This Week’s Theme: Your evil villain wants to rule the world. Write about her (or his) reasons.

    She stepped out of her car into the empty parking lot and scanned the horizon. No sight of him. Well, perhaps he was running late. The wind blew off the ocean as she wrapped her coat around her. The walk to the dunes was colder than the last time they met. This probably wasn’t a good idea, meeting at a beach in December, but he had suggested that this be the best way to have a private conversation. Judging from the lack of life, even from the seagulls, she had to admit this would be private.

    As she crested the first rise of the boardwalk, she saw him.  He was sitting in a beach chair with a cooler under his legs. Dressed in a tacky Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, he appeared to be asleep. The empty chair next to him was clearly for her.

    She wondered if she should wake him. Of course he knew she was there, but it was always good to be polite. It was fascinating just to watch him and she could do it for hours. His body was perfect, naturally, and even in the biting wind his skin glowed like the Southern sun.

"Are you going to sit? Or just enjoy the view for a while?" He smiled up at her, dazzling white teeth behind the perfect red lips.

"Sorry, I always enjoy the view", she joked as she pulled up the extra chair. How to start this conversation? That was something she still hadn’t worked through.

He handed her a bottle of Corona, the perfect slice of lime on the rim, the perfect temperature. "So", he started, still watching the waves, "What is the current status of the plan?"

A lone gull swooped down to catch something in the angry water. It seemed so determined. It knew what it wanted and how to get it. She wasn’t so sure of herself anymore.

"We’ve made some progress in the elections. We’ve gotten Romney to announce that the United States is a Christian nation. There are plenty of Internet rumors about Obama and Islam. The rest of the Republican front runners aren’t too concerning. Huckabee is burying himself and Guiliani is painting himself into a corner. We’re trying to crack Hillary, but she is a tough one. To be honest, I worry about her." She took a delicate sip of the beer. Smooth. Perfectly smooth.

He frowned, "Hillary is the tough one? That’s unexpected. I thought she would be easy to get."

"Well, the problem is, sir, she actually believes."

"Really?"

"Yes, and this may prove to be difficult to win her over to our side."

For the first time she could recall, he seemed confused. A wave hit the break wall to her left.

"What exactly does she believe in? She should be easy to convince."

"Well.." Another sip, strangely it was a little bitter this time. "She seems to believe that people are good natured. She believes in people having some sort of morals. She counts as prayer for strength, not for answers."

He sat back and thought about this. It’s best to let him absorb the information, she thought. She watched the waves come in. The foam on each wave seemed to be random, but she knew that there was a tiny order in each one. Patterns upon patterns played with each other, melding into a chaotic spray that churned over the grey waters.

"I’ll have to think about this one." His voice broke her reverie. She glanced up at him. What was his thinking? How would the plan work?

"We have to find a way to convince her that humans need me. Not just for prayers, but for answers. That strength doesn’t come from the person, but from ME." She noticed his eyes were the same color as the waves. Or had the waves changed to match his eyes? "She knows the truth, but we have to convince her otherwise. We’ll never rule the planet if I don’t take advantage of this situation!" He stood suddenly, knocking over the cooler. Broken glass and frothing beer spilled out into the sand. "I need to take control! People don’t BELIEVE enough anymore. They don’t BELIEVE in ME anymore! I need them to stop taking things into their own hands and let ME be in charge!"

She couldn’t look at him when he was this angry. The ocean was responding to his anger, crashing harder on the shore and crushing sea life into the break wall with every breath. She was suddenly overcome by disgust. This was never an emotion she had felt for him. It felt strange and uncomfortable. But it was there nonetheless.

"Is this what your plan is all about?" She almost sneered the word. Where was she getting the nerve to say this to him? "You just want the power? And the glory? Don’t you care about what is right for the people?" The ground was shaking. No, it was just her. She was trembling.

Slowly, he turned and looked at her. His gaze went right through her. Thousands of tiny knives in one glance. "No, it never has been about the people. Why should it be? It’s always been about me. I WANT the nations to fight over ME! I am the Creator. I am the one who started it all! I WANT TO BE THE ONE THEY DIE FOR!" His voice echoed off the dunes and the waves became even more angry.

She looked up at him one last time, his perfect body, perfect hair, perfect everything, except…

"I can’t do this…Not for you. You gave us the ability to think for ourselves. And I thought you wanted to do this to help humans. Not yourself." She reached to touch him, but he was out of her reach.

"I’m sorry" and she turned to walk away, knowing she would never live long enough to make it to her car.