The Creation

The curtain went down.

The heat death of the universe played out in one last resounding note, the final dénouement to the performance.

“Well.” The young one emoted wildly, sending sparks of light and beauty bouncing off its consciousness. “What did you think?”

The Eldest did not comment but turned its presence to another, a middle aged being by the count of their people. They had all always been there, but their consciousness sparked in and out, sometimes sleeping, sometimes dying and reborn. The middle-aged consciousness had a voice like the whirls of a sucking black hole.

“Very enthusiastic.” It intoned “but not very heavy. The piece was shorter than I expected and the sentients were concentrated in that one area, which was quite an odd choice. Personally, I found the lack of activity in the wider cosmos to be quite dull. The stars, the cosmic dust, these seemed unremarkable, lacking in chemical drama.”

“Well, yes.” The young one admitted, “I’ve never been very good at all of that cosmic art. I’m really interested in what all of you thought of the sentients, that’s where I put most of my energy. What did you think of the sentients?”

“Oh, they were quite dramatic.” Chimed one that had just woken from a long death. “I only saw the end, but it was very magical.”

“I thought it was a little too over the top.” Said the middle aged one. “A bit much for my taste. I’d like to see you do something less fanciful, more meaningful next time.”

The young ones glee swirled around him like a solar wind. “Oh! Oh! Then there will be a next time?” it asked, focusing on the Eldest. “Eldest, I have such plans. Could I please try again?”

“Yes, youngest. You shall do it again. This time, let us see more of what you can do with these sentient beings, but always remember, my youngest, never neglect the stars.”