The Grand Finale

For the 'Hidden power' competition. Criticism and advice welcome!


3. Three

The boy is clearly bubbling over with more questions, but he somehow holds it together, and asks the one that is drowning out the rest:

“Who am I?”

“I think only you can tell us that.”

The boy closes his eyes, trying to sort the jumble of his identity out in the dark. He presses his fingers to his temples and begins to probe around in his own mind. He instantly becomes conscious of the trickle of power, a little muscle he has become accustom to, sitting in the back of his head. He presses on it, experimenting, stretching and flexing it. Surely if he were a god he should have more than just enough to crack a bowel? But wait, right there

As if it were a balloon he had poked too hard the little ball of energy explodes.

And he is on fire. It rushes through his veins, emitting a faint glow out through his flesh, he is alive, truly alive for the first time, and liquid gold, no- liquid light, courses through his system, flooding out everything else.

He is Vishnu. The creator. The destroyer. The supreme god.

He is everything.

His eyelids fly open, and for an instant, the woman who raised this god as her own child, sees his pupils dilate; irises gold, then amber. Then back to grey, the power retreating further beneath his skin as he brings it under control.

And he smiles. Because as well as being Vishnu, he is human. He is this woman’s son.

“We don’t have to hide anymore mum.” And she smiles back- a young and radiant smile, cracking through the strain that has been the last seventeen years.

Then he cocks his head to one side. His eyes cloud over, listening intently to something the human ear could only fantasise about hearing.

“They’re coming.” He means the press. And the British army. And a whole lot of other people, who want to see the real god. They’ve found them at last.

He scoops his mother into his arms, then runs. Runs to meet the helicopters and the tents and people. They’re no far really, for someone who can move at the speed of light.

They’re assembled on the edge of the rainforest. Camped on a huge plain that is the doorstep to the jungle. Reporters and their crews, cameras and speakers- determined not to miss a thing. The army are closest to the forest- and it’s not just the British: Vishnu has thrown the states into chaos- a god can jeopardise the security of the word- and if this is judgment day they won’t go down without a fight. Finally, behind both distinguishable groups: the people. Thousands upon thousands- all nationalities waiting to hear him speak. And some- like the Christians and the Islam’s- waiting to deny his existence: their deities are the only true ones, any others are false or need to be put to death.

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