Author : Michael Jagunic

There was an asteroid belt made of bones on the other side of the quasar. I saw it, long ago. It is all that I remember of the last place.
Of the place that came before that, I remember nothing except that I was there, long long ago.
Sometimes I stop among the stars, briefly, but long enough for the light to touch me, to catch me. This new place is white with stars. There are so many worlds here, civilizations mighty and sprawling. A place of near limitless possibility.
But possibility leads to actuality. Actuality leads to decay. And decay leads back to the old places. This white place will soon rot black. These civilizations will become bone and dust like the last.
I resume. The light falls away from me, too slow.
*
For a time, I linger here. I think this is what I always do, but I cannot be certain. The eons erode my memories. Soon the recollection of the asteroid belt of bones will slip from me forever.
But I enjoy the lingering, so I think that I am likely to have done it before, in the last place, and the places before that.
There are places here, worlds, that glow and warm and invite. The creatures of these worlds cannot perceive me as I move between the slow plodding light of this place. But they call out to me, nonetheless.
In one green place, I touch the creatures with my hand, I caress them with winds and rains. They are born and die within a moment. It is a marvel to behold.
They do not know the way I know. They do not see, or sense, or treanitivate, or derundicale. But watching them gives me the illusions of these things. They swarm together, they blossom together, they die together.
I see in them the possibility of treanitivation, of derundicality. But possibility leads to actuality. Actuality leads to decay.
They will grow, they will ungrow. This white place will soon rot black.
*
I resume. I take some of them with me. Perhaps this, too, is what I always do. I do not remember, but this time feels different.
I spread these creatures across this place, leaving them to grow and ungrow in beautiful flurries of illusory meaning. As I leave them in my wake, I know that they will call out to me. But I will not hear them.
The light cannot touch me here, and neither can the sound of their voices.
This place is aging. Soon it will be like the last places, the ones I have long forgotten.
*
There was a planet full of two-legged creatures on the other side of the quasar. I created it. It is all that I remember of the last place.
Of the place that came before that, I remember nothing except that I was there, long long ago.