Cole Greene lumbered through the night, his head of fire. The final traces, the faintness of what he had been before this, were leaving him behind. He looked up at the great, swirling sky; at the figure that had been spawned out of his mind. "Godkill!" He exclaimed. He only hoped that it wasn't too late; that humanity wouldn't crumble his insides until there was nothing left.

It had started out as a tiny, black seed at the edge of his consciousness; a nothing announcement twisted in his dreams and in his brain because somewhere inside of every man there was a dismal, violent idea needing to take over.

Cole killed his mother first. Waking from a nightmare of burning, apocalypse skies, skeletal cities, and corpse mounds, Cole went to her. He looked at her there, safe and vulnerable in the tangled shadows of her room. And the nightmare continued to burn inside of his skull; or vision.

Yes, of course.

The things Cole had done with his life thus far were trifle. He was only twenty, but still . . . His secluded thoughts, fears, did not allow much room for world domination or anything of the sort. Before his mother he would have never thought to take the life of a human being. He would have been content delivering pizzas for a living, watching the Simpsons every Sunday evening and dating the occasional sixteen year old girl because girls his own age would have little to do with him. Cole had never been far enough outside of himself to see just how pathetic things could get, but now he saw them clearly. His nightmare had been an explosive truth; a torrent of feelings and power that had finally managed burst through the trivial, mundane semblance forged out of how others saw him. It made him sick and angry to think about it. Kids back in high school, teachers, his boss at work, the few friends he had, and worse, his mother; his mother, lying asleep in the repugnant aroma of lies and triviality. Hadn't she told him that he would never do better than this? Hadn't they, in their own ways, told him the same thing?

Cole went into the kitchen to receive the knife. It felt right in his hand, like it belonged there; and it did. He knew that now.

He held the knife in front of his face; turned it in his hand. The combinations of light and reflection were infinite and complex. Everything was absorbed by its power; its indifference. It was like a terrible disease transcending all destinations; choosing nothing over nothing; everything living and dying in the same breath. That is what it would be like to be God. So the knife became God; a thing, an idea, that negated human frailty and morbid alienation. "God! Kill!" But it was more of a name than a request: Godkill. And among the reflections Cole could see himself. His face was stretched across the blade like spilled flesh.

He had come in here because, at first, he'd been frightened. It was the same thing when he'd been a small boy. But now, with the knife glinting in his hand, he felt ridiculous. There was nothing she could say that could take the nakedness of this truth away from him. There was nothing she could do to make him believe all things he'd ever been afraid of were little more than figments of his own, dark imagination.

A shrink might say that Cole Greene went insane. People go insane everyday. It was a minor law of human nature of which not everybody abided. They snap and do terrible things. They walk into schools, their jobs, McDonalds, wherever, and open fire. They kill their families in the middle of the night, followed by themselves. Hell, some of them even set fire to pet stores and animal shelters. Or maybe they highjack a plane just to see the whole shit house go up in flames, alllll riggghhhht! You see, human beings need to be heard and when their not heard some of them do terrible things. Shit, look at Hitler. Look at any demon; any God. And we can all relate. Scary, ain't it?

Cole slashed his mother's throat from left to right. The spill of blood across her chest was rather surreal. Cole watched it and his head became dizzy. Up until the very moment he wasn't quite sure he was actually going to see the thing through.

She looked up at him with frozen, fearful eyes. She made a guttural sound, like some kind of animal; a sound accentuating the experience entire. It was no longer a nightmare fashioned out of his fear and hatred for the world . . . This was happening. He'd seen and heard about things like this happing on the news. They happened all over the world. And his mother always voicing her disgust: 'The world is getting scary.'

Now this thing was happening to her; to them. And it had a name: Godkill. Cole shouted it. "Godkill!"

There was just so much to do.

Cole, or, 'er, Godkill, would need to hurry.

Cole sliced the night with his new found freedom. His heart banged in his chest, in his head. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, a culmination of both waning fear and unrelenting desire.

He got into the car, leaving his dead mother behind. He tossed the loaded gun onto the seat before slipping the key into the ignition. Cole had nearly forgotten that they owned a gun, maybe because the knife had seemed so poetic. But the knife would never work for what he was about to do next . . . Never, never, never.

And than he remembered. His father had bought it for them last year as a gift. 'It's the least I could do,' he'd told them, after leaving them for another woman, another life. Cole's mother had been strongly against it, her fear pulling through at the last minute: 'The world is getting scary.' Remember.

The Domino's Pizza was only a few blocks away. Cole had wanted to be nearby in case they paged him, which they often did. Now, the thought made him sick; fueled his hatred. His life had been nothing before this. And now . . . Now he was a God.

Cole whipped into the parking lot. Cassandra, one of the late night drivers, was on her way out. "Hey," she said. Followed by: "Isn't this your day off?"

Everyday from now on you bitch, he thought, lifting the gun off the seat. "Back inside cunt!" He said, but it was not his usual voice. It was, instead, a voice that rumbled from the very baseness of his being.

"Fuck Cole!"

"Where's Chuck?!" He lifted the gun to her eyes. He wanted her to see its power; wanted her to stare into its single, dark eye.

"He's in back!" A trembling voice.

Cassandra had never taken such an interest in him. Cole had even asked her out once. She might as well have laughed in his face. But now . . .

Nick had been out on a delivery. When he got back to the store there were three dead. Cassandra, Chuck, and Bob. Bob had started last week as a dishwasher. Chuck, their manager, had told Bob that he could be a driver in a few months. Of course, Nick would eternally think about how close he came to dying that night. It would haunt him, always.

Back to the beginning. Or is it the end?

Anyway, the night was dense.

Godkill stood before Cole, eternal hatred filling His eyes. "I made you, I am you!" Screamed Cole, only because He was so huge and would not be able to hear him any other way "So take me with you! The world is destroyed as far as I am concerned! There is nothing left for me here!"

Everything was like a whirlwind now. The situation had become so extreme; the nightmare so real. There were no defining edges to anything anymore. Cole was the black seed now; Godkill, the product of that seed. So many new ideas at once; so many different directions to go in.

"I made you, " the object of his affection announced calmly, turning Cole's whole world upside down.

Therefore, it really was too late. Humanity had managed to crumble his insides after all. "I'm sorry." Cole's voice was less than a whisper in the void, and pitifully human. He wasn't even sure how he got here, all of the roads intersecting at once, but none of them meaning a God damn thing. It was impossible that he'd done the things that flashed through his mind.

"You are just another dark seed planted in the human garden," He said. "Another idea for them to fear. Nothing more."

Cole eased the barrel of the gun into his mouth and waited. Fucking typical.

End.