Last Days

by Brian Evenson

You were God for a moment, even if you didn’t realize it.

And then Borchert turned to face him, his face wreathed in ecstasy, his eye dilated wide.

He raises the cleaver high. His whole life is waiting for him. He only needs to bring the cleaver down for it to begin.

His body felt like a separate animal. He could only watch it, encourage it on.

“You made us certain when, instead of being killed by them, you extricated yourself wielding a sword of destruction. Metaphorically, I mean. By a sword I mean a gun.”

“Besides,” he said. “It’s not just you. We all have relics. I could show you my own if you’d like.” “Somehow that doesn’t reassure me,” said Kline. “Would you like to see it?” asked the Paul. “Absolutely not,” said Kline.

“None of my business,” said the attendant, “but seems to me a man who’s a killer wouldn’t bother to pay for his gas.”

When he saw Kline his anger fled, was replaced by something uneasy, much less sure of itself.

How much weirder, thought Kline, is it possible for my life to get? And then he pushed the thought down and tried to ignore it, afraid of what the answer might be.

I am remarkably calm, thought Kline, moving from room to room. I am doing remarkably well, he thought, considering.