Throughout history, my Chosen have called me by such grand titles as Idiota, Der Dumme and Uoplyste. I have been called many other names as well, but this is not a story about that. This story is about my newest human Chosen. His name is Alexander, and he is great.

First, I should describe my town to you, or at least, the half of the town that is mine. These modern humans conveniently built their wondrous town so that only one half of it falls under my domain. Above the town, at the very center of my domain and a mere mile from where the town’s edge withers and dies, is my cliff. It is a beautiful cliff, red rock, brown rock, gray rock, some dirt and scraggly plants, and the tribes who existed long ago would drive herds of buffalo in great numbers over this cliff to their deaths. In such a way did they give me sacrifices, and in such a way did I provide them with the essentials of life: food, clothing, tools, entertainment. And then the buffalo disappeared, replaced by the early settlers.

Now, instead of vast open plains filled with grass and animals, there is a beautiful bustling little half of a town filled to the brim with the descendants of the early settlers. My Chosen, Alexander, is one of those. Up until now, he has lived a quiet life working for powerful interests during the day and spending his nights partying with other descendants like there will be no tomorrow. Oh, how little he knows of the impact he will soon make upon the world. The house he currently lives in, which he shares with three other charming people, is a charming little cottage on my edge of the town. It has charming features like a partially redone roof and a lovely plaster Greco-Roman pillar supporting a corner of its front porch.

On the morning of this ever-so-fateful day, my Alexander is woken up from his nightly nap by the sweet rays of sun that pour in through an open window frame. He flips onto his stomach and stretches his arms wide in an attempt to capture as much of the new dawn as he can, excited to be alive. Then he slams his hands down and returns to his slumber for another few minutes. After that, he clambers up off the stained bare mattress and is off to start a brand-new day, a day which he will remember for as long as he lives, for today is the day that he will learn that he has been Chosen by yours truly.

There’s okay-smelling toothpaste for a okay-smelling mouth, mostly unwrinkled clothes for a mostly unwrinkled body and an almost-nourishing snack for an almost-nourished digestive tract, and then Alexander leaves his house, ducking slightly as he passes through his porch. He makes his way down the street, greeting each neighbor he sees with a glance in the other direction until he finally makes it to the nearest bus stop. He taps out a jig with his foot as he waits, and when the bus arrives, he charges up the stairs like a buffalo runs up a hill. Then Alexander jumps back off the bus quickly and gracefully when the driver realizes he has no change to pay the fare. But my Alexander doesn’t mind the walk. In fact, he was walking the very first time I took notice of him, the very first time he came atop my cliff and looked wistfully down upon my domain. It was then that I knew he would be my Chosen, for we desired the same thing. Anyway, it’s a wonderfully sunny day, and he had been meaning to sweat off some water weight, so he walks.

Unfortunately, Alexander spends his day outside of my existence and so I know nothing of it. Fortunately, this is my story to tell, and so I will give you my closest approximation as to what happens.

My Chosen walks down the street to roaring applause by all who see him. At first, he gives a small wave or a nod to each of his supporters, some of whom are even holding signs for him, but there’s so many people and he eventually tires and begins to ignore them. But they love the lack of attention. They go crazy. They pick him up as though he were a rock star, though of course that is far below his true status, and they pass him hand to hand to his destination: a gold-plated building with “Alexander the Great” emblazoned in black marble letters across the facade. They set him down gently in front of the door, and he strides inside like a king.

In his office, servants wait on him hand and foot, and he wants for nothing. Coffee? A man dressed in a 57-piece butler’s uniform hands a styrofoam cup full of it to him on a fancy silver platter. Surf and turf? His personal chef fishes out a fresh crustacean from the artificial beach in the basement and retrieves a fresh porterhouse from the butcher who lives out back, then cooks them both to perfection and presents the meal to him. My Chosen turns it down of course. He has changed his mind and would now prefer a simple Hot Pocket. His chef then prepares one for him from scratch, peeling the cardboard away carefully in order to not leave any splinters in the frozen dough, and microwaves it to perfection. Alexander burns his tongue on it, but it is of no matter.

Work, you ask? Why, someone has done it for him, and Alexander is now free to go home, which he does with enthusiasm and excitement.

Ah, here is my Chosen, back again from his very important duties of whatever they used to be. But now he has a new destiny, a new path, of which he will soon learn. That new path takes him right past the house he slept in this morning. He often does this, goes on walks, for he seems to enjoy the sights and sounds and smells of the world. Today is just like that first day I took notice of him, slowly hiking up the path around to the top of my cliff, but I don’t recall a limp. Today, he has a slight limp. I suppose the crowd must have dropped him a little harder in front of his building than normal. Poor Alexander.

On reaching the top of the cliff, my Chosen sits down upon the very edge and lets his legs dangle in the cool open air of dusk. He gazes down at the beautiful vista below, the ramshackle buildings, the forests of stumps and half-erected buildings where new construction was scheduled and subsequently canceled, even a recycling plant turned trash dump, and I decide that this would be the perfect time to reveal to him his true destiny.

Alexander, I say.

He jumps at the sound of my voice. I suppose he didn’t expect me to speak to him.

Alexander, I say again, you have been chosen by the great and powerful Uoplyste!

And then I notice that he’s no longer there at the top of the cliff. He’s already flying gracefully through the air, desperately grabbing at the rocks and small plants of the cliff as he speeds past them. Luckily for him, the rocks at the bottom are soft, for they are in my domain.

No. No, they aren’t.

Ah, well, that sort of thing does happen from time to time. It’s best not to get too down about it and to simply move on best you can.

Have I told you about Andrew? He has a real talent for combing his hair, and he is destined for wondrous things. I just know it.