Lost In The Rain

The lights of the city danced around me as I drove down the street. I came to the apartment. An old man with a cigar between his teeth told me I had to sort through documents left by a strange, long gone tenant. I found a book, an old journal, that the tenant had written in. It contained a story, a creation myth, and a few other such stories. I did not completely understand, but felt a strange feeling pulling me to these stories. Something within them rang a bell, and I felt them to be strangely true. But of course, that didn't make any sense to me. They spoke like a directly translated myth from ancient cultures, hell, they even had some elements of well-known mythologies. They were stories, nothing more.

I told the old man his tenant must have been a writer. The man scoffed and took a drag from his cigar. He told me the tenant rarely left his apartment, and sometimes paid rent in golden coins. The landlord took the gold, he told me, because it was nearly impossible to talk to the tenant. He didn't have a telephone, email, and never picked up his mail. The landlord told me the one time he saw the tenant, he had long, shaggy hair and dressed like a bum. The landlord also made some less than tasteful comments about the tenant's ethnicity that I shall omit. I left the apartment with the tenant's documents.

The rain was relentless. It was dark and cold and very, very wet. You can imagine my surprise when I heard the distinct sound of a knock at my door. I looked out the peephole and saw a poorly-dressed man with long, matted hair standing under my eaves, seeking asylum from the rain. I opened the door and greeted him with surprise and hesitation. He responded with a request for his "writings". I asked him what he meant. He asked if he could come inside. I granted his request. He entered my apartment, and when I closed the door, again asked for his "writings". I asked again what he meant. He explained that I had taken his "writings" from his apartment after he was evicted. I realized this was the tenant. I offered him a seat and went to my office to gather his documents. I had been rigorously studying them since I had acquired them. Something about them had bothered me deeply, something the author might be able to explain. When I returned to the tenant, I noticed he was unnaturally dry. I gave him his documents, but quickly asked him about them. I told him of my strange conviction of the truth of the stories. I expected him to deny these convictions, to admit the fiction of the myths, or to claim divine inspiration. I did not expect him to look away guiltily and sigh. He quietly affirmed that the stories were true, and what's more, that he was one of the characters present in them. I would have thought him insane if not for the somberness with which he spoke. I confessed my disbelief and admitted that I never took my convictions seriously. He nodded, as though unsurprised, but reaffirmed his previous statement. The stories were true, they had happened, and he had played a role in them. He had been rewriting versions of the myths to keep up with our ever changing languages. I asked him who he was. He looked up into my eyes. And I knew.

He had many names and many faces, but in the myths he had written down, he was Allknowlegde, a deity of knowledge, wisdom, and experience. He had access to everything ever known by anyone. He was the second oldest of three sons, and was at war with his older brother, Allpower, god of all the power in the universe. Allknowlegde told me that my world was ending because of Allpower, and he was fighting to keep it alive. He told me he had many allies, allies of the Earth and from below the Earth, but Allpower was stronger than all of them and ruled the sky, from where he suppressed the efforts of Allknowledgde and his allies. He told me that he could not predict the future, because the future does not exist, but he thought it very likely that he would lose this war. He apologized to me for his inability to do more. I was speechless. I could not deny what he had told me because he had put the knowledge straight into my own mind, embedding it permanently. He asked if I wanted to keep a copy of his stories. I did not answer, but he knew that I did not want even one. He smiled sadly and left my apartment.

I write this now so that if someone finds me insane, drunk, or dead, they will understand why. I hope Allknowlegde and his allies win this war, but as I look around at my own world, I see the strength of Allpower steadily crushing us in his iron grip. I do not know how long I will be able to live with this.