The God of Almost

Every person is judged by the gods depending on their achievements. All sorts of achievements count: food eaten or not eaten, farts in a day, smiles in a week, how long that fish bone got stuck in your gums, etc.

No, the gods don't control your actions, but they can control the environment you're moving in. And because favoritism was so uncontrolled in the Clouds of Rank, there will always be humans who are much more successful compared to other humans, and others much more deep in muck compared to some other humans.

Now, this human, this person here wearing quite mediocre jeans, a sorta fashionable top, and some pretty worn-out shoes... this human here has been played on by the gods. Used. Experimented upon. And it has pretty much won the favor of all the gods of Rank... but not quite. You see, when a ruling body has several powerful members, balance can never be attained. They are eventually going to fight each other for the right to rule or decide. Compromising is never an option, as it admits softness of the iron fists and defeat for all. And this person was subject to all the gods' likes and dislikes, fancies and aversions, hissy fits and acts of extreme caution. This person, who by no means is informed of what the gods are doing or would be doing, suffered through all of the insanity that a ruckus of gods could create! ... but it still wasn't quite insane, nor normal for that matter.

On the day the person died, its brain's soul went up to the Clouds of Rank, pretty ready to be judged by the gods' wise pestle and mortar. The holy pestle and mortar both do the job of mixing up unworthy brains to create more worthy brain souls fit for human consumption. If it deems the soul worthy, the soul gets recycled and paired with a suitable human body. If it is unworthy, it gets into the brain soul mix, its qualities ground and mixed with other qualities into another brain soul, another identity.

The gods were aware of this person's death, and it troubled them greatly. They themselves could not decide whether this brain soul should be recycled or not. It has gone through so much mischief by the gods that its character was... quite ok, but not quite ok. Even the holy pestle and mortar could not quite decide whether to grind it or let it go.

The brain soul floated before them. Sometimes, it was calm and at zen. And sometimes, it whizzed around the Clouds of Rank so much the gods covered their heads and cowered in fear. Brain souls were hard stuff.

The matter was left to be decided upon on the next day. And the next. And the next. The gods just could not decide on what to do with this brain soul. All of them were guilty of destroying, and creating, this brain soul, and all of them cannot admit what they had done, and so all of them also could not give a proper judgment of this situation, as what one would say would be perceived by others as a form of confession. The brain soul was left in limbo for a full week, before the holy mortar and pestle eventually acted on its own.

It gave to this brain soul one thing that it has not done in millions of centuries: It gave the brain soul immortality.

Immortality means god-mode.

And no, it didn't do this because it has deemed the brain soul godly nor holy. It simply did this because all the brain souls needing judgment were piling up on the list, and the Clouds were getting too heavy to hold even 10 gallons of the golden piss of gods, which was called rain on Earth, the humans' dwelling.

Thus, this god-but-not-god existed, an entity of... not-really-uniqueness, pretty-much-a-representation of things, an entity of almost-but-not-quites. The God of Almost. He still dwells in the Clouds of Rank, but never really got along with the other gods.

*****

again, a little something sprouting from my head. enjoy.
10282012