[ WP ] `` You 're not a god . Gods do n't bleed. ``

I admired myself in the polished gold mirror, turning so I could better admire the flowing red cape behind me. The people had done well, weaving in detailed pictures of my descent to Earth, rallying of the chosen, and, of course, the horrific deaths of my enemies. Each was included in painstaking detail, down to the hue of my eyes, sharing the same shade of electric blue. The cloth was of the highest quality, with priceless jewels set all along the border. Even a god would be impressed, perhaps even encouraged to gift such an industrious people with his blessing. For all this decadence and loyalty, it was a shame that I was a fake. 
 
 Two weeks earlier, I had set out on an expedition with two colleagues from my university, as well as a local guide, who promised a land full of wealth deep in the Peruvian jungle. We were skeptical, but he spoke so convincingly once my rifle pressed against his young daughter's head. He promised to show us the way, with the warning that those who lived there had never seen the likes of us before. His intent was to stop us from doing anything rash, but it gave me an idea, one I executed to perfection. 
 
 The first of my acquaintances, Mark, was deathly allergic to cashews. We were very careful to examine our supply beforehand, so I was shocked when he collapsed clutching his throat a few days into our journey. To make matters worse, he had misplaced his EpiPen; what a tragedy. 
 
 John, my other companion, practically took care of himself. At the end of the first week, he had the misfortune of stepping on a snake, which retaliated by biting his lower leg. The poison was traveling through his system too quickly, and he begged me to put him out of his misery. At least that's what I told the guide. 
 
 Soon the remainder of our little group stumbled into a small encampment. It was everything I had hoped it would be. The branches supporting their tiny hovels were inlaid with patterns traced in silver. The natives wore necklaces with sapphires larger than my fist, and the arrows of their warriors were tipped in gold. I had my guide explain that I was their god in mortal form, and had come to establish my reign on their planet. To prove my divinity, I promptly killed one of the men with my `` fire-stick,'' and threatened the rest should they choose not to obey. 
 
 Now, as I exited the private chambers of my throne room, I stood before hundreds of these primitive people, arms outstretched as I watched them bow before me. My guide reluctantly conveyed my list of demands and plans for our future, how we would sell my new treasure to the highest bidder and create a kingdom grander than anything their puny minds could imagine. I strode through the crowd, watching their trembling with satisfaction as I fantasized about the future. 
 
 Suddenly, intense pain surged through me. Dropping to my knees, I turned to see the guide, that traitorous son-of-a-bitch, holding a knife dripping with blood. MY blood. He plunged the blade deeper this time, bending in to whisper in my ear, `` You're not a god. Gods do n't bleed.'' 
 
 I struggled to fight back, retain some sense of dignity, but I had been defeated. He struck again and again, and as my world faded to black, I could only wonder. Is there a god after all? Would he be merciful? Or would I be lost to the void, doomed to the same nonexistence I had sent so many others before me? 
 
 Death is frightening, but what comes after may be the most terrifying part of all... 
 
 

