Prologue: To Live One Thousand Lives

Hundreds and hundreds of steps twisting upward; narrow, rough, stone steps enclosed with uneven, curving walls, twisting upward forever. Dull, gray light filtering in from occasional dirty, glassless windows, placed far above my head. Thick black boots, stomping along side my sore, dirty bare feet, the hem of my fraying, blue, bell bottom jeans picking up the soot of the rough steps, hard hands bruising the inside of my elbows as I was dragged up, and up. My feet tangled, the side of my ankle momentarily chafing against coarse stone, a startled cry escaping my lips as pain shot through my bones. No pausing, twisting upwards forever. Where was I?1

Bright artificial light slowly became visible from above; oblong shadows now of me and my captors were cast upon the wall behind us. There was an end to this twisting tower after all. I squinted as a bright room came into view, my feet finding thick carpet, I fell to my knees as the painful hands released me, and as sight returned to me, as I glanced around the small circular room, I decided then and there that I must be dreaming.2

The floor was red carpet, but the walls were still made of the same unfinished stone, and I was kneeling before a golden chair, moons traced in the metal, red cushions tied on the seat and back, and the boy sitting on it. Pale and slender, with soft, thick black hair and a perfect face; soft lips, narrow nose, and huge blue eyes framed with unnaturally long lashes. He perched, poised on the very front of the chair, and a strange vitality seemed to course through his features. He was clothed in a gray sweater and loose white pants, and his feet were bare.3

I stared at him, and he stared back unmoving. After a moment though, a puzzled expression flashed across his face, and his mouth formed a questioning O as his eyes seemed to focus somewhere around my feet.4

“You are bleeding!” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but seemed to be backed with inhuman power, or confidence. I blinked as I followed his gaze to my ankle, where sure enough a small scratch was allowing a couple drops of blood to squeeze out.5

“I-I slipped, on the stairs…” I stuttered into silence then continued to stare at him, my eyes widening in awe when he stood, revealing himself to be much taller than he had first seemed, and offered me his hand. He pulled me to my feet; my head barely reaching his shoulder, and let me turn in a slow circle, and examine the round room.6

Aside form the golden chair there was no furniture, and the stone walls were uniform except for two light brown, polished wood doors; I could not tell which one I had entered through though, as neither one was situated directly behind me, and on the ceiling a pair of naked, florescent light bulbs emitted a low humming sound. The two men who had dragged me up here seemed to have left.7

I returned my gaze to his, but remained silent. I was still convinced, despite the lush and specific detail, that this was nothing more than a bizarre dream. Without altering his gaze from mine the boy took a step back and crossed his arms.8

“I’m sorry about your foot, but tell me, what is you name?”9

“My name? Mara, and can you please tell me…” I had moved to sit down in the gold chair, but his hand reached out and pulled me away and he positioned himself between me and he chair.10

“I’m sorry, that’s my chair,” With his hand on my shoulder he pushed me down into a sitting position on the floor, and returned to the golden chair himself. “What did you want to Know?”11

“Uh, yeah, sorry, but what is this place?”12

A brief smile flickered onto his face and, completely disregarding my question he answered.13

“Mara; that is an interesting name, it means ‘sea’ in Latin, does it not? Do you like the ocean, or do you hate it?”14

I gaped at him, puzzling over the strange question. In all honesty I had been completely unaware that my name meant ‘ocean’ in Latin, and I was rather impartial toward the sea, but he didn’t seem to mind my silence as he continued speaking unbothered, this time answering my question, when I did not respond.15

“This place is my home, and as for who I am, I am god, this place is the home of god.”16

“Heaven?” I injected, confused, “Am I dead?”17

He smiled in vague amusement and shook his head, “No, you are not dead, and no, this is not heaven. No silly stories or terms that you have heard on earth can accurately describe me or my nature, I am not the god from the bible, nor am I any sort of god you have ever heard of. The only reason I refer to myself as god is that there is no other word in the language of humans that more closely encompasses my character.18

“Oh” I said, wishing I would wake up. “Why then, am I in the house of god?”19

“I had you brought here because your personality and attitude seem to correlate with the qualities required in this job.”20

I shook my head, “What job?”21

“My job, the job of god, I plan on retiring soon, but before I do I have to train someone to take my place, do you have any interest in becoming god?”22

I starred incredulously at him, a syllable of ironic laughter escaping my mouth. “I don’t know, how exactly do you become god? What does god do?”23

“Well, it will take quite a while to explain everything, but first of all you have to show interest in the position, then you go through the preliminary test, which is to understand.24

I pulled my knees up and leaned against the wall. “Understand what?”25

“Understand everything.” A moment of silence and I laughed again.26

“Oh, and how do you manage to do that?”27

“Well” He leaned forward and took my hand, seeming to examine it. “The first step is to live one thousand lives, and die one thousand deaths.” He paused, meeting my eyes again. “Most people don’t make it past that step.”28