“God damn it, Death!” I said to the hooded asshole in front of me, escorting in three young women (or, more specifically, their eternal souls), “Who the Hell are they?”

Death blinked, “These- these the three lady you ask me-” Death stammered in his broken English.

“No, Death, those are not the three ladies I asked you for, these are three completely different girls.”

“You ask me for three lady in Brownveal, these three lady from Brownveal,” defended Death.

“Yes, Death, I did ask you for three women from Brownsville, but not any three women! I was very specific about who was to come home. I wanted the baker’s wife Gloria to have a heart attack, I wanted the real estate agent Tammie to have an accident in the South Street property, and I wanted to release Estelle from the pain of her cancer. You brought me Katie, Sarah and Jenn, three best friends since middle school-” and that’s when it hit Me, “You just grabbed three random girls at the bar, didn’t you?”

“Wha-? Nooo, no, no,” Death looked guilty.

“Yes, you did, you went to the bar, got hammered, realized you were late and grabbed the three closest girls you could find, probably made them drive drunk and crash. Just admit it, man, you’ve been drinking again.” (J’ACCUSE!)

“No, man, I not.” Death looked offended.

“Death, come on, man, I’m God, you can’t lie to Me. I can see the tequila on your breath and in your stomach.”

“No, no, I only have like, one tequila. Come on man, I am Death, you know, I can drink a lot. I not drunk,” Death looked like I was arguing something stupid and offensive to him.

“Death, how many times do I have to tell you man, you can not lie to Me, I know you had six tequila shots, five beers, and spilled most of a sixth beer, all within three hours and eighteen minutes. You fell off your bar stool at 10:38 PM. They nearly kicked you out, man, you almost got in a fight with the manager.”

Death was angry now, “Okay, man, whatever, I go do it again, shit, just say me what you want,” Throwing his hands up in the air like he was fed up with My bullshit. Like I hadn’t been clear about what I wanted from him. (Dick.)

“No, Death, don’t go do it again, just go sleep it off. We can talk about this in the morning,” I waved him away. Then, as he left, I muttered quieter and more to Myself (though loud enough for him to hear), “For Christ’s sake, poor Estelle, they pulled the life support four days ago, she was supposed to only last a few hours after that. Jesus, the pain she’s in…”

“What the Hell is this?” Lucifer asked.

“What do you mean? This is My universe,” I replied.

“This isn’t a universe, this is just a weird… mish mash of musings.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call it a finished product. Give it some time and it will begin to take a more recognizable shape,” I defended, surprised at Lucifer’s critical stance. How would he have done it any differently?

“Not a finished product? None of these stories makes any sense. Who are all these people? When is all this taking place? Where is this all taking place? You just have all these different people in disjointed places and times, with no apparent connection between any of them. Some of the people don’t even have names. I mean, “the Bartender”? “The Traveler”? “The Barfly” Who the Hell are these people? Some vague connections to Ben, whoever the Hell he is, but we have no idea what connections there are or if any of this is happening at the same time or at totally different times or what.” Lucifer ranted, getting himself heated without any help from me.

“Whoa, whoa, relax, Lu. Like I said, this is till a work in progress. A universe is no small thing to create. If Rome wasn’t built in a day, this universe will not be built in a year, maybe not even a decade.” I explained.

“Okay, but God, stories have structure, flow, a single voice that explains everything. We know when things are flashing back or flashing forward, we can see that events are building to a natural crescendo. We know who the main characters are, we know who the supporting characters are, we can see that path being taken by the story, if only for a few feet in front of us.”

“That would be a fair criticism if I were building a story,” I explained, “but I am not building a story. I am building a universe, and a universe is far more complex than a story. A universe is full of people, some of them are connected to each other in some way and some of them are not. Events happen, and sometimes those events lead to other events, sometimes they have nothing to do with other events. Sometimes places exist and people never go to them. Sometimes people exist and we never meet them. Sometimes trees actually do fall in the woods, and no one is there to hear it. This is what differentiates our stories from our universes. I am here to build the latter.”

“… huh…” said Lucifer pensively, “Sooo, no build-up of events, character backstory reveals, betrayals, or climactic events?” He sounded disappointed in this.

“I didn’t say that either. Betrayals, revelations, climactic events, these are all things that happen in universes. The difference is that in stories these events define the story. A universe is defined by everything in it, big or small, and all these things exist within the universe. A climactic event changes the direction of a story, but a universe has no direction but out, and climactic events have no affect on a universe’s direction whatsoever.”

“Hm,” Lucifer conceded, “alright, I can see that. But still, your events are too disjointed, I don’t know when anything happens in relation to your other events. A universe may not be defined by the same kinds of series of events like a story is, but a universe still has a series of events, there is a timeline along which a universe travels.”

“Hmm,” I thought about this, “you are partially correct. Technically speaking, a universe does not have a timeline, per se. It is not a video, you don’t have to fast forward or rewind to get to different events. Think of a universe almost as a four-dimensional painting. Someone like me can travel to any point in that four dimensional space without the slightest effort. I can tell you right now how the universe will end, how it began, and anything in between without any little effort. I can describe to you the life of every being within it, no matter where or when they are, and I need not travel within any of the four dimensions of this universe to accomplish this.

“But you still have a good point that I had not considered,” I continued, “Thus far I have been moving around and describing to you people and places in precisely that manner I just described to you. And while this might be a perfectly acceptable and accurate way of moving around the universe to me, it is not the way in which we perceive the universes in which we exist, and therefore might be confusing to the outside observer. Time is not just the fourth dimension, it is also a construct of our own perception, it is the way in which we describe the connection between the events we observe. Therefore, it might be useful to have timeline.”

“Yes! A timeline would help tremendously!” Lucifer explained.

“A timeline of events. Yes, I can see how that might help keep things in perspective for the casual observer,” I thought for a moment, “Yes. I will work on this. It may take some time, so to speak, but I will make it so.”

There are those among us that speak of evil. They speak about evil as if there is some big, global conspiracy of evil-doers that plot to reverse the course of history and drive our world into a tirade of chaos, destruction, and death. In this world, it is only the actions of the many, in small, every day moments of good, that can reverse their diabolical schemes of mass sin and deceipt. It is our daily choice to simplify our lives, narrow our views, and take comfort in our righteousness that make us superior, that make us favored in the world, that make us good.

This salvation that is offered to us, this path to divinity that is shown to us, is most often espoused by those who sit in comfortable chairs. Whether they be sitting in front of a camera, behind a confessional, or in lofty offices in capital cities, our greatest warriors against evil and deception most often refuse to confront the evil that lies on their doorstep. These righteous men stare in horror at the stain on the floor while ignoring the death around them.

Despite their rantings and ravings about the nothingness of global evils, there are those of us that have stared evil in the face, and seen only a mirror. In my life I have many lofty goals and accomplishments of which I can be proud. I have worked hard to improve the lives of those around me. I have not always accomplished the goals I have set for myself, but I have always done what I felt was best for the greater good. And yet, while I commit myself to this lofty plain of selfless acts and noble devotions, I have chosen to neglect and ignore the small, every day acts of selfishness and greed. In the long run, most of these daily acts have little or no individual effect on the greater good. I have not ruined anyone’s life, I have not caused insurmountable sorrow, nor have I even failed to help those I loved who were in need. And yet, I have, without a question, commited evils.

These evils are not the global evils that threaten the very fabric of our society so vehemently feared by the men in comfortable chairs. They are smaller acts, simpler, and face to face. They are small, selfish acts that accomplish little more than the “expanding of my horizons,” or other attempts to understand the evil acts of those around me by committing identical acts. Harm? What harm is done? This is a question I can not possibly answer, and any attempt to do so accomplishes little more than driving me deeper into fear and loathing of myself and my capabilities.

These acts will not cause kings to fall, or governments to go to war, but they could, and perhaps do, affect the people I see on a daily basis. Small acts that change my world like a veil over my eyes. I provide myself with meaningless justifications that accomplish little more than my own peace of mind. And yet it is this peace of mind that allows me to commit these acts again, and again, and again.

Who am I? What am I capable of? These are questions that are as horrific as they are irrelevant. I am simply that which I have already been, and I am simply capable of that which I have already done. This statement elicits in me both pride and sorrow, for I have found my limits, and I have crushed them like sticks before the flood, and left little more than destructive tendencies in my path.

Evil? What do men in comfortable chairs know of evil? True warriors against evil fight no one but themselves. My greatest sorrow in this terrible quest for understanding is that I have learned from it little more than fear of myself. My greatest accomplishment is that I no longer fear the capabilities of others, for there is no greater evil than that which I have already committed.