It was like punching in dreams: you know you hit, but you just can’t feel your punches connect, no matter how forceful they may be.

The man released flurries of hooks and uppercuts, but he can’t seem to do any kind of harm to it. It seemed as if he was hitting a ghost. His assault weakened him and fatigue dragged him down the ground.

The man slumped down in surrender, kneeling down the unfamiliar vast land. He was breathing hard, trying to take in what seemed like air. He stared at it; it smiled at him, malice-free but menacing nonetheless.

Had enough?

It walked around him, at least, it seemed as if it was walking.

Well, it all boils down to you.

“Me?”

Him-- a thirty-two year old man, worn out by years of monotonous corporate work. It was as if his life was not burdened enough. It was as if he was free.

“Please, I have a family to look out for. My kids, they need me.” He pleaded. He was kneeling down the moistened grass of the absurdly green field. His white long sleeved shirt and black slacks stood out awkwardly.

Your family? Hah! Your FAMILY?!

          “Nothing is more important to me than my family!”

          He stood up, got back to his stance and prepared to strike again. It laughed at him and continued to smile down.

          Hahaha! You two-faced son-of-a-bitch. That’s a lie, and you know it.

          And it was. He was married for seven years and on their fifth year anniversary, he fucked his boss’ client while his wife waited for him to come home from his “emergency meeting.” He got a promotion shortly after because he nailed the boss’ deal. Ever since then, emergency meetings became more frequent.

          “B-but It w-wasn’t really…” He only stuttered when he was caught. He was a good liar, a great liar even. He can look his clients in the eye while he robbed them of their money, and yet, his clients felt as if they just found a new best friend.

          “I can’t do it! I can’t make a decision! Not this kind of decision!” He shouted.

          Calm down, will you? Of course you can’t. But, trust me, it doesn’t matter. You just have to choose.

          It took a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds out of it’s pocket and lit one carefully and offered a stick to him. He contemplated taking a stick-- he did not smoke, but it seemed that it was the perfect time to start.

“How can it not matter? Don’t you see? I’m not capable. I just can’t.” He reasoned as he puffed on his cigarette.

          Okay, look at it this way. Let’s say you’re hungry and to satisfy your hunger, you eat.

          He shook his head violently.

          Oh, get a grip. Just listen first. So you want to eat, and then you find a fork in the road. The path to your left leads to McDonald’s and the path to your right leads to Burger King. You might choose McDonald’s because of their fries, or their shakes or your fetish for Grimace. On the other hand you might choose Burger King, because of their, well, burgers. But for whatever reason your decision is grounded on, it doesn’t matter. Your hunger will be satisfied, wherever you choose to eat.

          He stopped for a moment and looked at the image before him with great fear and curiosity.

          “If it is indeed useless, then why do you need me to choose for you?”

          It smirked and puffed hard on the cigarette, burning the whole stick to the filter. He was shocked to see that no smoke came out.

          Choices don’t really choose themselves. Someone needs to select them.

          “Then, why the hell did you pick me? Billions of other people in the world, and yet you somehow pick me. Why me?” He said, trying hard to mask the shakiness of his voice.

          It has to be someone, right? Think about it, if you were not chosen and one in the other billions of people was selected, then wouldn’t that person ask the same questions and whine about the same things? Why him?

He bowed down and closed his eyes. He thought about praying and how miraculous other people thought it was. He thought about how people hold on to it like some emotional crutch. A prayer was always ready for every occasion—before meals, after school, noon time, before going to bed, after waking up, every three o’ clock—there should be a prayer for this certain occasion too. If this thing existed, then prayers must be real.

It just so happens that you’re the lucky winner. You should be happy. I know a handful of people who will kill for this kind of attention.

          “Fate!” He snorted.

          Barely. See, we do not know what will happen in the future. We live by every second of time, by every revolution of the world, by the explosions and births of universes. We do not do things in order to make other things happen for our sake, but we act as the job comes along.

“HE doesn’t know?” He asked, bewildered. “He must know! He can do anything, right? He created all this! Why can’t he do something about it?”

          To him, religion was the biggest, most extravagant movie in human history and God was the biggest star of all time.

          Ah yes. The omnipotent, all-seeing, all-knowing God you people fondly talk about. A clap of thunder right now would really seal the deal on this one won’t it?

          It laughed and he felt coldness surround him. It was enjoying every minute and he knew it.

Er, well, no. “He” doesn’t know squat. All of you have been terribly mislead for thousands and thousands of years. Throw up the bullshit that was forced down your throat like a bulimic teenager after a buffet. But you know, It’s kinda sad, really. You people believing in something so wrong and yet you follow it blindly because of faith. It’s depressing.

          “So there is no God?”

          Well, in a manner of speaking, no. Your god does not exist. Although there’s this other omnipotent being; he didn’t do much, really. He just created this universe your planet is currently on and everything in it. But unlike your god, The Creator does not ask for praises and followers. He doesn’t need it. It’s unbelievable how much kiss-ass he gets. “Oh, you’re so powerful and awesome! Please build me a constellation near my pool.” You should hear some of it. You should know, coz they sound like prayers.

          He felt sick.

          “Wait, no.” He weakly said. “God loves us. We are created in his image and likeness! We are God’s children!”

          What? Where the hell did you hear that? Church? The Creator does not love you! I mean, yeah, he likes you guys, but he doesn’t love you.

“He does! He created us! We are his ultimate creation!"

It laughed again and stopped when it saw the disconcerted look on his face. It seemed like it shook what its head and continued on.

Alright, here’s a secret: human beings are mere consequences of creation. Technically, human beings are created by him because humans are products of his creation-- Earth. It’s like having a mango tree. If that mango tree is yours, then the mangos that could be harvested from it are yours too. Unless the mango falls on your neighbor’s backyard, then that mango will now belong to him. But, unlike mangos, humans, wherever you fall, you will fall on his property. You are in The Creator’s backyard, no matter what.

          “But that does not make sense at all!” He objected. “That’s just stupid. If we are just accidents, then why are you making an ‘accident’ decide on something as heavy as that?”

          If there was something he was good at, it was finding sense and logic from anything and persuading other people to see things his way. That was his job.

          Why should it make sense to you? It will never make sense to you because no matter what you do, you will never understand the workings of the mind of The Creator. I can’t believe how adamant religion has been for the past thousands of years. They’ve been trying so hard to capture the essence of The Creator by writing books and stories of men parting seas, people defeating giants and who can ever forget Jesus Christ?

          It raised it’s arms to the sides, kept it’s legs together, hung it’s head and imitated the Son of God, crucified.

Damn! Jesus Christ is the living fantasy of man in The Creator’s involvement in humankind.

          He did not believe in God, but he was insulted by the blatant disregard of the supposed Son of God.

          “Jesus Christ is not God’s son?”

          HERETIC! BURN IN HELL! Hahaha. I kid, I kid. But, yeah man. Why would someone as big and powerful as The Creator send one of his sons to Earth just so the people will be saved from their sins?

          He looked at the ground and he saw an ant run defiantly against the wind, against the line. It looked clumsy because the ant was carrying a big leaf, about ten more his size. He remembered how he liked burning ants, keeping them in glass containers so he can watch them run around, hitting each other in the process. He also liked toying with ants. He found it peculiar why ants would never cross the ground where you drew an imaginary line with your fingers. He drew fun from it, he thought it was funny.

It’s like sending your kid in a world of ants just so he can bring them sweets. Jesus, why should The Creator care? You guys are accidents!

          “But if I do not understand, then why should I be the one to decide?”

          Oh, are you really asking that or was that just for you? I mean, I just answered that. But yeah, you’ve been chosen. That’s why it’s up to you.

          “Chosen to do what is right?”

          Chosen to be the one to choose.

          “And God cannot choose for Himself?”

          Okay, here’s the thing. When you just finished a work that you are truly proud of and is really perfect for you, then some of your friends point out something wrong or when you notice something not right, will you change that work of art? Will you modify it and edit it again? Won’t that just destroy your work? The Creator treats his masterpieces with care and your universe is one of his masterpieces. He will not change it because of some glitch, but he did some security measures in advance. So here we are.

          He stooped down and hopelessly inspected the blades of grass before him. The movement of the grass was surreal as it joined the unfaltering wind in a hypnotic dance. Then, he noticed the skewed buttoning of his shirt and unbuttoned it, then buttoned it again, only to find that they were still in the wrong holes.

          “I know someone, someone who can be a better judge of things.” He said, gaining composure. “I know where you can get him and I know that he will be a better person for your cause.”

          Our cause? Do you even know what we do? Hahaha. Do you think you understand?

          Something in it’s laugh made him squirm. It wasn’t a laugh of joy, or excitement, or fun—it was a laugh meant to take laughter out of someone.

          “He is the perfect guy to ask and I know for a fact that he will do it.” He tried to imagine standing in front of the judge, waving bullshit in front of it’s face as if it was the plain, hard truth. “And I will support you in everything. Let it pass me now, and I will serve you for the rest of my life.”

          I’m sorry, but what gave you the idea that we need you? You-do-not-mean-anything.

          It was a weak argument. But it didn’t seem weak when he thought of it. Somehow the pathetic attempt was only realized when it was pointed out to him.

          Do you want another cigarette? You look like you need one.

          It waved a stick in front of his face, but he didn’t take it. Sensing his frustration, it took the cigarette and lit it for itself.

          “What is it that you guys do, aside from screwing up lives?” He looked up to his companion defiantly.

          Oh! We are the SWAT. We are the Human Rights. We are the environmentalists. Don’t take it literally. But in essence those are what we are the built in “defense mechanism” in the planet. And yeah, we are the television producers. We make sure The Creator is entertained.

          He flinched like he was hit with a lead shovel at the back of his head. It did not want to settle down at first, but when it did, it settled in hard. He felt angry, he felt used. He finally understood why women are infuriated when being ogled – they felt cheap. He was SpongeBob Squarepants, and he can’t believe it. He felt betrayed.

          The cigarette was lit without any visible fire. It puffed on it effortlessly as if it wasn’t even breathing at all.

          Phew. Here’s the bomb: the universe was created for aesthetic purposes only. It was a show of The Creator’s power, you know, it was a show of his craft. But even if this is all just a mantelpiece, I assure you, this comes in high in the long list of creations. You should have seen him work on this universe. I guess that’s why he’s not at all surprised that beings as advanced as you sprouted out of what he did.

          “So He watches over us? To keep him entertained, I mean, he should watch, right?” He thoughtfully asked. “So He’s watching us right now?”

          Do you stare at your work 24/7? Of course not! That’s just stupid. But when you do see it, you want it to be in a good condition.

          “You and God seem to have emotions too. Then doesn’t He have a problem with, you know, what He’s doing? What the hell! We are mere toys!”

          Dude, look at us? Don’t we look familiar?

          He stared at it. It was bothering him ever since they met because he can’t seem to place where he saw this thing before. He knew that he saw it before but he can’t quite place it. Something about it was homely and yet unwelcome at the same time.

          Can you believe it? I’m not even speaking in English right now. Hell, I’m not even speaking at all. Weird shit, eh?

          ”But still, don’t we…”

          There was silence.

          Well, we hate to rush, but you need to choose now.

          It threw the crumpled, empty pack of cigarettes beside it and bent down to meet the kneeling man’s eye.

          He tried to weigh and measure all the things that was said. He tried to remember the thirty two years of his life. He tried to go back his little blue crib. He tried to go back in puberty. He tried to go back to his first girlfriend. He tried to remember his law firm. He tried to remember the smell of his wife. He tried to visualize the smiles of his kids. He tried to fell the warmth of his mistresses. He tried to remember all the good times in his life.

But he cannot.

          All he could think of was God, sitting on a white leather Lay-Z-Boy, laughing and slapping his knees as he watched the universe in his plasma screen television, drinking beer and eating popcorn.

          We don’t have all day. Sorry, man. You need to get this going. You need to choose. Will it be left or will it be right?

For the first time, he smiled.

           “I choose to sleep.”

          And he did. He slept with the weight of the universe, resting on his back.