God for a Minute

Music filled the air around as bass shook the Earth.

She was dressed like an angel, the shape of her body outlined in soft white light. Feathered wings glistened beneath lasers that illuminated the sky.

A fire burned in her eyes as she placed the pill in my hand.

“Take that, then take my hand,” she said.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

She smiled. “Everywhere.”

The effects were sudden and potent. I left the ground, the bass, the music, and the people behind.

I saw everything all at once. The galaxies became my eyes, and the planets became my fingertips.

My mind became infinite as I simultaneously beheld the past, present, and future. I saw people, creatures, and things beyond understanding.

All of their stories flowed through me like rivers of emotion and color. I felt their happiness. I held them as they mourned the ones they lost. I wiped their tears as their hearts broke and basked in their smiles as they realized their dreams.

Everything that was, everything that is, and everything that could be flew past in a blur, yet somehow perfectly clear.

I took a step back, and I saw above it all. I visited the place where colors come from. I drank from the well where inspiration flowed forth. It was bitter and sweet.

I saw the place where souls are born. I watched them explode like supernovas and bloom like flowers.

They grew into expanding fractals, ripening like fruit before they were plucked into existence as part of a cosmic harvest. It was calculated. It was structure and chaos inexorably entwined. It was overwhelming.

I felt the pull back to where I came from. I knew I couldn’t take everything I had seen back with me. My mind would not hold it.

When I awoke on that open field, the angel was gone.

I wish I had more of those pills. I would pass them out to everyone around me, and when they returned, I would ask them a single question:

If we could all be God for a minute, what would change?