It was a long night, darker than most. The man thought to be a god lay in bed, half awake, half asleep. Thinking, wondering about life; as usual.
The would be murderer skillfully opened the lock to the thought-to-be-a-god’s home, entered, and crept up while unsheathing a large knife. The man, thought-to-be-a god, heard all of this while he lay on his side and did nothing, for this kind of night had happened many times before. Criminals of many origins had killed him before, with many different weapons. Most these days, at least in America, chose a gun.
The almost murderer backed away in the last few seconds, changing his mind, questioning his motives, and walked back outside where his much older father stood waiting.
"I have failed father. The god is sleeping and I could not do it."
“He is not a god! You must do it or I will."
So the soon to be murderer entered once again, but this time the thought-to-be-a-god was awake and standing before him expecting to die once again at the hands of another. But when the face of the murderer was revealed by a soft light, the thought-to-be-a-god saw who he once considered to be a great friend before him, knife in hand, confusion in his face.
“You don’t have to do this,” said the thought-to-be-a-god, grabbing the wrist of the friend whose hand held the knife. “But you do have to choose what you are going to do.”
"You're not a god!" the friend who was now a would-be murderer shouted.
The father entered and drew a knife too, just to encourage his son.
“Then I'm not a god." The thought-to-be god replied, letting go of the friend’s wrist.
"Well, that has been the credit for 2000 years," the murderer said as he slew his fellow man.
Satisfaction filled the father’s heart, but it was guilt and shame that filled the son’s.
On the floor, the thought-to-be god bled out once again, as he had a thousand times before, and would do a thousand times again. If that is what it took to save even one of them, so be it.