God for a Day

I arrived in silence, though the sky was like glass. People stumbled out of buildings, their eyes fixed upward. My voice was the air that filled their lungs.

“You called me a myth. You made me a weapon. Today, I am neither.”

Every screen paused. Any President’s speech cut off mid-sentence. Televisions, phones, and radios all tuned to me. I didn’t need them. The message sank directly into their skulls, bypassing their ears. But the flashy redundancy made sure no one missed it.

“I’m scanning your hearts now. Lie to yourselves all you want; you cannot lie to me.”

People started screaming. Some dropped to their knees, clutching their heads. Others shouted prayers, curses, bargains. It was too late. Every thought and sin, unspoken or buried, none hidden to me.

The first purge began.

Across the globe, bodies simply collapsed where they stood. A man choking his wife in Detroit is now dead on as he drops on her. A corporate CEO who had orchestrated famine in exchange for profit blinked once and died in his chair, his coffee is still steaming. A child predator in Berlin died instantly infront of the class of school children he was teaching.

The living didn’t have time to mourn or comprehend. They felt the absence like a void, as if their existence itself was lighter for what was removed.

“Don’t make me come back.”

Silence fellagain. People looked around, unsure whether to weep or celebrate. Above them, the sky healed itself, leaving no trace I had ever been there.