Kharma entered Matthew Roman's bedroom well before sunrise. She was wearing a Tinkerbell costume and her hair was blonde and curly. She was floating above him, watching his dream play out in his head. Even in his subconscious, all he seemed to want was power. His dream took him from barking out orders to having beautiful women catering to his every need.

Just as she was getting sick of the slideshow in his mind, she noticed a woman standing in the shadows. It was an older woman, slightly slumped, watching Matthew with sad eyes. Kharma searched her memory bank for her, and played back the scene of escorting the woman to the Golden City. In life, the woman had been unremarkable -- living out her days in a small house in a small town. Her husband had been a poor provider and so she'd toiled sun up to sun down cleaning other people's homes. Her miserable life should have made her bitter, which typically results in a trip to the warmer option. But this woman had a child and she prayed for him every day, along with sacrificing every comfort for herself in order to save for his future.

That woman, Matthew's mother, had sent her son to college on the back of her hard work. And in return, he'd turned his back on her, allowing her to die in poverty -- of a broken heart.

She raised her hand and delivered a resounding slap across the man's face.

"OW!! What the fuck!!"

It felt so good that she did it a second time with her other hand.

Matthew sat up in bed, sputtering and spitting, which caused a fine spray of blood to cover his pristine white sheets. He blinked his eyes several times as he focused in on her.

"What was that for?"

In her best Carol Kane imitation, she said, "Sometimes you have to slap them in the face... just to get their attention!"

"Huh?" The bewilderment on his face would have been humorous if she wasn't so disgusted by him. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Oh, come on.... Scrooged? Bill Murray? Carol Kane as the Ghost of Christmas Present?" Kharma responded while indicating her outfit and wig.

"I'm not much of a Bill Murray fan."

Kharma felt her eyes bug out and she knocked him over the head with her fairy wand. "Well, that seals it. You are a lost cause as a human."

"I'm getting real freaking tired of you hitting me!" Matthew yelled as he tossed the covers off, which caused Kharma to laugh at the irony. And then she laughed at the tighty-whities that he was wearing.

Matthew stalked towards the bathroom and she followed. "You need to hurry. We've got places to go."

"I have to take a shower," he said, turning to shut the door, but faltered at the abrupt change in her appearance. This time she was wearing faded jeans, a Bill Murray t-shirt, and her hair was very short and bright pink.

"No one's stopping you." She raised an eyebrow and then laughed loudly when he slammed the door in her face.

Fifteen minutes later, Matthew found Kharma in his office looking out one of the windows while sipping on a glass of whiskey.

"Did you follow all my instructions?" She asked, back still to him.

"Look around... most of my furniture and all the paintings are gone."

"How much?"

"A little over three million," he replied and she could hear him swallow past the bile that rose in his throat.

Matthew could see the smile that overcame her face reflected in the window pane. "Excellent," she said, and then turned to face him. She pulled a sheet of paper out of thin air and handed it to him. "This is a list of six charities across the globe. Send half a million to each. Anonymously."

"But..."

"ANONYMOUSLY!" she yelled and this time not only did her eyes glow red, her enormous ebony wings popped out of her back.

"Jesus, alright!" He stumbled back a few steps, finding himself mesmerized by the wings that shimmered and moved as if they were breathing.

As quick as they appeared, Kharma retracted her wings. She sat her glass down and grabbed Matt's arm, and in the next second they were standing in the midst of a village in Uganda. Around them were small huts and one large tabernacle, inside of which was a large gathering of people — old and young.

Standing at the front was a handful of missionaries from the States. They were teaching cleanliness and hygiene and proper food preparation. Kharma knew that the curriculum also taught the ways of the New Testament church.

"Why are we here?"

"This Missionary Group is sponsored by several small churches in the mid-west. They raise close to forty thousand dollars each year and that allows them, through this group, to improve thousands of lives per year." She moved closer, knowing Matt would follow.

"How's that possible? How can anything get done on such a small amount?" he asked.

"They live in poverty for the most part, and spend the funds on teaching and medical aids, along with tools and building materials."

"Why would they do that?" The disbelief in his voice was not surprising, but still infuriating.she wasn't surprised that he chose to focus on the poverty part.

"Because they're believers who care more about furthering the Creator's Kingdom than they do about their own comfort," Kharma answered with fondness. She turned and stared at the pompous, weak man next to her. "These people, with their meager belongings, have brought more souls into the Golden City than you, and your staff, have in your whole career."

"Well, I wasn't really trying." Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

"Keep telling yourself that. You forget that I can see every thought and action you've ever had, Matty. You eventually lost your faith, but at one point you at least thought you were doing good." Looking back at the Missionaries, Kharma raised a hand and squeezed it into a fist. When she did, water shot out of it. Behind her the three men working on the village well began shouting as they struck water.

Matthew looked from her to the well and back. "Y-you did that! That's why they're so successful."

"You need to get something into that thick skull of yours, Matthew Roman. I deliver justice for both bad and good people. These folks and the good people in the churches who support them reap many good things because they sow seeds through unselfish acts of kindness and generosity. These things happen because, even though the material size is small, the faith is big. So, I take those small seeds and I grow a forest."

Kharma pointed at a woman gathering eggs from a hen house and the basket she was using grew heavier with the abundance of eggs.

"Just imagine what I could do with the enormous seeds your organization could produce... if only they contained true faith."

"That's so unfair! If you and God can just wipe away suffering, why don't you? Why put it on us to make these things happen?" The root of Matthew's crisis of faith was starting to show.

Kharma walked towards the front of the Tabernacle, unseen by the people inside and Matthew followed in spite of his reluctance. She stopped at the piano on the raised platform. Her hand ran over a brass plaque on the bench before sitting on it.

Her hands ran across the keys and the melody of an old hymn filled the air. "My Father thought of every little detail when he created this earth. All that is ever needed to eliminate human suffering is available. However, because the blessing of Free Will — that which makes humans intelligent and creative and creators — allowed sin to enter through temptation."

Her eyes closed as the music surrounded them. She indulged for a moment before continuing.

"Power... the promise of power is what Lucifer tempted Adam and Eve with. And the fight for that power is what brought civilization to the point where the only way to save it, was for my Father to live and die as a human. You know why he did that, Matthew?"

"I... no, not really."

She gave him points for being honest. "So that we'd have an example of how to live and how to treat one another, and especially how to love one another. He gave us everything we need to know in order to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth. If we followed his teachings as The Christ, there would be no more suffering. But men love their money and power more than they love their enemies, their friends, even their own mothers..."

Kharma watched his face and at first he showed no sign of hearing her. Then a slight tinge of red crept up his neck.

"How can you blame God for not easing suffering when you watched your own Mother, who prayed daily for you and went without rest and food on occasion - suffer and die alone?" Kharma finished the song, Just As I Am, before standing and walking away.

Matthew remained standing at the piano, the last notes reverberating in his head. He recognized the song as his mother's favorite, one she would hum while cleaning. His eyes were filled with unshed tears, and when he looked down to wipe them away he saw the brass plaque and leaned over to read it.

"This bench dedicated to Mrs. Louise Romanov for her faithful support of the Ugandan Mission."

Matthew felt something break loose in his chest and he sank slowly to the ground.