Back When this World was Young

Then there were all the times when I lost my grip on this world. Those times when I let go of it and it slipped out of my grasp. It was not easy getting the world back, reforming the shape of it, making it good once more.

Back then, thousands died when I let the world slip out of my control. In those days, I was a god, but the people still blamed themselves and their own perceived failings for my carelessness.

My whims or my forgetfulness would create storms, tempests, earthquakes and other terrible disasters. I would let go of this world and tidal waves would pour across lands, volcanos would rise and meteorites shower down on the heads of the people.

Still, though, they blamed themselves or each other for my lack of care and concern. Wars would break out between rival religions. Each one claiming they marched in my name and for my purpose.

Really, it was then I should have paid more attention. But this is only one world amongst many and I have other concerns, universes away. I should have stepped in and brought about the end of those wars and the religions behind them. But I found it hard to care when I saw what they did to each other, nominally in my name.

I turned, walked away, and left them to it.

If they wanted to destroy each other and the world they lived upon, who was I to stop them?

After all, I did not want or ask to be a god. It was them looking around, needing a story to explain the world and themselves, who gave me that name. It was them who worshipped me. They made me into a creature from their own minds, their needs, hopes and desires.

I was just the great architect, out here beyond their clouds and sky, pulling a universe into shape out of nothingness. Giving life a chance to grow and develop, for no other reason than that I can.

It took them a long time to realise I’d gone, that I was no longer there for their praise or for their blame. Even now, there are still some there who cling to hope and their belief in me, despite the evidence of my absence. There are still some who look to the sky and call out my name as they slaughter those who call me by some other name.

But me?

I don’t care… not anymore.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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