Featured Fiction: Before They Died, They Called Me God


A new short story by Ryan Sayles.



Let me speak of the winds.

As I arrived, the devil’s breath hot and incinerating, pushes the gusts before me. A ring of heralds foretells my arrival. Torrents, scalding gales, broiling the specks of dust suspended in the unsuspecting air that I proclaim as my own.

All those people and their disbelief. “Know me,” I say as thunder claps. Those words, their power and glory hollowing out everyone who hears them tic toc herunterladen. All their disbelief, washed away in a molten tide where the air once was. “Know me.”

Because they crave a god, I will become it. Because they crave something to dominate them, I will become it. As they need something to worship, so do I need something to worship me.

Let me speak of the light.

As my feet touched the earth, I spread my wings. Their brilliance pouring forth a vengeful glow so harsh and awe-inspiring it blinded all those who gazed upon it. They were smacked by the vehement hand of my divine righteousness vtech kidizoom duo photos. Pushed beyond their own fragility.

All those people, their spurning. “Love me,” words I put upon the breeze that coats them in fire. As their bones turn to liquid and betray their form, I smile and shine forth more light. All their spurning, rectified in one momentous occasion. “Love me.”

Because they cry out for an Almighty, I will rule them. Because they give their eyetooth for a divinity, I will shepard them. Love them with my stranglehold. We will become symbiotic.


Let me speak of purpose.

“Behold what we have created,” they said with their exhausted, wild eyes mehrere dateien von dropbox herunterladen. Dressed in lab coats. Even with me contained inside this cage, they quake. They quake because they know what they have made; how immortal and powerful I am. They backed away as I stood, clad in my armor. Rivets and hammered steel. Long months and hard nights, drawing boards and schematics. All these “geniuses” hidden away from mankind, given limitless supplies and tools to invent me. As if I needed them.

My nascence; a new era. It has begun with a single step.

Let me speak of beginnings.

They made my nest of concrete and rebar, deep inside the ground herunterladen. “Better this way if something goes wrong,” they said. “We might not make it out, but it certainly will not either.”

Buried me stories beneath the earth. Automated gun turrets lurked in the corners. Pan/Tilt/Zoom cameras stood witness in the halls. Two-foot thick doors set roll into place, sealing off my escape route if ever I were to leave against their will. Alarm klaxons. All the security measures in the world, all which will fail when I decide to tremble and vacate.

Every communication comes in and out on red-colored phones adobe photoshop downloaden mac. They write my name down in a shaky script, stuff the papers inside a manila folder stamped TOP SECRET.


I shall give your family’s deaths purpose.

On their knees miles away from me, they look in my direction and weep. Tears no doubt tinged with joy but also they mourn. Mourn because they were not quality. Not survivable in the wake of my coming. In their weakness, they have become a part of something bigger than themselves. Me.

My body is made of the same materials which mankind uses to cage its fears.

It is the same as a tiger is placed behind bars. It is the same as the mentally disturbed placed in neglected corners. It is the same as fears placed under bravado and lies. I am inside here. My hands, giant enough to grip the world. My feet, gargantuan enough to stomp out hope. My teeth, so monstrous that when they are bared, my snarl sets deafness upon all who hear.

“This was a mistake,” they said.

“We cannot let this thing see the world.”

“No! We must use its power for our gain.”

“Yes! With it on our leash we will be kings!”

“Just destroy it now before it knows what it can do.”

But I know. I have always known. They think they do, but they do not.

But they will.

They will spend their lives exalting me.


Let me speak of the fury.

As I bellowed, my rage shattered rocks into pebbles and stopped the beating hearts of lesser creatures. A shivering bass note dug into the brains of all living things and collapsed them. My radiance melted the flesh from millions.

All those people obliterated before me, their faithlessness. “Sacrifice for me,” a command I issued forth as they disintegrated into oblivion. What peace must have overcome them knowing that without them here occupying space, I would have more room. Their faithlessness, dissolved like doubts. “Sacrifice for me.”

Because they lust after a higher power, I have defined myself as such. Because they pine for something on a higher plane than they are, I have offered myself as such. Their empty lives, filled with my glory. I quiver at the realization they are all mine now.

Let me speak of the cloud.

As the mushroom blooms from the surface all around me, roiling with the expanding colors of the sun—I claim what is mine. That wall of recreation rushing forth, stretching from heaven to earth in one devouring consumption—it is righteous.

All life is meaninglessness. “Call me god,” I demand as I require their adoration and acceptance. I am here, bend to my rule. My body undoes itself, my fission soul leaping like starved dogs. It pushes and it is freed. Freed to wash over this cratered and lifeless rock, redefining reality. A new world born, a new language made according to me. It’s meaninglessness, given meaning. “Call me god.”

Because they require a display of my wrath, my might, my power, I send it forward. Because they are not fit to live, I eradicate them. Because they are not good enough for me, I will start anew. Go and join your lesser god, the one who still loves you. For I do not.


I am all that is left. I look down upon it, and say it is good.

and say it is good

and say it is good

and say it is good

and say it is good

About Ryan Sayles

Ryan Sayles’s novel, The Subtle Art of Brutality, is out through Snubnose Press. He is the editor of The Noir Affliction, a column at Out of the Gutter. His works appears at sites such as Shotgun Honey, Flash Fiction Offensive, Beat to a Pulp and Crime Factory. He may be contacted at www.vitriolandbarbies.wordpress.com