FAVE ON THE ORIGINAL WORK PLEASE...







Men who have greatness thrust upon them are often born mediocre. Peter was one such man. Peter emerged from the womb screaming, like an average baby. He learned how to walk, how to talk, at an average speed. In school he achieved average grades, and after school, he had an average job.
Peter never did anything extraordinary. After thirty five years of being completely unexciting, Peter was sure of himself. He was sure that if he left, nobody would miss him. This is not to say that Peter wanted to leave, he wasn’t a stupid man, but he knew that if one morning on his way to work in his perfectly normal red Mitsubishi he were rammed into by a truck, or if he skidded out of control and crashed into a tree, there would be no extravagant ceremony, no wailing and weeping. Perhaps the people he knew would feel a little sadness, but in no time at all he would become just another dead man, his name added to the list billions long.

One morning on his way to work in his perfectly normal red Mitsubishi Peter was rammed into by a truck. His car rolled a great distance and crashed into a tree, and Peter, shocked by his injuries, fell into a coma. In hospital he was administered the proper care, and for the first few days his colleagues came to see him lying in his bed. They never stayed more than ten minutes, as they all felt they could be somewhere far more interesting. After ten months, Peter was still sleeping soundly. None of the doctors thought he would pull through, and the interns, in fact, had a bet going.

Nobody could know, though, that Peter was quite aware of his situation. After four months of him lying comatose in the comfortable hospital bed, he was approached by a very confident business man, who carried his briefcase in an aptly clenched right hand, and had his tie tied in a very straight, orderly fashion. The business man spoke quickly and after five minutes of fast conversation in which Peter said nothing he hauled Peter out of his bed and out the door.
Peter’s hand was shaken warmly by an elderly man wearing some very old looking nondescript grey robes. He found himself in a room exactly five meters square. It held a fancy dark wooden desk, behind which resided a purple armchair. The old man instructed Peter to draw up a chair, but when Peter said he couldn’t find any the old man sighed and waved one up out of midair himself. The old man sat in the armchair and sighed again. He scrutinized Peter; his eyes moved up and down, side to side, until he nodded to himself and began to speak in a voice with the texture of cobwebs.
“Peter Smith, thirty-five years of age, born 1974 in London, England. Mother and Father both deceased. Currently lives in Manchester, England. Works in marketing, earns 30,050 pounds a year.”
“Yes. I am. I do,” said Peter.
“To date, Peter Smith has led a mediocre life; he has no great achievements to his name. He has made no discoveries, has won no competitions,” the old man carried on, as if Peter had not spoken at all. “Peter Smith was recently involved in a car crash, in which he sustained massive injuries. He was fixed up as best he could be, but fell into a coma. Ten months have passed since this happened and it’s not looking good for him so far” The man was about to speak again when he paused, and frowned. “The interns have a bet against how long it will be before he wakes up. The lowest bet is four years, many say never.”
The old grey man read all this information off of a clipboard, with paper piled seven inches thick on top of it.
Peter shrugged. “What can I say?” he said. “I’m an average person.”
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Said the man, his head snapped up suddenly and gave Peter a fright. “You aren’t. People like you just need the right opportunity, and we are going to give you one.”
“Oh.”
“Peter, my name is John. I was in the same sort of situation as you when they found me: nearly dead. Now I’m here. Do you know what my job is?”
“No.”
“Being God.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I have been for sixty seven years. Now I’m quite old and feeble and the world needs a new one. We want you, Peter Smith.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“A thank you would suffice.”
“Thank you.”
“It was nice meeting you Peter.”
“Where am I going?”
“You’re not. I am.”
A wheelchair was bought in for John, by a different confident businessman than the one mentioned previously. John was pushed out of the door, and Peter was left sitting, quite perplexed, in front of the empty armchair.
Nobody came back into the room. Peter sat for five minutes, thinking furiously. The logical explanation for his situation would be a very elaborate, very real feeling dream, but somehow he knew that wasn’t it.
Though he wasn’t aware of it then, Peter had unconsciously made a decision to go along with it. The first indicator of this would be that he stood up and walked to the armchair. He scrutinized it carefully for a moment; he ran his hand over the arms and kicked tenderly at the legs. He nodded to himself, and sat down.
The second would be that when the first confident business man walked into the room, holding a sheet of paper and a pen, Peter did not move from what he now considered to be his chair.
Peter then signed the contract with a steady hand, and sat back in his chair, sighing contentedly. The business man nodded confidently and motioned to Peter to follow him. They emerged into a dimly lit passage with doors studded all along at regular intervals. The passage was very long. It was after maybe three minutes of striding down it that they arrived at a door, which the business man opened and stepped through. Peter followed him without a second thought.

In a small box room, John and the other confident business man sat silently looking through a glass window into the room where Peter was watching a video on Being God. Peter didn’t know they were there, as all he could see was an empty wall. John knew that is due time he’d be unable to hide from Peter at all. Nobody would. John also knew that Peter deserved his new job. He was what he liked to call an Invisible Man. Invisible Men are scattered everywhere. They’re the silent types who get through life without saying much or doing much. They are born mediocre and unless given a chance, die mediocre. At the end of his time as Being God, John had the job of finding one of these men, a man who would take the role he’d held for sixty seven short years. John knew that Peter was that man.
Why give the role to somebody accomplished? Did they deserve it? No, it’s better to give it to somebody who really needs it. Someone like Peter.

Peter sat and watched the video on Being God. It detailed what God can do and what he can’t. It spoke of religion, and how the first god was a man who appeared on earth in the form of a snake. Peter understood everything, finally. He was born mediocre so that thirty five years later he could be almost killed by a truck and become God. He didn’t question the logic, he didn’t need to, he simply knew.

So this, he thought, and sighed contentedly, is what greatness feels like.