The Lonely God

The Writer sat at his desk trying to decide who he would kill today. He had woken up that morning in the mood for death, but he could just as easily have birthed an entire nation if he so wished. That was the power at his fingertips, the power of a god.

He looked out of his window searching the garden for inspiration. It was the middle of Spring and a syrup of sunlight glazed the leaves, but with just a few keystrokes he could unleash a nuclear storm that would rip open the sky and turn the world to an ashen wasteland. He sighed, watching the coquettish cursor on the screen winking at him. Use me, it beckoned, make me your vassal. But what was the point? He could annihilate a billion people before breakfast and bring them back to life for lunch. And then what? Write a haiku about the loneliness of absolute power?

He ran a finger through the thin film of dust at the top of his keyboard, picked out a few stray crumbs stuck between the letters. He clicked shut the laptop screen with the finality of a coffin lid. He was hungry; best not make any divinely destructive decisions on an empty stomach. Toast and coffee was needed before orchestrating the apocalypse.