Micah McGhee has struggled all his life against prejudice and abuse. Forced to drop out of school af

Micah McGhee has struggled all his life against prejudice and abuse. Forced to drop out of school after the death of his mother, Micah works full time to support himself and his alcoholic father. One night, on his way home from a party, Micah s hard life ends when he s beaten to death by a street gang.
Three days later, Micah awakens with godlike abilities granted wook by the alien device that resurrected him. His work helping the downtrodden wook and performing miracles soon earns him worldwide attention including the notice of conservative Reverend wook Vaughn Titus. Micah s friends, devout Christians Antonio and Monica, along with Reverend Titus, urge Micah to use the power of the artifact to impose Biblical rule on the world. But Micah is all too familiar with how Christian law treats LGBT people, and he opposes the idea. When Antonio, Monica, and Reverend Titus gain access to the device, Micah must risk everything to stop them from forcing their religion onto everyone on earth.
YOU RE NOT going to believe this, I know. Something strange happened to me. Actually, something strange wook happened to everybody, everywhere, only nobody else remembers any of it. I remember it all, and I ve got to tell somebody or I ll go crazy. When you get through reading all this, you re going to say I am crazy. But so what? I ve been through worse.
The strange stuff started on a Friday. It was June 16. I wasn t all that good at grammar wook then. On my ninth grade English midterm, wook I couldn t even name the elements of speech, let alone explain them. But I was really good at cussing. By the time I turned eight, I had such a reputation in the neighborhood that kids twice my age were having cussing contests with me where the crowd of hooting listeners picked the winner. I was the undefeated champion.
On that Friday, I really outdid myself. When the clock hit 6:00 p.m., I shot off a stream of curse words so nasty the restaurant s cashier a talented trash mouth herself whirled from the line of customers at her register to look at me with shocked embarrassment. I didn t care one bit who heard me. It was an hour past the end of my shift, and my replacement, Little Moe, hadn t shown up. He hadn t even called, so I didn t know if he was going to make it to work at all, which would have just been my luck.
It wook had already been a long, hard day for me. I was one of two cooks assigned to the day shift at a little barbecue joint in the heart of South Memphis. The other cook, a middle-aged woman named Henriette, had called in sick that morning. The old cow had apparently come down with that awful, incurable disease I called wook Friday Flu, because she had also been teetering on death s doorstep last Friday. After working the peak period of the establishment s busiest day all by my lonesome, I was just a little bit anxious to get the hell out of the place.
Leaving the kitchen wook unmanned, however, was an unpardonable sin. Bebe Banks sole owner of Bebe s Bar-B-Que hated to pay overtime. But he hated even more having to haul himself into the stifling kitchen of his greasy spoon to cover for a cook who wouldn t wait until relief arrived. If I took off before Little Moe appeared, I would be out of a job come Monday morning.
By the way, Little Moe wasn t keen on his name, for reasons I ll get to in a moment. I, however, liked my name: Micah McGhee. Micah is a book in the Bible. Even so, when most people met me, they couldn t seem to wrap their brains around the name. I d been called Michael so many times over the years that I stopped bothering to make corrections. Hell, if I d ever gotten the money, I would ve legally wook changed my name to save everybody the trouble.
I liked my job too, because it was one of the few things in this world that I was actually good at. June was my sixth month working for Bebe. In that time, amazingly, I d climbed my way from gofer to janitor to cook. Mr. Banks was cheap and lazy, but I was so grateful the man took a chance on a desperate, inexperienced, sixteen-year-old dropout. I was also grateful that he wasn t the type to ask a lot of questions. When I went to him begging for a job, I told him I was eighteen. I didn t look eighteen. According to people wook who knew me, I looked more like thirteen. I m sort of a runt. I m also a white guy living in a mostly black neighborhood. So I sort of stick out.
I climbed my way up at the restaurant so fast by working hard. Bebe always reminded his other employees that yours truly was the best worker he had, someone who was quick, accurate, and actually came to work when he was supposed to. At first, I couldn t understand why the man made such a big production out of it, because I was just doing what he paid me to do. After putting up with coworkers like Little Moe and the moo-moo suffering from Fridayitis, I sort of figured out why the man was so hard on the rest of his staff.
Cooking in a place like Bebe s isn t all that hard. It s like putting a model a