Shape-Shift

By Adam Bongarzone

            Call me Yahweh, Allah, Brahman, Zeus, Jupiter, God. I’ll answer to any of them. Well, I used to. I’ll get into that later. Not just me, of course. I’m but one of many. You may be skeptical at first, but if you think about all the different gods people worship, you’ll realize the need is there. The result is the same; we’re like a big black box that says GOD on it. Inside that little black box is Heaven. Don’t be mislead by terminology, this isn’t your stereotypical Paradise. In fact, it’s a lot like a place I used to work.

***

            It’s hard to say which is worse: My semi-eternity in Heaven, or my few years on Earth. Heaven just wasn’t for me, I simply was not godly enough. I had a few tricks: Causing floods, creating life, tipping off oracles, moving around large stones to puzzle future generations, and the like. Standard repertoire for gods. I wasn’t even very good at these things. Honestly, I was a subpar god. It surprises most people that there’s such a thing as a shoddy god, but to have the top half, you have to have the bottom half.  The only thing that saved me from being a terrible god was shape-shifting. It came naturally to me, whereas for most gods it requires years of practice and focus, and great expenditure of energy. Very few gods could shape-shift like me, and when you’re the best at something that’s in demand, you feel like you’re on top of the world. I was busy for a couple thousand years, appearing as wolf gods and bear gods in peyote induced hallucinations in North America, then maybe traveling to Africa to shift into an elephant or lion god, then perhaps to Greece as a satyr or minotaur. Ah, lovely Greece. I sired quite a few demigods there. Sometimes I’d have up to five great shifts in one day. No one else could do more than one really good shift in a day; it took too much energy for them. My supervisors praised me as a valuable asset. So many visions would have gone unseen if not for my hard work. But a few thousand years is nothing compared to eternity. All lines of work become obsolete eventually, and mine was no exception. People got tired of actual images of gods, and went into all kinds of mystical mumbo-jumbo about Good and Evil and the One True God, the big Black Box. Now there was only assembly line shape-shifting, mainly into communion wafers and wine. Any no-talent entry-level god could do this. The art of shape-shifting disappeared, and I was back to being a worse-than-mediocre god, after what seemed like a very short time at the top. It gave me a taste of what it was like to be respected and impressive, and I knew that soon, my chance would have to come again, even if I had to force it.

***

            If there’s one thing they don’t like in Heaven, it’s a god with powers that aren’t being used. Aimless gods are like a battery that’s being shorted: if the power isn’t used for something, the battery corrodes. A god without anything to do will just mope around Heaven, getting bitter and wrathful. It’s really a perfectly reasonable reaction, if you think about it: You’re a big powerful god, way more important than these stupid little people who are ruining your livelihood with an abrupt change in doctrine. Yet, you have to bend to their will, after all, you’re only real as long as you’re useful to them. And gods whose existence is threatened in this way are cornered animals. Sometimes, a god in this sort of funk will snap and do something crazy, like activate a volcano or cause an unscheduled flood. That doesn’t happen too often as you might guess. We’re usually just forced into an early retirement before this can happen.

So, it came to be my time to retire from the god business. I was summoned by Sonnbellt, the God of Retirement, about 2000 years after the whole monotheism craze took off. He sat me down across his desk, which was a huge slab of stone, and launched into his speech that he must give to everyone:

“You haven’t been doing much work lately, and you know what that means. We can’t have you wandering without purpose around the Heavens. It’s just a risk, as we’ve seen before. So, it’s time for retirement: Be ready to relinquish your powers and become a regular person on Earth.”

No big surprise here. I knew it was a distinct possibility that they might do this to me before I got my chance to return to the spotlight. I had one more card to play though,

“That’s fine, I can’t argue with your reasoning. Just one thing: Can I keep my power of shape-shifting?” I wanted to be more than just average at whatever I did, since I was so abysmal for so long as a god. If I could keep my power of shape-shifting, then, at least, I could be a remarkable mortal.

            The God of Retirement seemed not at all shocked by my proposal. After perhaps a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Yes, I suppose. On a limited basis, that is. You can only shift within the human form.”

This was understandable, since they didn’t want me turning into some sort of monster and terrorizing people. Overall, I was surprised that he had accepted my condition, and said so.

“There’s not really a policy against it, it’s just that you’re the first one to ask. Anyway, you’ll find the human form to be interesting with that sort of ability,” he replied.

***

Contrary to what you might think, gods who become men do not generally become exceptional men. The gods who are put out to pasture on Earth are ordinary gods, and generally become ordinary men once their powers are taken away from them. I’m not sure what it says about me that they let me keep my strongest power. I guess they figured that I was below average as a god, so having limited powers as a human would make me average, hardly a threat to the human race. Maybe I was more incompetent than I thought, and they decided that I needed the powers to survive as a normal person. What I told myself at the time, though, was that they didn’t understand quite how skilled at the art of shape-shifting I was, and that I could use this to become what I dreamed of being: someone extraordinary.

***

When I first came to Earth, I thought that most humans thought of shape shifting completely wrong. They didn’t see the art behind it. They think that the main use of it is as a flashy exhibition of power, like turning into a 50-story tall fire-breathing dragon, or as a way of being cunning, perhaps becoming another person to steal their identity. Some men (and by some I mean most) think of using it to enlarge certain anatomical features. They simply don’t realize that shape-shifting is all about subtlety. And maybe that last one too.

However, over time on Earth, I found that humans had their own tricks, their own ways of shape-shifting. While not physically impressive, their shifts accomplished the same thing mine did: it got people to see them in a different light.

***

            I’m standing in line at the supermarket, looking at the magazine rack. I look at it every time I come here, even though it always disgusts me. Especially the celebrity worship magazines. I tell myself that I’m angry because celebrities don’t deserve all the attention and money that they get, but really I’m angry because I’m not the one being worshipped. On the conveyor belt ahead of me in line, there’s a carton of eggs, bread and a smallish plastic bottle of vodka. Just looking at that combination makes me think that it belongs to someone who’s hit rock bottom. By all accounts, likely a white male, an unemployed bachelor, buying his bare essentials. Time to check my guess. I casually glance around, like I’m looking at everything around the store, but really I’m just trying to look at the guy with the booze without him thinking I’m staring at him. At first glance, I’m surprised. He looks successful enough. Nice suit. Combed hair. I check my watch. 6 o’clock. He’s probably coming home from work, and picking up the eggs and bread for his family, and a little something for himself. He pays and does his own shape-shifting act as he slips the vodka into his pocket as he strides out the door, hugging with one arm the brown bag containing his family’s eggs and bread.

            Next customer.

            This woman has too much stuff to analyze. It’s all boring anyway. Cleaning supplies, snack foods, canned vegetables. Probably some trashy romance novel from the rack of books behind me, but my defeated prediction from before has left me less than enthusiastic. I shuffle ahead a little bit, and place my gallon of milk on the belt. I turn my attention back to the shelf of magazines. I’m in front of the tabloids now, the rumor-mongering ones. There are stories about the same celebrities as before but considerably less flattering. I glance between the two magazines, and have to wonder if it’s the same people in both. Shape-shift.

            Next customer. That’s me.

            I greet the cashier, but she’s got her head down, concentrating all her will on getting the jug of milk to scan correctly. The cash register chirps, and I hand her the money. She still doesn’t look up. I wonder if she might have been a god once, even more of a screw-up than me. I think she was. You can sense a certain ill-at-ease feeling after long enough. All former gods exude it; I’m sure I do. Maybe she was a god of hunting, or grain. People might have mumbled devotional prayers to her. Now they mumble obscenities when has trouble working the register. She fumbles with the money, and manages to produce my change and receipt. Transaction complete. I walk out, hesitating just for a moment so that the automatic door opens all the way before I step through.

***

On Earth, nobody notices gods, and I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t notice me, in my current state. I’ve been here for ten years, trying to make myself into an extraordinary human. I could use my shape-shifting to make myself very obvious and well known, in an infamous sort of way, but that’s not really the kind of attention I’m looking for. I want to be one of those people that others regard with a kind of awe. They just stand back and watch you in action, slack-jawed, assuming that you must work on a higher level than everyone else. I need to feel that respect again, just like in the hey-day of shape-shifting. Someday I’ll accomplish that, but it’s an ongoing project.

            It’s not that I’ve been a complete failure. I established a nice little niche for myself in a government job. I’ve found that my shape-shifting, if done properly (that is, always subtly), has helped me get ahead. It’s a fine art: while I’m talking with someone I imperceptibly and very slowly shift my face and build, and gauge their reaction. Everybody reacts to it. Consciously, nothing registers in their minds, but subconsciously, these small changes remind them of people they’ve known. Some, they don’t trust or believe, and when I sense them closing up, I know that’s what’s happening, and I backtrack and try another path. Eventually, I might notice them start to open up, and I know that I’ve taken on some characteristic in their minds that makes me trustworthy. This was a painstaking process to perfect. I had to endure many odd reactions and questions about facial tics before I got my method right. Once I’ve secured someone’s confidence this way, I’m just like an old friend to them, since they feel like they’ve known me longer than they have.  This is a great way to open up opportunities in jobs. I’ve “earned” two promotions by working this technique on interviewers. Of course, I also earned one demotion with it while the whole procedure was in the testing stages. This was also when I learned never to wink at a female boss, even accidentally.

            Of course, cruder uses of my abilities have been very helpful in saving myself a lot of pain a few times. In bars, some drunk hillbilly would pick a fight he thinks he can win, only to find out when he gets outside that he might as well have tried to beat up a redwood tree. This gave me an idea for a game that I call “Fishing for Muggers.” There’s nothing a mugger likes to see more than a small, slouchy man in a dark alley. This is my “default” form, so it’s usually the form I walk around in. Naturally, I attract muggers, and as I see them approach, ready to pull their knife, I unfold myself out of my slouch to stand about a foot higher than I did before, bulging with muscles. Reactions vary from confused stares as the would-be mugger walks by feigning innocence, to a “Holy shit!” with a full reverse and retreat. Some nights, if I couldn’t sleep, I’d go out baiting muggers like this. Hours of fun.

***

            The main reason I couldn’t sleep is that a job opened up two levels above me. This was a fast-track, show-everyone-what-you-can-do management job. Exactly what I’d been looking for to win some respect. This job looked like it was all mine, no one was qualified or due for a promotion except for me. The bosses had even given me a preliminary interview where I was in my shape-shifting was in stellar form. One day, when I thought the promotion loomed near, I overheard the bosses talking about the job with someone else. I stretched myself out just high enough to see over my cubicle wall. They were talking with a clean-cut man of no more than 30, whose affected snobbish voice grated on me at once.

            “Oh yes, I simply love a good round of golf. And how about racquetball?” He was definitely schmoozing as heavy as he dared.

            “I never liked that game much myself. Too much running around,” one of the bosses said.

            He quickly recovered, “Yes, not at all relaxing,” he said, adjusting his lapel to cover a pin shaped like a racquet.

            “So, we’ll see you for that interview Friday at 3, right, Mr. Thompson?” a different boss said, not really asking so much as stating.

            “Of course! If you want to play a game of rac…er…round of golf before then, just give me a call, I’m staying at the Sheraton on Boylston until I find a place around here. Goodbye, Mr. Kenson, Mr. Woods, Mr….”

The End