Control

I sat down before the desk.

There was an eerie light coming from the ceiling. 

A strange smell was hanging in the air.

But I was focused, my eyes were drilling through that square, metal object in front of me. I heard screams, thumping. The Luftwaffe was already present — I hadn’t much time. The room was empty except for a desk, a chair and a strange bookshelf that didn’t contain anything but photographs, all of them were negative.

Faint, heavy footsteps sounded from somewhere distant. The clock was ticking. I sighed, closed my eyes, gently laid my hands on the black  typewriter’s keyboard and let my mind take over, as if a wave of invisible serenity and isolation storming and washing away my thoughts, making me forget the terrible battle that was going on, which all started because of one German man. 

I quietly counted off three seconds and finally started typing. Words, phrases, whole sentences appeared on the paper. I could feel how the universe resisted, how it didn’t want me to do this. Yet I had to.
Then, when I was about to finish my second sentence, one of the keys got stuck. I had no time, though, and continued. I had to end this battle, this war.

I felt how the ground shook and rattled, how the bookshelf which was hanging on the wall fell on the ground. Shouting came from right behind the wall. Was I too late? Was I discovered? No, the shouting faded. I still had some time left.

“He walks to the other side of his bunker,” I calmly wrote, “and he sees the pill. The poison, that soon will flow inside of him.” 

I did not know it, but somewhere far away, in the deepest parts of Germany, a man — the man — that had started all of this did the exact same thing. I had control over him, pure control, as if I was a ghost that possessed his mind.

“Then, a sound emerges from the ceiling,” I continued, with the keys hitting the yellow-ish paper, “and He looks up. Before he can say a word, without his mind controlling the body — as if being possessed — he rushes to the pill, pushes it down his throat and only then he wakes. Regret flows through his body, and he feels his own mistake.”

I stopped with ticking, ripped the paper out and opened my eyes. I felt like I had just gone through a strange form of deep sleep. I noticed that there was no thumping, no shouting, no nothing. Just silence. 
I had done my job, now I had to get home safely. I felt like God himself, powerful over my own creations.

However, just when I was about to stand up, banging came from the wall. Somebody was storming it. 

Big cracks were forming, and I even saw some parts of the streets. I gasped when almost the whole wall collapsed into pieces, and three soldiers walked in, their guns pointed at me. One said something in German, then nodded. I fell off my chair, and felt how the universe was laughing at me. They picked me up and dragged me away. I was protesting, and right before the building was out of sight and I was dropped on the dirty, ruined streets, I saw that one of them had that piece of paper, that manual of fate. I screamed and tried to get it back, but they were already distant. I, somebody who had pure control and power of the universe, somebody who toyed around with fate, had just been overthrown. This says, I, the one and only person who had stopped disaster multiple times.

This says I, the Lord himself who prays before himself.

They who are the weakest had collected what they had left over, used myself against me, and so defeated me. So was this a trap? Was the year, 1945, just a cover for the terrible truth. I had power! Was it at last gone? My sick control was gone, and I was at last a mortal.
Every night I think back, about how I could just make anybody do anything, and how I endlessly played with it. My time has come, I was trapped, and now those who I had made and controlled will lose their real Lord. Mark my words — they will collapse just like I did without control.