All-Powerful

by Tony DeCarvalho

Rick parked his '98 Camry in an empty spot next to the sidewalk that ran alongside the beach.

He had met Sammy and Victor there, two months prior. There they were, with a bunch of other guys, playing soccer in the sand. Rick loved coming out here—it was a break from work, it was exercise, and it was camaraderie.

During the game, Rick noticed a new face—a tall, stocky, tan Mexican who was wearing a t-shirt with cut-off sleeves, jean shorts, and a straw hat. The Mexican played very aggressively, and this triggered a memory in Rick's mind.

.

It was June of last year. The fires in central Florida were raging; homes were being threatened.

Rick was leaving Orlando, having just attended a wireless cell-phone convention. He was driving on the Turnpike south, glancing up at the stars overhead to keep from being hypnotized by the road. All of a sudden, a man ran across the highway; Rick barely avoided hitting the guy. It was all Rick could do from swerving off the road. Finally he managed to regain control and stopped off the side of the road.

Rick looked in his mirror. The man climbed into a car that was parked in the medium. Rick also noticed smoke coming from the trees where the man had run out of.

There were rumors that an arsonist was causing the fires. Rick, driven by adrenalin and anger at the man he almost hit, reached for his cellphone and called the FHP. He described the car as it whizzed by him, and where he was located.

Two days later, Rick received a call. The man who had crossed the highway in front of him was captured; he was the arsonist.

.

And there was the arsonist, playing soccer with him and his friends. Rick was certain that the Mexican guy looked just like the photos he'd seen of the criminal.

.

That night, Rick called FHP, to ask about the status of the arsonist. He learned that the arsonist had committed suicide while awaiting trial.

Rick was stunned briefly, but then shook it off. He must've been wrong about the Mexican. Rick looked out the glass double-doors that led to his balcony, stared at his eighth floor view of Broward County, and contemplated the day's events.

.

Rick was asleep when he heard a loud boom come from the living room. He opened his eyes, and cautiously reached under his bed for his wooden baseball bat. He quietly slipped out of bed, and crouched behind his queen-size bed, waiting for the intruder to come into the room.

After a few moments, Rick decided to approach the bedroom door. He tip-toed across the room, sticking close to the wall, and dresser, before reaching the doorknob.

He always kept the door locked. His mother had always been paranoid, and this had rubbed off on Rick. Now he wasn't sure what to do. If he unlocked the door, the noise would alert any intruder to his presence. However, if he didn't unlock the door, the intruder (if there was one—Rick was beginning to think he had dreamt the noise) would escape.

Rick unlocked the door. There, standing in the middle of his living room, crouching over the coffee table, was the arsonist.

The arsonist looked up from the magazine he was browsing, and stared angrily at Rick. He got up and walked around the white leather couches, menacingly.

Rick, seized with a sudden urge of defiance and courage, walked out of the doorway and waited for the arsonist to attack. The arsonist lunged, and Rick sidestepped him, swinging his bat down on the arsonist's leg as he did.

The arsonist howled. Rick backed up towards the glass double-doors that opened to the balcony. He unlocked the latch, and slid one door open. He then backed away further, as the arsonist limped towards him.

When the arsonist was near the opening, Rick charged and swung his bat right-to-left. The arsonist dodged, falling into the balcony. Rick kicked the arsonist's legs through, and slammed the double-doors shut. Before the arsonist could react, he was locked outside.

Rick ran to his bedroom, and grabbed his cellphone, wallet, and car keys. He slipped on a pair of shorts (He was wearing a blue terry-cloth bathrobe up until this point), a t-shirt, and sandals. As he left the apartment, he dialed 9-1-1.

The arsonist stared through the glass door, watching Rick leave.

.

Rick was at Wal-mart when the police called back. He was told that the glass door was broken. The police were dusting for fingerprints.

Rick was nervous. He didn't know what to do. He walked up and down the action-figure aisle, glancing at Star Wars and Transformers characters.

"What are you looking at, boy?" said the arsonist.

Rick froze.

"You can't run from me. You've been chosen! You've been selected! You can't hide from me."

The arsonist approached Rick. He thought about reaching for a lightsaber, but instantly realized the futility of that. "Who are you?" he stammered.

"I am he who is without name. You cannot label me. I am he who is within all, and whom without, nothing would exist. I am Creation!"

"What? Who are you really?"

The arsonist stopped and smirked. "No faith? I will give you faith!"

The arsonist instantly morphed from a tall, stocky Mexican into a tall, blonde-haired, lanky European.

"I must be dreaming."

"Perhaps you are. Perhaps all of this is a dream. Or, maybe for you, it's all too real."

"You're not what you say you are."

"How do you know?"

"Why are you after me?"

"Because you interfered with my plans about a year ago, and I wanted to get to know you better. Doesn't creation have that right?"

Rick was sweating, but he felt himself calming down. He had accepted that he wasn't getting out of this situation easily, so he decided to play along. "If you're the creation, why would you focus on me? Hell, why would you burn the woods?"

Creation leaned forward and whispered, "Because the action is in the details. Seeing how you react to me, or how people react to fires, or ... whatever—that's where the action is. That's where you discover new things.

"Oh sure, I could be omniscient—but I choose not to be. I could be invulnerable, but I allow myself to feel pain, so that I can relate. So I can understand. So I can learn."

Rick leaned back slightly, pressed his lips together, and then asked, "So, what are you learning now?"

"Oh, not much. Sometimes I revisit things, so I can be reminded of how people really feel about me when confronted by me. Scared. Intimidated. Frightened.

"But, I must admit, sometimes I do things simply because I'm bored. I'm afraid you're nothing more than sport to me, at this point."

Suddenly, the Wal-mart disappeared. Rick and Creation stood on A1A in the middle of a bright sunny day, next to the beach where he had played soccer. Sammy and Victor were on the beach—they began to walk over. Other people walked over as well—the sight of two men standing in the middle of the road while traffic rolled by attracted worried onlookers.

"You see," continued Creation, "The last creation was a 'democratic deity'—a deity that each individual could interpret as their own. I think it is time for something a bit more ... dramatic. You see, many have cried for a deity to reveal itself—I think it's time they got their forceful deity—a 'dictator deity,' if you will. And I've decided to see how the results of this change will affect your life."

"I don't want change."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. This is no longer a democracy. Ha ha ha."

Creation turned, and walked away. As he walked, the cars and people slowly faded from existence, and eventually disappeared. Rick was alone on A1A.

A giant calendar appeared, flat on the road in front of him. It looked like your typical wall calendar—there was a picture of mountains, and below, the month of January, with all 31 days divided into five weeks with seven days, Sunday through Saturday—except it was 10 feet long and 8 feet wide.

The wind began to blow, and the calendar rustled. The wind picked up, and slowly, the numbers were blown off the page, like leaves in an autumn wind. The calendar was cleared, and Rick closed his eyes.

.

Rick opened his eyes, and a pale, yellow demon dressed in regal 15th-century clothing greeted him. "Are you all right?"

Rick shook his head, looked back at the perpetually-smiling demon, and answered, "Yes. I'm fine."

"Good. We must get going."

Rick held his hand up, and walked toward a reflective glass door. He peered at one of the glass panels, and saw the reflection of his new face. His hair and beard were long, straight, and flowing. He wore a frilly hat, and frilly clothes—he looked like he could've posed with King Henry VIII.

Rick glanced around. He was in a hallway; the carpet was a rich, velvet color, and the walls were dark burgundy. There were small golden candelabra-like light fixtures at various points in the hall, providing subtle illumination. They appeared to be electric.

The demon grabbed Rick's hand and tugged. Rick leaned forward, and the demon whispered, "You have a message to deliver, remember?"

Rick wondered what message when he realized what the message was: the timeline had been altered. There was a man in the living room that he needed to explain this to. Somehow, Rick knew this.

To get to the living room, Rick and the demon had to walk through a dining area. There was a huge table there, with about twenty people feasting. Rick recognized his father as the man sitting at one of the prominent seats of the table. His father also had the long hair and flowing beard, and the regal clothing.

Rick tried to sneak by, but his father noticed him. "Come," said his father, "and join us for dinner."

Rick begged to be excused, but his father would hear nothing of it. Rick sat down and his father turned away to reach for a bowl of yams. That was when Rick noticed the hole in his father's head—the hollowed-out area where his father's brain used to be.

His father turned toward him. Rick noticed a dark-blue metallic brace that covered his father's right forearm. "Still can't get used to the brain-transfer, I see."

Rick looked at his father's face, which was mechanically run by the brace. "I'm sorry. I—I should be used to it by now."

Rick's father smiled. "Someday, you will be."

Rick looked down at his food, having suddenly lost his appetite. Looking up, Rick saw Creation, seated across from him, looking amused.

Rick picked up his spoon. He began staring at the way the light reflected off the golden finish. Suddenly, Rick felt a surge of energy flowing through his head, and spreading into his arms and shoulders. He could hear the surge in his ears.

Rick concentrated on the spoon, wishing the new reality away, hoping for the old reality to return. For a moment, the edges of reality seemed to blur. Rick could almost see blue sky, sand, and A1A in his peripheral vision. The center of his view—the dining area—seemed to quake, and ...

... the surge of energy stopped, and he was still in the new reality. Frustrated, he put down the spoon, grabbed the fork, and began to eat.

Copyright © Tony DeCarvalho 2003