My villain doesn't really have a right-hand-man or minions, so I did the villain himself! Meet Vladimir...
Vladimir stopped and looked around the slum just outside of the sparkling city. Tears formed in his eyes as a young child ran past in tattered clothing. There was no "middle class" anymore. One was either wealthy, or stuck in poverty. Nobody ever moved up a class. Nobody ever moved down.
A young woman flashed a smile. He grinned and walked over to talk to her.
"How are you?"
"Sir, could you spare any money?" the woman asked. "My mother, she..." the woman trailed off.
"Say no more, here are a few dollars," he reached into his pocket and handed her a few crisp bills. Her eyes went wide.
"Five dollars? You must be so rich!" she gasped.
"Where I live, five dollars is not much," he said.
"I wish I could live where you live."
"Maybe someday you will," he gave her an encouraging smile.
"Thank you so much," she skipped away as if she was half her age. Vladimir gazed in her direction and his heart was warmed. He had just made her day by giving her five dollars. Then, to his shock, a group of people came running after her, shouting murderous threats. They surrounded her. A deafening scream pierced his heart. All was silent.
The crowd dispersed, but the woman he had just talked to lay on the ground, blood pouring out from her chest. The crowd had killed her. How could anyone kill another for money? Are things really that bad?
He stumbled back into the city, dazed by the experience. Barely saying hello to his mom, he shut the door to his bedroom. Vladimir fell on his knees and began to pray. At first, he prayed in his heart, but he couldn't keep it in.
"Why would you let this happen?" he yelled. "How could you let people go so deep into poverty to murder for money?" There was silence. "Are you even there?" He picked up a pair of pants that was strewn on the floor and tossed it across the room. He sat still for a moment, but the stillness fuelled his emotions.
"Vladimir, honey! It's time for dinner," his mom called. He groaned and got up, putting on a straight face as he opened his door.
He glanced at the empty place at the table. "Where's Dad?"
His mom sighed, "At work, probably."
"But he said he'd be here tonight! He promised me he would," Vladimir stared at his lap, attempting to keep his face emotionless, manly. Vladimir's mother touched his arm, but he brushed it away. "Don't touch me."
"I know this is hard-"
"But you don't really get it. I saw things today. I saw somebody get killed. You always say that God will take care of everything. Where was he then? Where was he now? You see, God isn't real." He gasped, astonished that he had actually acknowledged the doubts that had been toying with his mind.
"He is real, and you know it. This is as hard for me as it is for you-" she was interrupted by Vladimir storming away.
He ran to his room and yelled wildly. The scene of the woman being murdered replayed in his head. The shock, the pain, it all came with it. Finally, he whispered, "I have to do something about this." His face hardened. "Someone has to play God."
A young woman flashed a smile. He grinned and walked over to talk to her.
"How are you?"
"Sir, could you spare any money?" the woman asked. "My mother, she..." the woman trailed off.
"Say no more, here are a few dollars," he reached into his pocket and handed her a few crisp bills. Her eyes went wide.
"Five dollars? You must be so rich!" she gasped.
"Where I live, five dollars is not much," he said.
"I wish I could live where you live."
"Maybe someday you will," he gave her an encouraging smile.
"Thank you so much," she skipped away as if she was half her age. Vladimir gazed in her direction and his heart was warmed. He had just made her day by giving her five dollars. Then, to his shock, a group of people came running after her, shouting murderous threats. They surrounded her. A deafening scream pierced his heart. All was silent.
The crowd dispersed, but the woman he had just talked to lay on the ground, blood pouring out from her chest. The crowd had killed her. How could anyone kill another for money? Are things really that bad?
He stumbled back into the city, dazed by the experience. Barely saying hello to his mom, he shut the door to his bedroom. Vladimir fell on his knees and began to pray. At first, he prayed in his heart, but he couldn't keep it in.
"Why would you let this happen?" he yelled. "How could you let people go so deep into poverty to murder for money?" There was silence. "Are you even there?" He picked up a pair of pants that was strewn on the floor and tossed it across the room. He sat still for a moment, but the stillness fuelled his emotions.
"Vladimir, honey! It's time for dinner," his mom called. He groaned and got up, putting on a straight face as he opened his door.
He glanced at the empty place at the table. "Where's Dad?"
His mom sighed, "At work, probably."
"But he said he'd be here tonight! He promised me he would," Vladimir stared at his lap, attempting to keep his face emotionless, manly. Vladimir's mother touched his arm, but he brushed it away. "Don't touch me."
"I know this is hard-"
"But you don't really get it. I saw things today. I saw somebody get killed. You always say that God will take care of everything. Where was he then? Where was he now? You see, God isn't real." He gasped, astonished that he had actually acknowledged the doubts that had been toying with his mind.
"He is real, and you know it. This is as hard for me as it is for you-" she was interrupted by Vladimir storming away.
He ran to his room and yelled wildly. The scene of the woman being murdered replayed in his head. The shock, the pain, it all came with it. Finally, he whispered, "I have to do something about this." His face hardened. "Someone has to play God."
What Vladimir Lost: He lost his faith in God.
Where God Is: God is everywhere at once!
Why does Vladimir need God? Everyone needs God. Everyone.
