I don’t know how I came to be. I only know that I am the only one here now. Immortality is not all it’s cut out to be. Not when you are alone in the vastness of space and time. The others like me have chosen to travel beyond my reach – either by disappearing down a black hole to explore new universes or by choosing voluntary annihilation. We are so indestructible that we can only cease to exist if we are in the vicinity of an exploding star. I choose to stay here because I’ve literally seen it all before – why move on to new galaxies when it’s same old, same old? And I must admit I am afraid of non-existence, empty as this existence feels at times, especially since I lost Him.
When my “siblings” (this language leaves me no other way to describe them, even though we have no gender, not even a physical form) were in this galaxy, we played games. Quite childish games, really. We were young and enjoyed tricking little humans into thinking we were gods – they built intricate mythologies around us and called us names like Enki, Inanna, Anubis, Isis, Odin, Thor, Freyja, Zeus, and Poseidon. It didn’t matter how contrary or contradictory our behaviour was, they still burned sacrifices for us. I can’t say it bothered us much, the carnage carried out in our names.
But then, gradually, my siblings left and I found myself with just my thoughts. I’m not sure if it was boredom or frustration (can I even lay claim to those emotions?), but I decided to create a religion with one God (myself of course). It was a resounding success, even with all the tantrums and the smiting. I must admit I was feeling rather dissatisfied with it all after a while (how can it keep your interest when you always know how things will turn out?) when He came.
He changed me in ways I cannot describe. He was a mere puny mortal, but the first who could hear my voice. He would spend hours arguing against what He considered my crushing sense of superiority, my cruel indifference to the fate of what to me were transient ants. I cannot claim that I guided or influenced Him in any way. In fact, He would usually do the opposite of anything I suggested. He told me He loved me. As proof of that love, He said, He would change the religion I started as a game into a shining tribute to me. I’m not sure I understood the love He offered. All I know is that I did not stop His fellow ants from nailing Him to a cross, merely out of spite after one of our many disagreements. And then He was gone. And I knew desolation for the first time in my existence.
My tribute to Him is that I have done nothing to change what He created. Not even when it has been repeatedly and wilfully misunderstood by so many. It is all I have left of Him.
I still fear non-existence but I am considering it. There’s a nearby star set to go nova in the next millennium. I’m hoping that, by then, I will have found the courage to see if there is another existence beyond this one, in which I can find Him again.
I miss our talks.