Adam unlocked the door to his dorm room, balancing his books on an outstretched knee while he juggled his backpack, the bag full of beer for tonight’s get-together, and the keyring, trying to find the right key.
It really wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but it was do-able. Walking in the door, he tossed his keyring on his desk, threw his backpack onto his bed – crashing into his shoulder-bag – and began unloading the beer into the small fridge he kept stashed under his desk.
Because really, who needs leg-room when you’re drunk?
Looking at his desk to get his keys, he noticed a letter that hadn’t been there before. He walked over, cautiously, No one had been in his room, to the best of his knowledge; he’d been lucky and gotten a single.
The front of the letter had only one word, written very precisely by hand; it looked like a calligraphy pen, or a fountain pen, one of the good ones. Centered almost exactly was the single word:
God
Adam blinked, confused, then picked up the rather thick letter. It felt as if there was something more than paper inside, which made him nervous, but he was more than a little bit nervous – and, of course, more than a little bit drunk.
He flipped it over, still inspecting it, and realized that instead of being sealed the normal way – licking the back – whoever had mailed him this letter had sealed it with wax, the old-fashioned way.
Actually, as a matter of fact, was it mailed at all? He flipped it over, looking for a return address, a stamp, something that would mark it as having been handled by Canada Post. The single word was the only thing on the envelope.
“What the hell. If it’s anthrax or something like that… well, who would address something ‘God’ and mail a 20-year old art major anthrax?” He said, rationalizing his curiosity. He broke the seal, and the letter exploded in his hands, killing him instantly.
He shook his head, stopping his imagination from getting too far out of hand, and flipped over the lid. He pulled out the paper, half-expecting to see something like “HA HA YOUR DEAD” written on a business card.
Instead, it was what seemed to be a two-page letter, on really good-quality, thick paper, written by the same hand who had so carefully autographed the front of the envelope ‘God’.
He pulled it out, unfolding it and laying it on his desk, then looked inside the envelope; there felt like there was something in there still, but he couldn’t see anything. He set it down on the desktop, picked up the letter, and began reading.
Dear Adam,
I realize we haven’t spoken in quite a while. I like to think that you’d consider me an old friend, though. This is God.
Yes, I’ve written you a letter. You don’t check your email often enough for me to bother, and while I could force you to do what I want – obviously – I’d much rather you help me willingly. Looks a lot better.
I truly do exist. And, well, I need your help. Don’t ask me why I’m coming to you specifically for help; I’m not quite sure myself, because it seems to me that there’s probably better-suited people in the Universe than yourself; but my search has turned up you as the most likely to succeed in what I need done.
And to answer the question that was on your mind as you read that last sentence, yes, I’m speaking to you in language you’d understand, and would be likely to use yourself, if only in a formal piece of schoolwork. I used to speak to everyone the same way – the way English was intended to be spoken – but I’ve found that, especially recently, I’m unintelligible.
But I digress. In the beginning, I created the Universe, as you were brought up to believe, though you’ve lost your faith. Hopefully this will restore your faith in me, but regardless, this is how it happened. I created the Universe, but I was not the only Deity. I was one of many. This is something that Christianity’s lost touch of, though they’ve got some of the basic facts down.
I’ve been known as a lot of different names – Jupiter, Jove, Zeus, Ra, Re-Horakhty, and, of course, Jehovah, Allah, and God – and that’s just in your universe!
What, you thought you were the only Universe? You should pay attention to the finer details of life; I’ve left clues to the existence of other universes, if only you look hard enough.
In fact, that’s sort of where our – my – problem lies. One of my other universes… well, your Universe, Earth… was, to be brutally honest, a test. An experiment. I did some things right – I gave you sentience, for example, something I didn’t elsewhere – and I did some things wrong – for example, the whole “You seem to be worshipping a different God so I’m going to kill you now” thing. Didn’t work out that well, obviously.
This Universe, one of the things I did wrong was that I failed to establish myself as ruler of the Universe, in really any form – the sentient races – mostly humans – are literally faithless. They don’t believe in any higher power.
And, well, remember earlier when I said that I wasn’t the only Deity who created the Earth? Those other Gods and Goddesses all still exist, still hold sway over their given duties; but, since no one believes in their existence anymore, their powers are all but nonexistent.
I’m in the same boat in the other Universe. I may as well have no power whatsoever – and I’m the strongest deity. Normally – for the last five thousand of your years, in fact – this wasn’t really a problem, only an annoyance.
Now it’s getting bad. Monsters, not of my creation, are overrunning the land. The land is in desperate need of a Holy Warrior.
Pacifist atheists, obviously, don’t make the best Holy Warriors.
This is where you come in, Adam. I realize you haven’t believed in me in years, but hopefully what I’ve stitched into the seam of the envelope will help convince you.
But, of course, remember that not everything is as it seems.
-God
Adam looked at the letter after finishing it, not believing what he was holding in his hands. God created many universes – we were a test? An experiment?
“Nah. Can’t be real.” He tossed the letter of-handedly on his desk, and looked at the envelope. There really was something in there, it was just hidden… inside the envelope itself?
He ripped open the corner, where it seemed the thickest and heaviest, and out fell a key.
“What? How is this going to convince me…” He held it up to the light and saw the crest of his University on the front of the key.
He turned it over, and saw his room number. The only copy of this key was in his possession; how was this possible?
He grabbed at his keyring, looking for his room key, and couldn’t find it.
“… Huh. Neat trick.” He put the key on his keyring, then, thinking aloud, said, “Now that what will hopefully be the most bizarre part of this day is over, time to get some grub.”
He locked the door, then walked toward the elevators, only to remember that he left his wallet on his desk while reading that stupid prank letter.
He unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped through without looking.
His foot hit spongy grass, and he was definitely outside.
“What the… hell?” Adam looked around. This was almost definitely not his dorm room, and his wallet was nowhere in sight; neither, he confirmed with a quick look over his shoulder, was the door back out of this place.
Looking at his feet, there was something to be said for courtesy – on his right foot was a card, which he could read without even having to bend over and pick it up.
Thanks!
-God
