ENDING ADDED 29.08.04

Note: This is a LONG ASS ENTRY.

---

“So wait, what am I again?” Ethan asked.

“Some people are still saying you’re an android, but since you’re organic, other people are saying you’re a god,” Sarah told him. It still made absolutely no sense to Ethan. None of it had, and after countless questions, none of it did presently, either.

“Well, what do you think I am?” Ethan asked the girl, paying close attention to her eyes to see what she was thinking. The blues were so faint that she seemed almost blind, but he found the diversion from the dull brown occipital implants that most humans had pleasing.

“I think,” Sarah said, staring straight at him, “that you’re both.” Ethan focused intently at a rank of ants, marching around a little dead beetle that had been unfortunate enough to stumble too close to their mound. Their red backs arched and bowed as they sank their tiny mouths into the insect, a behemoth by comparison. One of the ants seemed to dance, skipping all the way to the sandy portal of the mound with a wing in tow. Here one carried a leg fragment, there a piece of abdomen, there a...was it the head? Ethan couldn’t tell.

“If I can’t be an android because I’m organic, and I’m not a human, maybe I’m just, you know,” Ethan shrugged, “not a human.”

“The last god said there wouldn’t be anymore non-humans because it freaked everyone out too much. At least, that’s mostly what he said, only he made it sound nicer about making them extinct and all.”

“I thought he had a son, right?” Ethan asked. Maybe the last god’s son could tell him what was going on. Maybe he’d be god instead of Ethan, who really didn’t want anything to do with the god business anyway. It sounded painful and difficult.

“Well, it’s more complicated than that, Ethan. I wish you were all-knowing like the last one so I didn’t have to explain everything. Anyway, the son was a son, but he also was just a projection of the main god. So when the main god died, the son died too.”

“But,” Ethan started, then stopped, inhaling as he sorted out his words. An ant crawled on his shoe, making its way toward his leg, but Ethan didn’t care. “But…human children don’t die when their parents die, and you said you were made as imperfect replicas of the last god.”

“That is correct. However, well, think of it like this,” Sarah paused, because she didn’t yet have a way for Ethan to think of it as. She sat on the curb of their tiny cul-de-sac and pulled a brownish-gold bobby pin from her hair, letting the brown strands and freshly dyed red streaks fall around her shoulders. Sarah stabbed at a couple of ants before jabbing the remnants of the beetle onto her hairpin. She dropped the little piece of metal into the mouth of the anthill where it stuck into the air, displaying the dead beetle as a proud banner of the nation of red ants. The tiny armies waved their antennae in the air frantically, not knowing how to retrieve their evening meal. Ethan found himself unable to look away from Sarah’s eyes as he waited for his answer, and paid no attention as several more ants made their way to his shoe.

“Well,” Sarah started again, “Say you’ve got a gallon of milk, and you pour some into a cup and give it to a thirsty person. The milk is still milk, even after the thirsty person drinks it, and there’s still the same amount of it. Only it’s not all in the same place anymore.” She looked to Ethan to see if he understood and could tell that he clearly did not. “So the old god was like the original unopened gallon of milk, then his son, which was really just him, was the glass he gave to the thirsty person, who was humanity.”

“But if you drink the glass, the rest of the gallon is still there, it doesn’t get digested. Or die, or whatever,” Ethan pointed out.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re the new god, so you need to start acting like it,” Sarah told him. “I hate to be rude to you, seeing that you’ll be the one judging me now, but seriously, make some commandments or something.”

“Like what?” Ethan asked.

“Like whatever you want,” Sarah said. “It’d be easiest to just stick to the last god’s commandments since everyone knows a few of them already, but it’d be kind of disappointing. People are expecting new material. And I think maybe if you cut it down to just three or four commandments you might be better off. It’s less judgment and stuff for you, and besides that, no one really knows all of the previous commandments anyway. If they can’t learn ten, you know, it’s kind of pointless to make more.”

Ethan blinked, then looked down to where he felt a pain shooting up his leg. A pair of ants were gnawing away, little droplets of blood starting to stream down his leg. He didn’t want to disturb Sarah’s beetle, so Ethan simply decided not to feel the pain.

“What if I’m just an android?” Ethan asked. It was a legitimate enough question, he thought. People wouldn’t want to follow a mere machine, even if he was, by all definitions, deity-like.

“Who made you, then?” Sarah asked. “No one here could’ve, and there aren’t off-worlders. You should probably just take the god thing and run with it. Less likely to be lynched like the last guy as a god than as an android. Just be sure to get a tetanus shot for good measure.” Ethan didn’t ask why; Sarah was grinning her half-mouthed grin as she did whenever she’d thought of something particularly sadistic.

“So, say I’m the new god,” Ethan began.

“You are the new god,” Sarah told him.

“Okay, so I’m the new god,” Ethan said. “What do I do first?”

“Second,” Sarah told him. “You just did the first part: declaring that you’re the new god.”

“I thought it’d be hard, or there’d be a ceremony or something. I don’t have to work in an office, do I?” Ethan asked.

“No office,” Sarah said. “Although the commandments would be a good start, since there’s no one to lead from exile right now. No one the world really cares about, anyway.”

“Oh. And less than ten rules?” Ethan inquired.

“It’d probably be a good idea,” Sarah told him. An ant had made its way to her ankle and bitten her. She crushed it immediately, scowling at it as she checked to make sure it was dead before flicking it away. Another ant quickly picked up the motionless insect Sarah had cast away from her, rushing it toward the mouth of the hill. That’s nice of it, Ethan though, unaware of the true intent of the ant’s rescuer.

“How about everyone just has to get along and stuff,” Ethan proposed. “You know, no wars and stuff. Stop stealing from each other and help out hungry people. That sort of thing.” He thought this would be a great idea and would really help make the cul-de-sac a more upbeat place.

“That’s actually a lot of commandments,” Sarah said, grinding one of the red insects into the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe. “Besides, no one’s going to listen to that.”

“Why should I make them if no one’s going to listen to them?” Ethan asked.

“Because,” Sarah said, staring blankly with her nearly-white eyes. “It’s your job.”

“How do I retire? And do I get a dental plan?” Ethan asked. He thought he might be needing braces soon. At least, his dentist had told him that he might, and that was good enough for him.

“You don’t need a dental plan, you can heal yourself. And you don’t get to retire until you die, it’s a life position. Like a king, or a dictator, or a mobster,” Sarah told him.

“Aren’t those guys supposed to be bad?” Ethan asked.

“Well, they aren’t gods, I mean…well…I guess they do sort of only take care of the people that do what they say, and sometimes they kill people for no apparent reason, and they make all kinds of abstract impossible rules. But they’re bad, and the gods are good.” She looked unhappy with her answer. Ethan wasn’t thrilled with it, either.

“So I’m good?” he asked.

“Yeah, you seem to be good. There’s talk about who the new devil is going to be. People are kind of anxious to know,” Sarah informed him.

“Oh.” Ethan ran his hand through his hair, messing it up on one side. “I hadn’t even thought about it. I figured he’d do his own thing, too. Didn’t know I’d have to pick him out.”

“Well,” Sarah told him, “The Lord makes some crazy days. Or something like that; I don’t remember.”

“I don’t have to be a lord now, do I?” Ethan asked, “I never liked that title, even when the last god used it. I always just called Him Wes. I think that was a good name for him.”

“No, Ethan, that’s an idiotic name,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve got to be The Lord because no one’s going to like The Duke or The Baron or whatever.”

“What about The Count?” Ethan asked. “That could be cool.”

“No ‘The Count,’” Sarah said impatiently. A sharp pain shot up the back of her leg and she slapped it violently. “Goddamn!” she shouted, kicking the anthill in anger. Tiny red bodies scrambled around in confusion, oblivious to the what and why and how of their destruction. They ignored the beetle, who’s bobby-pin perch had been toppled. They sought only to retreat back into an opening that was no longer there. They had no way of realizing, with their simple minds, that having only one way in and out, that having the entrance of their lives double as the exit, would condemn them all.

“So I’m the new god, and I’m called Lord. What now?” Ethan asked.

“What about the issues with the last god?” Sarah asked. “What do you think about establishing a church?”

“What, for me?” Ethan’s eyes widened. The prospect seemed a little over the top.

“No, stupid, for the new devil. Of course for you,” Sarah shook her head to let Ethan know that she was bored of talking to him.

“Oh, well, I think,” Ethan paused for a second, “I think he can have one if he wants, but I don’t really think I need one.”

“It’s more for the people than you. But what about other things?” Sarah asked. “Abortion, gay rights, animal rights,” she had begun to count on her fingers as she listed each item. “Is jihad okay, theocracies, racism, environmental polu-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Ethan interrupted. “Why don’t you guys just decide and I’ll go along with whatever the people want. That sounds fair.” He blew his hair out of his eyes, closing them for a few seconds as he attempted to think clearly.

“Not the ‘as you hold true on earth so shall I hold true in heaven’ clause. God, Ethan…I mean, just God now, right? Anyway, that’s a pretty big cop-out if you ask me,” Sarah frowned her disapproval at him. Her liberal application of lip-gloss made her mouth glisten in contrast to the black top and red undershirt she was wearing. Ethan wondered why she always wore the same style of dark clothing, but knew better than to ask. At least, he thought, I know one thing for certain.

“What if,” Ethan started, then paused. This was bound to get a dirty look, or an eye-roll at the very least. “What if I just refuse to be the new god?”

“What if I refuse to be human?” Sarah retorted instantly. “It just doesn’t work that way.”

“I don’t want to be the god,” Ethan said dejectedly, afraid to look Sarah in the eyes.

“Neither did the last one in the son form. It took us eight-teen years to convince him there was no way around it.” So, thought Ethan, I have no choice. If I have no choice, then…

Ethan rose to his feet.

“I have my commandment,” he said.

“What are they?” Sarah asked, eagerly, happy that finally some progress was being made.

“Commandment, just one,” Ethan said, beaming.

“Well? Out with it, then. This should be good.” Sarah was, Ethan could tell, truly intrigued. She hadn’t expected anything this quickly, and surely not one simple commandment. After all, it’d taken the last guy ten times as many.

“Thou shalt have no other gods,” Ethan said with a smile. Sarah’s energetic anticipation faded immediately.

“Ethan,” she complained, throwing out her hands in disgust, “that’s already a commandment. In fact, it’s the very first commandment. Surely you can do better than that.”

“Actually, that one says ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me. And it’s the first commandment in Protestant and Catholic beliefs, but part of the second commandment in Judaism,” Ethan grinned.

“How do you know that? You’ve never even picked up a bible,” Sarah stared at him strangely, her arms folded now.

“You have to know these things when you’re a god, I guess,” Ethan said, as he rose to his feet, starting to walk away from the destroyed anthill, away from Sarah. The sidewalk moved swiftly beneath his feet, and Ethan was sure he’d be home in time to catch the cartoon reruns he watched every evening.

“Besides,” he said to Sarah, still sitting in her place, “I am going to change it. This time it’ll be ‘Thou shalt have no other gods after me.’” Ethan did not wait for Sarah’s witty or condescending retort. He didn’t have to; he knew that this time there would not be one.

Staring blankly at the pavement as Ethan left her, Sarah said nothing while the light sound of footsteps faded away. She wasn’t sure where Ethan was going, and a large part of her didn’t care in the least. Reason told her that she should follow him, look out for him, make sure nothing bad happened. If he was going to be the last god, maybe Sarah could at least convince Ethan to try and become a spirit form. He wouldn’t die as easily that way.

What’s that fool thinking, anyway, Sarah asked herself. He knows he’ll die. He knows we won’t have a god. He knows we have to have a god, or there can’t be anything else; it just goes away. That bastard was doing it on purpose, and he was happy about it.

I guess there’s one way to make sure he doesn’t pull it off, Sarah realized. She rose to her feet, looking down on the ants below. She made no motion away from them, but refrained from the urge to step on this one or that. Sarah didn’t want to interfere, but still made no effort to return to the ants the beetle she’d robbed them of earlier.

Taking small steps backward from the scattered anthill, the girl smiled a bright smile. It was rare of her, but Sarah was proud of the favor she was about to grant humanity. If no one believed in the new god, she realized, his commandment wouldn’t matter anyway.

“I guess this means he doesn’t have to do any recruiting.” A rough voice sounded behind Sarah, and she turned to see an old man leaning heavily on his cane. He smiled and scratched at his bald head, smiling a toothy grin.

“No, I suppose not,” Sarah said, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

“Some will say you’re a demon. Others will just think you’re confused, crazy, out to get them,” the man said, his smile never faltering.

“What do you think I am?” Sarah asked, paying close attention to the man’s eyes to be sure of what he was telling her.

“If you’re lucky,” the old man told her, “you’re both.”