Spatter

I Am God

When asked, some would say that everything began when God graced the Earth with life. And on some great, fundamental scale, perhaps they are right. Of that, we may never be truly sure. Some others would argue that the beginning was when the serpent convinced Eve to take a bite of the luscious Forbidden Fruit, thus creating the fabled idea of Sin. Those who aren't religious may claim the beginning was when a man named Lewis de Sade came to our town. It is with these people that I agree. Many claim Lewis was a direct descendant of the legendary Marquis de Sade. I could care less whether that is true or not. The only thing which I care about, as far as Lewis de Sade goes, is that he claimed to be God Himself, and that he had come to make us atone for our sins. So, perhaps it is ironic that I believe that this man was in fact just the opposite; it is my belief that Lewis de Sade was the Devil.

~

Lewis de Sade stood in front of a mirror, a shit-eating grind spread across his face, a razor in his right hand. He sliced, though not deep enough to go entirely through the flesh, from his ear down to the corner of his mouth. He switch the razor to his left hand, and repeated the aforementioned process on the opposite side of his face. Crimson blood dripped, staining the otherwise perfectly white porcelain a sinful, ungodly red. This process gave him a grin that was truly ear-to-ear, reminiscent, in a way, of the Joker.

His smile widened- something that one would have thought impossible at that point- and descended into angry, maniacal laughter. They'll pay, he thought. They'll pay for what they did, those fucks. Every last one. How they damaged me, oh yes, they'll pay, and so will their sons and daughters, and their sons' and daughters' sons and daughters.

The bitter taste of iron filled his mouth. He spat into the sink, a long string of brown- blood mixed with mucus and phlegm. He briefly considered slicing his throat.

But no. They'd have to pay first.

"I am God," he whispered.

I am God," he said, louder this time, an echo returning off the bathroom walls. The only answers I get are my own thrown back at me, he thought. How lonely I am.

"I AM GOD!" he screamed, and slammed his head into the mirror, shattering it.

Continually, he slammed his head into the mirror, which was now nothing but a shards of glass, all the while still screaming, "I AM GOD!" After he had done this ten times or more, he passed out, a pool of blood leaking from his broken nose and forehead. The razor clattered down at his feet, slicing through the flesh on his ankle, as he fell to the floor, ending his drunken stupor.

If you were to ask me, I'd say that's when everything began.

~

When Lewis arrived in our town, wearing a suit that bore resemblance to a 1920s gangster- trench coat, brown leather shoes, a bowler hat- heads turned almost immediately.

"My God, did you see his...?"

"...like something from Hell..."

"...the fuck is that?"

These things, and others, whispered nastily among men and women walking the streets, commenting on his evil, hellish grin. If you'd seen it, you'd have quaked in your boots. Blood had clotted and scabbed over it, leaving flakes of blackened flesh. It was possible the cuts were deep enough they would scar.