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          I never really believed in any gods. Until I became one myself. It was definitely the last thing I expected to happen when the man came stumbling into the bar. He was an older gentleman, resembling a vietnam veteran even down to the fatigues. His hair was neatly trimmed, although considerably shaggy at the time. He had a 5 o'clock shadow, even though it was just after midnight. He was built like a tank, and when he stepped through the door it was as if slab of meat from the slaughterhouse down the road had escaped from its hook and learned to walk. I couldn't imagine how much someone would have had to drink to intoxicate a body of that size. Likely he had been wandering around for quite some time before he found the place, and indeed that is just what he had done. After being thrown out of three other bars, he found his way to this one. Luckily for him, the bartender was the kind who tended to scoff in the face of good taste and public decency as long as you had the money. The stranger fished what I glimpsed to be a hundred dollar bill from his tattered camouflage pants and slapped it on the bar.
          "Give me the strongest thing you have and keep it coming," he slurred out, drooling a bit as he did so. Where does a 400 pound behemoth sit? Well, apparently right next to me. When something like that happens, you don't question it, and you definitely don't ask him to move somewhere else. So instead, I just handed him a bar napkin, gesturing vicariously to the left side my own chin as I did so.
          "You have a little something there." He didn't move immediately, still keeping his head slumped down and his shoulders hunched back like some sort of quadruped trying to stand upright. I offered the napkin again, shaking it a bit. "Here, you're drooling, bro."
          Finally he turned to me, reaching out to take the napkin and grabbing my wrist in the process. "Thanksssh" He continued looking at me as he wiped his mouth and chin. The bartender brought him a bottle of pure Everclear and a shot glass, the latter of which he probably could have done without, since the stranger began drinking the absinthe straight. I could almost hear his insides screaming for mercy. I tried to get up and move, but I noticed he still maintained a death grip on my wrist, making it impossible unless I wanted to leave him my arm as a going-away present. Unable to leave him to his lonesome, I decided to at least try to find out something about him.
          "Are you okay, sir?" I asked. When dealing with someone who could dismember you, you tend to slip into honorifics.
          He didn't even remove the bottle from his lips when he shook his head "no."
          "You seem like something's bothering you."
          Again, he paused only long enough to nod his head "yes" before continuing to drink.
          "Jeez, man. Slow down, are you trying to kill yourself?"  This time, he didn't do anything but look at me down the bridge of his nose, but in that moment when our eyes connected, I knew that was exactly what he was trying to do. He turned away from me and tried to finish the bottle, but I reached out with my free hand pulled the bottle from him. He still had a solid grip on the base, but I managed to separate the neck it from his mouth. "Hey, hey, seriously? Why would you want to do something like that?"
          I immediately regretted asking him an open-ended question like this because it forced him to speak. Not only did his breath smelled like a mixture of alcohol and gunpowder, but Spending as much time in bars as I do, I like to believe I can make out drunk-speak as much as the next person, but this even gave my skills a run for their money.
          "Y'ever may a misshake sho baah you jush candeel wissa consuh- hences?"
          "Of course, everyone has, but that's the thing. You do deal with the consequences, you don't just give up. Besides, there are cheaper ways of killing yourself than drinking straight Everclear."
          "No, no, I candeel wissam. I jush wannih be overr. shomeone elsh cinooit. I'm dunn."
          "No, it doesn't work that way. You can't rely on anyone else to deal with your problems. You have to face them yourself. It's what makes you... strong." I hesitated. His grip on my wrist was weakening. I could tell he was about to lose consciousness. I shouted to the bartender, who was cleaning the other side of the bar near the back door, completely oblivious. "Eddie! I think this guy is about to pass out! Call 911!"
          Eddie looked up slowly, oblivious of the urgency of the situation. "Just drag him out back if he does, would you?"
          The stranger started to lean back, about to fall off his stool. I jumped up pushed against his back to keep him from collapsing. It was like trying to stop a wall from crumbling, but I managed to shove him forward onto the bar, where he landed with a thud.
          "Eddie, for fuck sake, call 911! I think he has alcohol poisoning."
          "Why do you care about him? You don't even know him."
          "Well, I can't just let him die!" Frustrated, I grabbed the almost-empty bottle of Everclear and threw it across the bar at Eddie. He curled his leg out of the way as the bottle shattered against the dishwasher. "Now call them!"
          "Shit, fine. I'll call them and tell them I have a guy spazzing out in my bar." He grabbed the phone and began dialing.
          "Come on, bro. Wake up. Don't go into that light." I tried pulling the stranger by the shoulders back up into a sitting position, but it was fruitless. When a dead weight wants to stay down, it stays down. After a few more attempts, I finally managed to haul him off of the bar into an upright position, but unfortunately I overcompensated, causing him to lean back into me yet again. Already weakened from the earlier exertion, I was in no condition to stop him this time. He fell off the stool and landed heavily on me. As the wall of flesh cascaded upon me, time seemed to slow to a crawl. As I lifted my arms to brace myself, his hands fell back. The same hand that had me in a vicegrip minutes ago once again grasped around my wrist once again. He crashed down, pinning me underneath his bulk and slamming my head hard against the floor.
          I heard the sound of distant sirens as I blacked out beneath him.
          When you're unconscious, you tend to have strange dreams. I wouldn't know from multiple test samples, but I know this one was strange. I dreamt I was a child, burning ants with a magnifying glass. But every time I killed one, the others would carry it away back to the nest. I continued to burn them, laughing my little childlike laughter, when suddenly new ants appeared over the horizon. I looked up to see huge red fire ants the size of horses. I was now the same size as the black ants, able to climb onto the thorax of one and ride it into battle against the fire ants. I bellowed a battle cry, as we charged at the giant insects. My mighty steed raised its head and bit at the enemy with sharp mandibles, decapitating it. The red head continued to flail its antennae and bite at nothing while its body struggled wildly, kicking its feet in a frenzy. I pulled out the magnifying glass again, focusing the light on the enemy ants and causing them to burst into flames. At this size though, I felt sorry for them. It was no fair to them to have help from me, sitting over them with a death ray, ready to kill them at a whim. Who decided which I should kill? Who decided who would live or die?  Who decided what side earned my blessing? Why were they fighting anyway? Was it simply a matter of kill any ants who are a different color than you? It was in their nature. It was a matter of survival. Only their own nest deserved their consideration. Everything that happened was for the nest. They didn't think about who might be above them, ready to fry them out of existence. They just live their lives according to what their queen orders. I began to feel hot as my own black ant suddenly burst into flames as well. I looked up to see a blinding light shining down on me. Someone was burning me! No! I'm not an ant! I'm more important than an ant!
          When I woke up to the paramedic shining a penlight into my eyes. I flailed and blinked a few times as I regained consciousness. "Can you hear me sir? You're in a bar, everything is fine. Can you see me? Can you hear me?"
          I looked around. I was lying on one of the tables of one of the booths of the bar. I sat up, but the paramedic pushed me back down. "Don't try to sit up yet, sir."
          I raised my head slowly, trying to remember how to talk. "I'm fine. Where is he?"
          "The man who collapsed on you? I'm afraid he's passed away, I'm sorry." The paramedic gestured behind him. I lifted my head and looked over to the bar by the door. Several paramedics and police officers were standing around, questioning Eddie and the other patrons about what happened. "Are you friends?" He asked.
          I shook my head. "No, I just met him tonight." I told the paramedic the story of how the stranger had come in, wanting to kill himself and obviously succeeding in the effort.
          "I just want to make sure you know that this wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this. His blood/alcohol level was off the chart, frankly I'm surprised he was able to even walk in here under his own power. But really, from what Mr. Martinez said, you should be commended for your quick thinking. How did you know he had alcohol poisoning?"
          "Lucky guess, I suppose. Didn't really help him, though."
          "Well, I'm sure you had an impact on him, just talking to him. You made his last moments comfortable."
          "Can I go home yet, please?"
          "Not quite, I'm afraid. Just a few more questions, then you can go."
          I continued to answer the paramedic's questions, later giving a deposition to the police. I finally made it back home just about sunrise. I didn't even notice the burning in my wrist by the time I passed out in bed.