The Teller of Lies

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Michael ducked, the metal sailing over his head and clanging against the starship hull behind him. The food tray stuck to the wall, sliding slowly down it, a streak of thick mushroom paste trailing behind it. It was the second time this week a fight had broken out in the mess, the chamber the singular place where both competing factions were forced to intermix. Michael hated that the refugees had split into two camps, both sides arguing over a single point. Is Michael their messiah?

It had never sat right with Michael, he hated the idea of being worshipped, his every word written down and debated. Since being snatched from the Earth, stolen by an alien convinced Michael was his saviour, he had seemed to stumble through one situation after the next. Each time adding to his mystique and legend. Using his title-one Michael was still convinced was a cosmic mistake-in an attempt to save people from a doomed world had been an admission, a small one, that maybe he was this mythical Knower of Truths.

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