Everybody Needs a God

     John Worthy sighed as the Errendi flailed about the room, finally falling, sprawling himself across the large oak bedframe. It had gotten to the point where the old man’s drug-induced mutterings had become commonplace to him. So much so that sometimes he forgot that the ancient fool was important and took for granted how precious the mind truly was. He supposed it was this way with all Partisans.

     Like the rest, Worthy grew up believing the Errendi was the heart and soul of the Harbor. The divine genius behind it’s most intelligent actions. The Errendi was the word, and the word was not questioned. The day he had been promoted to Partisan he had beamed with pride, his heart swelling out of his chest. How many men could say that they were the sole protector of the most important man alive? To be a Partisan was to be respected, to be adored, to be the closest that one might get to that unreachable goal of pure nobility. Or so he had thought.

     The Errendi took another hit. His eyes grew wide and his throat flexed, the tendons sticking out at unnatural angles. Goddamnit, thought John. Bastard’s going to puke everywhere, and I’m going to have to clean it up. He had never signed up to clean, and yet he had wiped up more vomit and shit in his time in the service than any man ever should. It was part of the job. The part they failed to mention.

     Partisans didn’t last long. Retired after four years, they were neatly swept under the surreptitious covers of the Harbor. It was said that every Partisan was cared for, everything he wanted supplied, everything he desired given, everything he feared destroyed. This had been John’s motivation and sole reason for joining their ranks. He had believed, yes… but he had always had his doubts.

     Now his doubts had been realized completely. The Errendi was meant to be the holiest of the holies. The great wizard that shaped and formed their world without question. This man.

This man.

This man.

     This man who night after night stoned himself to oblivion. This man who muttered and sang and stumbled through life. This worthless man.

     The Errendi sat upright and John did the same, eyeing the old man suspiciously. The elders had been explicit with his duties only once the vows had been taken. The Errendi was the potted plant on the mantelpiece of their society. The populace believed what they did and the elders encouraged it. There were no lies, no outright deceit they had explained to him. There was only what they believed. ‘Why destroy that?’ they had asked. Why not allow them their beliefs? It didn’t change anything. The most intelligent, the most influential were always in charge. Why not allow them their figurehead?

They were right.

     The Errendi coughed, sputtered and exhaled a spray of dull orange fluid onto the floor in front of him. It pooled around his feet and drizzled towards the far wall. Tiny chunks of dry, undigested caps and stems could be seen clearly.

     Why not? Thought John to himself as he fetched a mop, Everybody needs a god.