Anger management

"Don't panic," Lucius thought, as he heaved the heavy canisters onto the back of his car. "A guy in a blue pinstripe suit who drives several hundred liters of bleach to his house in the middle of the night and in fog. This is a free country. I can do whatever I want."

He was right. This was a free country. And he was a free man. However, this did not include an execution orgy with thirteen virgins in his basement. "Nice shit, and who's going to clean that mess up? Me, of course!"

The whole thing was not thought out well. To be honest, Lucius wasn't the brightest sun in the universe, he thought more with his dick than his brain. But when your little friend terrorized you for hours and asked for a bath in the life juices of thirteen dead virgins, then you had to deliver those goddamn virgins to him.

Of course, they weren't "goddamned", the Big Brother loved virgins. Maybe a bit too much. Until they were no longer virgins.

From this point of view, Lucius had let them become "goddamned". And spared Big Brother the judge's work by making them commit suicide and sending them straight to hell. Clever, Lucius, clever. And what was his reward? "He doesn't even send me a shitty cleaning crew. You're welcome, motherfucker!" Furiously, he slammed his clenched fist against the passenger door of his pickup truck. More precisely: through it. "Not again ..." Lucius, sighed. He shook his head in resignation, yanked the door out and threw it in a high arc across the street. "It's too late to look inconspicuous anyway."

He got into his car, turned the key vigorously, depressed the gas pedal and drove with over 250 km/h on the freeway to his home. "Let these fucking cops stop me. I don't fucking care." The initial panic was swept away. He was angry and frustrated and wanted to finally get out of his carnal shell. He wasn't a bad looking dude. Marcus was his name, if Lucius remembered rightly. Mid thirties. Trained body. Dark hair. Overall in good shape. But he got a lot in trouble lately.

Women became so complicated. At the beginning of his infinite life on Earth, which was a couple of centuries ago, girls stood in line to have sex with him, to ask questions about existence or their future. Or just to be around him. But today?

A mobile phone app to confirm mutual consent for sex.

Boys that looked like girls.

Lucius became more and more confused. The Creator must have been bored.

Lucius' piercing blue eyes could be seen from a distance behind the wheel. All women had admired him for it: his intensely shining eyes. However, they were a huge pain the ass at night when he couldn't sleep, lay awake in bed and lit the entire room.

Suddenly, the car got filled with impenetrable black smoke that reversed, divided, swallowed any present existence. Lucius, or more precisely his body, uttered a bloodcurdling, almost inhuman scream. Bones burst, splintered, exposed their marrow and fused into a mass, separate from flesh and blood. The lump of jelly that had once been a handsome and well-trained young man now wobbled back and forth on the seat. Lucius pissed off. The car shot forwards a few hundred yards and came off the road in a curve. No wonder, nobody could steer anymore. A deafening noise, followed by a huge explosion.

"Oops. That was probably the cliff that Natasha once warned me about."

Shrugging (more than a black cloud could not be made out, but if it had materialized, outsiders probably might have noticed an indifferently shrug), Lucius set out for the city to find a new shell. Maybe no celestial deity this time.