John Swift

         And introduce an element of cynicism and darkness into it and just realize that we're all vulnerable. We are humans. There is a finite end to this life and we're all going to face it and a little silliness can help.

~Alan Thicke



         There, in the large city of New York, on the date July 21st, 2001, sat a man named John Swift. John was at the age of 21, and just beginning to grow the urge to, as a man, enjoy his first drinks inside of a bar. At least, to do it legally. You see, John was never one to think things through. He always did things spontaneously, rather than take the time to understand what had happened. He was average- in all senses of the word. He wore average clothes, average shoes, average shaggy hair, average glasses, and had average intelligence. But what made John completely unique, was in fact, his averageness.



          Upon entering the bar, he found two of his highschool friends sitting at the desk, though none took notice of John. John wasn’t extraordinary in any way, and so they weren’t able to tell him from the bartender. It was often a joke, in fact, that John could literally go anywhere and become invisible.



         John sat at the bar, and slowly began to enjoy the beer. It had been a long day at work. John was a factory worker, at which he continuously worked the same machine for hours upon hours.



         “So, what’s your name?” said a stranger that had strode up to the bar.



         John was spooked by the mans voice. It was seductively deep, to the point where it made John want to answer. John had absolutely no resistance to the man’s voice, and quickly gave in.



         “John. John Swift,” he said.



         The man was strange in all senses. He was tall, wore gigantic glasses that covered a majority of his face, and wore a hat that shadowed the rest of his face that couldn’t be seen. His jacket was soaking wet, but there was no rain outside. His shoes were work boots, covered in slabs of mud, regardless of the fact they were in New York and there wasn’t a puddle of mud to be seen anywhere. He gave off the scent of nature, which only made John wonder all the more where this man came from.



         “Ah, nice to meet you John. Thought I recognized you from somewhere, where might you work? If I could inquire.” The man’s voice was only becoming stranger and stranger, sort of pulling John into it.



         “The factory down the street. We produce boxes. I work the hot glue gun.”



         “Ah, I work nowhere near that,” he claimed as he gave a bellowing laugh. He quickly ordered whisky on rocks, and sat next to John, continuing the conversation.



         “So what religion are you, John?”



         John had never been asked that question in his life. Sure, he naturally was a Christian as was most of the other population, but never was asked. This man was now giving off a welcoming aura, and it only made John more interested.

         “Christian.”



         “Ah, and do you know why you’re Christian?”



         John had never even thought about it.



         “No, not really.”

         

         Adam winked, “Isn’t that the mystery, John.”



         “What’s your name?” John asked, getting just slightly enough courage to ask.



         “Adam. No last name.”



         John nodded, and the name Adam brought back memories. None of them were as welcoming as that man. It reminded him of a bully in elementary school, who often shoved John into lockers, pull his hair, and beat him senseless. John shuddered at the thought of that Adam.



         That Adam never had a last name either. But what that Adam did do was make John stand out, for once in his life. The feeling was elevating, regardless of the pain. It gave him pride, the scars. His parents took notice of him out of his three brothers and sisters. It gave him joy.



         “I see. I knew an Adam once. Not the greatest fellow, but he did a lot for me. Even if he never knew it.”



         “Oh, I wouldn’t say he never knew it,” Adam said.



         John looked curiously up at this Adam, but didn’t say anything.



         “You’re easy to read John. Maybe too easy.”



         John realized that, and then nodded. Adam quit bullying him a week later, and his parents quit noticing him. Maybe Adam knew that hurt him more than any pain.



         Of course, then again, Adam might’ve been doing it because he knew it would help John. John’s mind was flashing with new thoughts that he’d never had before.



         “So are you in college John?” Adam asked as he took another shot.



         “No. My parents never had enough money to send me there. I never paticularly wanted to do college anyway,” John said gloomfully.



         Adam laughed, “John, you’re a fool. Anyone could tell you wanted to go college. You don’t want to be this average bastard you are. You want to be better than that.”



         John started to say something, then stopped. This Adam man knew an awfully lot.



         “C’mon, John, follow me. I gotta show you something.”



         John rose from his seat, and followed Adam. A tall stranger, full of mysteries. Yet, he trusted this man more than anyone else in his life. They walked out of the door, and continued down the street. It had gotten dark since he was in the bar. What time was it?



         Then it got foggy. He couldn’t see anything. Where was he? He heard horns, he saw lights, and then nothing. He layed in the cold darkness, and was lost with his thoughts.



         He began to think about the world. He began to see the world. He saw himself sitting on a throne- a king. He saw himself on the streets- a peasant. He saw himself everywhere, and nowhere. He was writing a book. The book. He was hung on a piece of wood.



         He was the world. And the world was him.



         He finally woke up, in a hospital. A stranger sat next to him, vaguely familiar.



         “Adam?” John asked, his throat sore and could barely produce a noise.



         “John? How are you feeling?”



         “I’m... Perplexed.” John admitted.



         “I’m sorry, John, I lied to you.”



         “What do you mean?” John asked.



         “I mean I lied to you. My names not Adam. I didn’t recognize you- well I did, but not in the way you are thinking.”



         “What are you talking about Adam?” John said, still unbelieving of what this man was saying. It seemed like he was telling the truth.



         “I’m an Angel, John.”



         “An Angel?” John asked. What was he talking about?



         “Not the kind of Angel you’re thinking about...” Adam said, in a low voice.



         “What...?” John asked, but it suddenly hit him. One of the things he saw when he was asleep.



         “You’re... Satan?”



         Adam nodded, slowly and sadly.



         “What are you doing here? Why are you here looking for me?!” John asked, terrified.



         “Do you know who God is, John?” Satan asked.



         “Wha- What kind of crazy question is that? Of course I don’t- he’s not on Earth. He’s not a human. I’ve never even met a man aside from you who could possibly be God.”



         “That’s not true, John. God is on Earth. He is a human. And he’s in this very room.”



         John opened his mouth, and began gaping.



         “I’m... God...?” John asked



         Satan nodded, obviously sad, “I’m so sorry, John. So sorry. You’re God. This is your world. You created this, and then locked yourself into this world. I was put here to free you. To release you from your own mind.”



         “What... I was never special at all!” John yelled, trying to disprove Satan.



         “Thats what was so special about you. You would never have known. If I never crossed that bar by accident, if I never beat you as a child, you would have lived your life and died as a human, and you would have kept doing this over and over. Your world is created specifically for these few moments.”



         “You’re crazy! Get out of my hospital room!” John yelled, but slowly his eyes were opening up. Truly open up.



         Satan stood up, and his coat flew off. Wings of bone shot out, his red flesh was there, horns upon his head. “This is all a figment of yourself, John,” he said, and walked out of the room.



         John saw the world melt around him, and saw sand everywhere. He heard the ocean lapping the ground, he felt the breeze touch his face, he saw the sky above him. He was slowly forgetting the world he created. The average life. The memories. Everything was now just relying on this world. This world was him now. Empty. Alone.