In a state closer to sleep than consciousness, through a haze like the thick mist over a swamp in autumn, I watch the people come and go from the structure where my totem stands. Of course, the totem is not my body, but it is the last surviving vestige of my physical form on Earth. So, in dreamy, uncaring bliss, I gaze through those wooden eyes as men, women, and children pass before my altar. Most spare me only a glance. Those who do look longer often spend more time reading the plaque on the wall beside me than looking into my eyes. Not one of them bows their head in prayer. Time passes.

Occasionally, my sleep deepens, and I drift through memories of my time with humans and the countless ages before the dawn of humanity.

An unusually loud ruckus shifts my dream. A moment ago, I was remembering a time when the only thing that existed was a dark abyss with a single point of matter in the center. Now, I am peering through the eyes of my totem, straining to determine what drew me here. A woman in a blue covering stands before a group of small children. Another adult shifts in the shadows at the periphery of my awareness.

"Tell me something people made that's very old," the woman in blue says.

Children's hands shoot into the air, though no projectile is flying toward them.

"Masen?"

"Horse buggies," a small, red-haired boy says.

Fascinating. A human with red hair. Who would have ever imagined such a thing?

"Yes," the woman says. "Probably no one in your family has owned a horse-drawn buggy since your grandparent's grandparents were babies. But this is much, much older than that. Can you think of something older than horse-drawn carriages?"

Again, the children raise their hands.

"The pyramids!"

The woman claps her hands. "Very good! The pyramids are some of the oldest structures in the whole world. But this statue is so much older that the people who build the pyramids didn't even have a memory of it."

I'm so sleepy. I begin to drift away from them again. 

Across the vastness of interdimensional time and space, a female voice reaches me. "Matthew. Did you take candy from the gift shop after I told you not to?"

"No, Ms. Williams."

I peek back toward the humans standing in front of my shrine. The boy closest to my totem jostles against his neighbor and, with one small hand, he reaches for the ledge that serves as my altar.

I look at him. Truly look. With attention. My remaining strength burns like the last vestiges of a dying star with the enormity of my effort.

But...

A miracle.

Using his thumb, the child flicks the object in his hand away from his palm onto the altar.

There, in the corner of the niche, beside the right foot of my totem, lies a small, hard, sticky offering wrapped in shining red and gold material.

After tens of thousands of years, an offering has been made.

Power streams to me from within the fabric of reality itself. The realm of physical matter snaps into sharp focus. Infinite universes rush past me in a roaring wind. Molecules from every corner of existence stream toward the totem where the remaining vestiges of my consciousness have lived for so long. Nerves spark to life in newly formed limbs. A heart forms, flutters for a moment, and settles into a hard, steady beat. I fill my new lungs with breath and stretch my new muscles. I'm back, standing before the humans in the most glorious form of my incarnation.

The force of my essence, tearing free from bondage, causes the totem to topple and fall to the floor. It is only a useless chunk of petrified wood now. An alarm blares to life and gates slam shut over the entranceways. Two women and twenty-three children shriek and scream and run in random patterns that take them nowhere. One girl urinates. Fluid soaks the red coverings on her legs and drips onto the tile floor. A boy steps in the dampness and slips, falling down and crashing into the woman in blue. I think she must be a priestess, because beneath her heels, she is wearing short punishing sticks. When the child strikes her, she topples and falls taking two more children down with her. Immediately, both of them begin wailing.

What a welcome! I spread my arms wide, throw back my head and laugh. Oh sweet, glorious chaos!

I remember the offering. I pick it up and examine it. It's no bigger than the tip of my thumb. The outer layer crinkles in my fingers. I lift it to my nose and inhale. It reminds me of honey, but it's not exactly the same.

Someone is staring.

The boy who summoned me is gazing up at me. The child's mouth hangs open. His eyes are wide and round, spooked as a wooly rhino. It won't do for the boy to be in terror of my majesty. I need him to help me grow my following. "Fear not. You are my high priest. I am a servant to your people."

The child opens his mouth and shrieks.

It is amazing—chaos turned to sound.

Paunchy, middle-aged men with stern expressions race into the room and begin barking commands; Agents of order. Dislike burns in my breast but, having only just awakened, my power is tremulous at best. Wasting what energy I have on the likes of such unworthy opponents doesn't seem wise.

The high priest stops screaming but continues to stare.

"How may I serve you?" I ask him.

He snaps his mouth shut and rubs his tiny, upturned nose with the back of one visibly grubby hand. "They're going to take you to jail."

I drew on my meager power to hear his whisper over the din. Jail. As soon as he offers the word, I understand it. "I will not go to jail," I assure him.

He giggles. "You should run away."

The impudence. "Run away from mortals?"

"Mama says you can't show your unders in public or they'll put you in jail."

Definitions for his words sprout like seeds in the fresh, fertile soil of my mind. "This is not unders. It is a loincloth."

He giggles again.

Why? What could be more natural than girding one's loins? Surely not the excessive coverings of the humans surrounding me.

One of the men grabs my wrist. "You need to come with me, pervert."

"I will not." Even the most insolent dolt must know I will never forsake my priest. Straining so hard my new body trembles, I manage to shift matter enough to topple a statue in the adjoining room. It hits the floor with so much force the building shakes.

"Run away!" The boy says again.

"Mortals cannot harm me." This is technically true, but they could abandon me to the sleep of the gods for all of eternity. I don't see any reason to bring that up to the child.

His giggles fade away and panicked urgency arrives in their wake. "Go, dude."

How can I resist his plea? "Fine. I will exit the structure and wait for you outdoors."

One of the women is marching toward us. Anger flashes in her pale eyes. "What do you think you're doing with him?" She grabs the boy and shoves him behind her.

I stare in wonder. I'd been only peripherally aware of her, but now, as she stands in front of me, I bear witness to her extraordinary beauty. Never has such a woman existed before. Her hair is the color of golden prairie grass, and she wears it braided in a shining lock that hangs over her shoulder. She is nearly as tall as me and slender as a willow. Her eyes are a cloudless summer sky, her lips the petals of the crimson flowers that bloom on the hilltops of the north.

"You better have an excellent explanation for what's going on here, Mister, or I will haul your butt to the police station myself. Just who do you think you are?"

Helpless before her feminine power, I drop to one knee, acknowledging her rank among the women of Earth. "I am Zatyafan, god of chaos."

Her glorious, full breasts rise and fall with her quick breath. A small portion of the tension in her shoulders drains away. She runs an elegant, trembling hand over her brow. "I see. Well, thanks for trying to spice things up with living history and all but, as you can see, things have..." She gestures vaguely to the children now huddled in one corner of the room under the care of the priestess in the torture shoes. "Devolved. Perhaps you should go."

"The boy has said so as well," I tell her.

She wraps an arm around the high priest and draws him against her shapely hip.

"Go," the boy whispered.

I acquiesce to their wishes. After bowing my head to him and then to her, I exit the room, taking a moment as I go to enjoy the strivings of the fat men struggling to replace the fallen statue.

Near the outer edge of the structure, humans push through transparent panels. Several of them cast passing glances in my direction and many scoff or smirk.

Have they no respect for the gods? If I were at full power, they would all be sorry.

Alas, I've not yet rebuilt my following enough to dole out divine retribution.

I do as they did and push upon the panels which glide open. I step outside and the foulest stench imaginable by man or god assaults me. And the noise. Everywhere things rumble and crash and emit high-pitched wails and long, drawn-out honks like sick geese.

A row of unnaturally symmetrical shrubs grows on either side of a strip of unnaturally symmetrical flat rocks. I spot an unnaturally perfectly human-body-shaped place to sit and plop down. One of my last physical memories is of chasing mammoth with a particularly restless band of hunters. The world has changed since then. Questions as numerous as the stars flare in my mind. I'm desperate to speak to the high priest and the woman who appears to be his guardian. When they emerge from the structure, I shoot to my feet, but they race straight from the transparent panels to a much smaller yellow structure that vibrates and growls. My high priest presses his face against one of the transparent panels. He watches me and waves his little fingers in the air as he disappears with unimaginable speed.

The pull of sleep tugs on my spirit, but I will not relent. Not again. Not so soon.

Some gods and goddesses hate change. They are slow to evolve and too stupid to learn new things. Not me. I've watched hairy little creatures learn to walk on two legs and harness the power of fire. Now look at them! They didn't only change themselves; they shaped the very planet that had spawned them. I will not be haughty to my own detriment. I will learn a lesson from humans and allow myself to adapt.

The high priest's aura pulls me toward him like a magnet, but before I follow his path, I must find a way to blend in. No more do men walk about with their loins girded and the skin of their torso exposed to the sun. Now, their entire bodies are covered with beautiful, finely woven fibers. I need some of those. Once I have them, I can follow the priest's trail, convince his guardian to let me bed her, and grow my following thereby re-establishing my rightful place in the pantheon.

A man is passing by in one of the moving... things. "Hey, buddy! You going to the caveman convention?" He holds a single finger up in my direction.

Blend.

Adapt.

I return the gesture and then start walking in search of coverings worthy of a god.