A Demigod in Smite of Myself
by Charles C. Cole
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
“You got it coming, that’s sure,” I began. “And now you’ve put me in an awkward place where I have to do something or, I’m hearing, something’s gonna happen to me that wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be just.” My right index finger tingled as if in anticipation. “For the record, I don’t want to do this, and I take no pleasure in it.”
Then I aimed my finger at her, sticking my thumb straight up like the hammer of a gun, and uttered the curse. And she was gone. Except for her small black shoes.
The act was becoming easier and the subsequent guilt more defined, though so far I could justify my responses by rationalizing I had left the world better than I had found it.
I stopped by a store for some sweets. All of this excitement was giving me an intense case of the munchies. The guy behind the counter was probably only a few years older than me. We were alone. He nodded at my entrance but otherwise continued yacking on his phone, very animated.
“If Jewels thinks she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants to, she’s dead wrong. I told her: her friend Pamela was friends with my ex; so, of course, Pamela is gonna bad-mouth me and she’s only gonna hear one side of the story. I’m only rough with girls who ask for it, you know? When they mouth off or when they lie to my face and think I can’t tell. Or when they start flirting with another guy, like it’s a game. You got that right.”
The candy bars were two for the price of one. I had a little spending money in my pocket because I did occasional chores — simple tasks — for Johnson House, to pass the time, to keep from overthinking.
There were so many options. The guy stared at me like he was mad at me for distracting him from his on-the-job conversation.
“You gonna buy something or not?” he asked. He wouldn’t have acted like that to some little old lady. I let it go. I grabbed two chocolate bars and put them on the counter. He gave me a price that was not the advertised amount. In fact, it was twice the amount.
“The sign says two for the price of one,” I reminded him.
“You gotta be eighteen or older for the adult discount.”
“Adult discount?”
“I don’t make the rules,” he replied. “Let me call you back,” he said to the phone and hung up. “So? Do you have the money?”
“Actually, I do,” I said. “Like you, I have a job. Unlike you, I do it well.” Which may have been a slight exaggeration, but I needed him to know that, on some level, I was better than him, a better worker and, by extension, a better person. He noticed the implication and suddenly twisted his head this way and that like he just realized it was a little loose up there.
“I think you should leave,” he said. “Come back another time when I’m not here. There’s a mother-type who works the register sometimes who’s a lot more patient with kids than I am. You picked the wrong time to come in here, that’s all.”
“Can I at least buy one candy bar for the price of one candy bar?” I asked, trying to find a somewhat satisfying compromise.
“My friend’s probably waiting for me to call back,” he said. “I can’t do that while you’re loitering in the store casing the place, can I?”
I stared.
“Tell you what,” he said and grabbed an open bag of Hershey’s Kisses from under the counter. “I found this bag already ripped open earlier. Obviously, we can’t sell it. Grab a couple of kisses for the road, then get. No hard feelings.”
“Just sell me the candy bar,” I persisted.
“Can’t. I got my reasons, which I don’t need to explain to a punk kid like you. Bye. Thanks for coming. Hope to see you again soon. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“Are there more like you at home?” I asked. “Because the world is getting to be a scary place. I don’t feel safe anymore. Everywhere I go, people want to mess with me. And, I have to warn you, I’m no longer gonna put up with it.”
“Get out of here before I call the cops and tell them I caught you trying to steal something.”
“Let’s de-escalate,” I said. “At the Johnson House when events start heating up, we—”
“You’re one of the JoHo kids?” he stammered. “That explains a lot. They should make you wear a uniform, so we know what we’re dealing with, before we have to deal with it.”
“Tell me about it. I’m starting to wonder where all the good people are hiding.”
“I’m calling the cops,” he said.
“Why? I didn’t do anything to you or your precious store.”
“Not today, but you might one day, and then the police will already have your precious prints on file.”
I headed for the exit, but he locked it with a remote control. The click might as well have been a shot over my bow, if you get me.
“You’re not going anywhere, delinquent,” he growled.
“Another D-word,” I mumbled.
“What was that?”
To which I said: “I have a finger and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I explained my new powers, dead serious so he knew I wasn’t kidding around, so he knew who he was dealing with. “You have a choice to make. In one version of your life story, you unlock that door, I leave and you call your friend back. In another version, a much shorter version, I unlock the door and you never call your friend.”
“You read too many comic books.”
“I don’t read comic books,” I retorted, “not that there’s anything wrong with them.”
“I’m calling your bluff,” he said, and he reached for the phone, watching me over his shoulder.
While pointing my index finger at him, I said, “Say bye-bye to the world.” And he was gone. I grabbed the remote from the counter and unlocked the door.
A young lady in low-rider jeans with a black crop top, someone neither one of us had noticed, pushed her way in, white as a sheet. “Joey?” she called out. “What did you do to him?” she demanded. “Where did he go?”
“I have no idea,” I said, honestly.
“But you sent him there. I watched you. You aimed your finger at him.”
“Coincidence. He’s behind the counter getting something out of the bottom drawer for me and can’t hear you.”
“Liar. You’re a bad person,” she said, not knowing me or my life or how Joey’d just treated me.
“I’m not a bad person,” I said. “If you’d been in here a few minutes ago and seen how he was pushing me around and slamming his girlfriend—”
“I’m his girlfriend.”
“You’re Jewels? Then I did you a favor. You’re welcome.”
“What just happened? What did I see? Tell me,” she demanded.
“In simplest terms: he pushed my buttons and I responded. The end.”
She ran around the counter and found his shoes: red platform sneakers with long white laces, undone. She held them up and shoved them at me. “Undo it. Undo it now.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t know how.”
“Bring him back,” she screamed. “Or I’ll make you pay. My father’s a lawyer, and he’ll believe me. You ruined my life, and I’m going to ruin yours.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Hear me out. He provoked me.”
She hugged the sneakers, the last remaining part of him, against her chest. “Then send me after him. Send me wherever you sent him. We were gonna grow old together.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
“Do it to me. Whatever you did to him, do it to me.” She insisted, so I did it.
Back in my room, I was feeling awful. Before my superpower, I’d been living the life of a victim, but at least I was the good guy. Now I wasn’t so sure. Four people were gone, forever. I stared into the mirror over my desk. I pointed my finger at the once-familiar image and whispered the curse. Nothing happened. I was still there.
I climbed into bed early with the TV on low, hoping my “puppet master” would make an appearance. Then I drifted off.
After a while, “Testing 1, 2, 3,” said an electronic voice. “Testing 1, 2, 3.”
I sat up and rubbed my tired face. He looked the same, but the tassel was on the other side, and he was now wearing half-moon sunglasses. “Somebody’s been a busy bee.”
“I want you to undo everything I did.”
“Not gonna happen,” he said.
“Did I really kill people?”
He bounced a little in his seat, like he had ants in his pants. “If it makes you feel better, technically no. People kill people; gods smite: permanent but painless.”
“I felt so bad, I tried to smite myself,” I admitted. “No such luck.”
“You can only smite one of the perishables. I thought that was obvious. God or demigod, it’s all the same.”
“Just tell me: am I a bad person?”
“Technically, you’re not a person,” he explained. “You’re an inexperienced god wrapped up in a mortal coil. Everyone makes mistakes, but when gods do it, half the world sits up and takes notice.”
“Will it get easier?”
“Meaning no more second-guessing yourself? Absolutely.”
Someone mumbled from off-camera. “One of the major players is coming to have a word with me. I gotta go. Keep your head down. My advice: graduate from high school first, then you can conquer the world later.”
“What’s your name?” I asked. “Who are you? Why are you helping me?”
But he was gone. Not my kind of gone, not like Raney, Mrs. Toole, Joey and Jewels. I longed for the good ol’ days of worrying about exams and grades. I glanced at the pile of textbooks collapsed on the end of my bed. Oh yeah, I’m still living with them. And so it goes.
Copyright © 2026 by Charles C. Cole
