Now, she’s not so sure. That means she’s listening and, perhaps, beginning to believe. She wonders if this is my true face. What does God look like then? Was he born as old as he’s always drawn? Where are my horns?

“You can ask, you know. I’m taking the liberty of sharing your thoughts, but you can ask me anything, my dear. This is an educational experience, after all.”

“What does he look like then? What do you look like?”

“We’re all made from nothing and are nothing, physically speaking. We take whatever form we wish. The imagery used to describe me, while quite imaginative, is an idea passed down from the great big jackoff in the sky,” she can’t help but smirk at my oh so witty little dig at the real betrayer, “and aside from the serpent, I’ve never been anything other than human. Of course, I’ve used several faces throughout my lifetime, but I thought it best to blend in for some…tactical purposes. God on the other hand projects this imagery of the wise old man, almost as taunting the Wisdom of the Universe. I haven’t seen him since before the tree, but I’ve heard he appears as monstrous as his persona; a horrific and unimaginably terrifying appearance in defiance of how people actually view him. Ironic, because he’s pretty horrible in the Old Testament.”

“You mentioned blending in before,” she crossed her arms in front of her, almost to demand an appropriate response, “for tactical purposes. What does that mean? You’ve fought him? I thought you weren’t powerful enough.”

The world began to whirl past us once more. Images of time and places passed us as we were standing in the foreground of a slide show. She stared off in bewilderment as centuries of time passed us in a blink of an eye until we landed somewhere familiar to her only from history books and movies. The series of beautifully symmetrical marble columns coupled with the limestone structures and metopes would be familiar to anyone. Currently it is a shadow of its former self and merely acts as camera fodder for tourists, but that is the present. We stand at the Parthenon during the peak of the pantheon’s rule in the ancient world, as worshipers travel from all over the isles to worship the goddess Athena.

“It’s true. There is no way I could have matched God in power or physicality, but I could slow him down.”

We touch down upon the ground this time and take a walk through the flawlessly built ancient structure, though none of its inhabitants or visitors know we’re there. It’s somewhat endearing to see her soak in the moment. Seeing this architectural marvel would have been a fantasy for her otherwise, but yet here she is, seeing it in its full glory. Only she could see the statue Athena Parthenos in it’s full, physical glory instead of the cheap knock off in Nashville. It was a wonderful site, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty for great burden I would have to place on her shoulders down the line.

“You, you did it all this. The Greek gods are yours, that means so are the Norse, the Egyptians, the Aztecs…all of it,” she paused for a moment to look and admire the statue of Athena once more, “but they were never real. They couldn’t slow him down for too long. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out.”

She was wrong there. The Parthenon faded away as Mt. Olympus erected itself underneath or feet. Divine beings enjoyed the paradise of an environment that should have otherwise been cold and frigid, but instead was comprised of winding roads blessed with fruitful fields of grapes, and wine and infinite livestock for decadent meals. God’s corruption only went so far back then, so when the locals began to worship different beings in reverence for the gifts that the world had naturally been giving them, I selected various humans to take upon their names and responsibilities. They actually had very limited power, especially since there were so many of them to split it between, but it was power that wouldn’t go to him.

“Wait, they’re real?! Holy shit! Can we see them back on Earth? I want to meet Zeus, or Hades. Oh shit, were you Hades? What was Hercules like? Was he really that strong,” she excitedly went on and on, “oh wait, damn. the Titans got them didn’t they?”

“Well, I’m afraid they’re all dead now,” the news spilled from my lips and deflated her, “as they were human after all. They enjoyed immortality just as long as mankind worshipped them. It’s why you see so many structures missing or defaced or barely standing. God made sure to do away with anything of theirs he could. He wanted them to be forgotten, so he stomped them out.”

“I still don’t understand,” she uttered under her breath as she ran a hand through her reddish-orange locks, “this is all so much. How can I live with knowing all this while others don’t? I still don’t understand what the point of all this is.”

“Well, if you tell anyone, they’ll call you a lunatic and your musings will only be taken on extreme conspiracy theory forums. Much like all this, I have one more scene I must show you.”

As she blinked, we ended up transported outside a small barn in Bethlehem. Surely, she’s recognized it from the scenes constructed outside of churches during Christmas or from the miniatures adorning the fireplace of decorated homes. It was almost as those displays projected this most “holy” of moments. The child’s surrogate parents huddled around a dirty, old manger where the filthy little spawn lay. Surrounding them were many shepherds who followed a star in hopes of meeting their savior, three rich old men with nothing better to do with their time, a kid with a drum who should have been home instead of beating on his instrument in the middle of the night, and a bunch of sheep who were trying to get some sleep, but instead got a bunch of unwelcome guests.

“This seems like an odd place to be, given the circumstances,” she gazed around nervously. We traveled to the beginning of time and yet she is uneasy about the so-called “son of man” sleeping in front of us, “won’t he be angry if we’re here.”

I picked up a rock and hurled it at the manger, watching it phase right through.

“Just like in every other instance, we are here as observers. He won’t know we’re here because here happened centuries ago. I do want you to tell me what you notice about those gentlemen surrounding the child.”

She sent an observing gaze over to the child in the manger and his visitors, studying them, their appearance, their gifts, or anything else that may give away some commonality.

“I don’t know, they’re all men I guess? Isn’t that like… not uncommon?” she looked up at me, hopeful for positive feedback, but I simply had to shake my head at her attempt.

“Good try, but you were looking for some feature they all shared in common. Perhaps a little misleading, but what I want you to notice is how these men share nothing in common. A little-known fact about those three men is that they were each representatives from warring countries further east. They should’ve hated each other for the atrocities committed by each other’s countrymen, but here they were, peaceful and bonded together. Then there’s the shepherds, all poor and unwashed, yet the rich men welcomed them with open arms.”

“Are you saying, “ Dinah began to question, “that they were actually uniting because the son of God was born?”

“I’m saying that the son of Mary and Joseph of Nazareth, who was labeled the son of God, and raised to believe he was the son of God, fooled everyone into uniting under God’s banner. Now he controlled a great many people who fight and worship and die for his amusement, including that poor sap who had to die on the cross, get resurrected from his peaceful eternal rest by that asshole, and die again.”

Dinah’s eyes widened at the revelation that Jesus really was a child conceived by human means and not the narrative that God twisted to corrupt the masses.

“But the miracles, the water and wine crockery, how did he do that then,” she posed the question, but she knew how.

“He discovered I was the inspiration behind the thriving of the different pantheons and decided he would replicate it. He already had the numbers as far as followers went, they were just far too scattered. Now, he could assure a unification of his followers. Unification meant power as well as power in numbers. Power in numbers? That leads to the snuffing out of any straggler worshiping of idols and “false” gods. So, his whispers reached and inspired many men, who spread the word of the birth of the son of God. Who the son was didn’t matter. He chose a man and woman who were exceptionally devoted and gifted them with a son he would imbue a fraction of a fraction of his power into. He “blessed” them with a lifetime of watching their son suffer, endure torture, and die. Only God knows if his soul finds peace at all.”

The next time she blinked we ended up back at the beginning, but not of time. We were back in the dingy old apartment, but I took the liberty of giving it a modest face lift. Gone was the dirt-coated walls and rotting floor boards. The daylight from the outside was allowed to shine through the opened curtained windows into a newly furnished apartment befitting that of a twenty something year old out on her own. She barely recognizes the place, but knows this was the site of a potential child sacrifice just a few hours earlier. Or was it days? Weeks? She has no idea and it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the choice she’ll make today.

“What do we do?” she asked so inclusively. It brought an involuntary smile to my face to know that this paid off. Sure, I could have “inspired” her to do almost anything, but it’s important to me that she make this choice. This incoming war isn’t about cleaning up my name. That’s but the cherry on top. This is about dragging his through the mud, about showing humanity what their God really is. It’s about them taking back their will and realizing they’re better than him.

“There’s a reason I had to show you Bethlehem,” I told her as I inched closer to my first recruit. Arguably, my most important, “and it’s far beyond revealing that Jesus was just a man.”

“I know you want to do something about this gigantic lie,” she said as she struggled to understand her place in all of this, “but why me? I still don’t understand. What could I possibly contribute to all this? It’s so much bigger than me.”

“Your hatred of him drew me to you more than anyone I’ve ever know to despise him, Dinah,” the words spill from my eyes as much as they do from my lips as I place a hand on her shoulder, “People say they hate him all the time when a family member dies too young or some tragedy occurs, but no one has ever held such a consistently burning hatred for him as you have. But in you I also sense that innocence of the first two. You have this compassion for others regardless of all you’ve been through. For as much as you know this world is horrible and cold, you would have never slaughtered that child. Never.”

Her eyes welled up and she looked up once more as she spoke, “why did you show me Bethlehem?”

“The birth of Christ united all of his followers. It was an objectively successful moment for him in significantly stacking the odds,” I made sure she looked me in the eyes once more as I needed her to understand the importance and the weight of my request.

“What if we could do the same thing? What if we united the atheists, the agnostics, the undecided, and the left behind? We need an army, but I refuse to make the choice for humanity. We need a symbol of love and hatred. A profound love of man and hatred of god. You are more than a soldier my dear, you could be a quiet queen,” I paused for a second and looked down as I placed a hand over her womb, “and what I ask of you is something grueling and difficult, but it could change the course of the world. Say yes, and we’ll begin this war. Say no, and I’ll journey to find another, but another that will never be as perfect as you.”

I expected a great deal of melodrama to form her reaction, instead she remained calm. She wiped a few tears from her face and recalled a time when both her parents were alive and she was happy. She never felt that happiness again until today because today she felt as she finally had purpose in this world. She was more than a warm body or the next cold one in the ghetto. As I felt the willingness in her soul, she began to feel the formation of something deep inside of her. She imagined this is hole the Universe felt when the vast nothingness become filled with life. It felt like swirls of butterflies inside of her drifting on wings of love and hatred. They cocooned themselves once more to morph into something this world has never seen before. Something that would lead this world to the last great war.

Submitted January 12, 2019 at 08:31PM by frediator http://bit.ly/2smdomP