The Voice Inside

It had slept for so long. It didn’t know for how long. Time did not mean much to it, and time when it slept was no time at all. But the long cold was over. That, at least, was something.

The warmth, then the heat, then the scorching fire of the fall meant the long cold was over. The heat meant there could be life here too. It had learnt that much in its long life, its endless chain of birth and rebirth.

Its journey ended in an explosion. It felt itself scattered as dust and debris across the surface of this new place it had found.

It was time to wait again.

This time the wait didn’t take long. Already there were warm breathing things that took it in swallowed it down. Once inside the living bodies it could live again. The blood, the warmth, the life itself brought the creature back to life, even though it spread itself across so many other living things, so many of itself spread so far across the living things that walked on this land, swam in its seas and dived deep into its oceans.

It was a rich world, full of life. The warm heartbeats and flowing blood kept it alive, but the creature wanted more. It need more.

Then one day it found it.

One of its parts flowing through a thick rich blood stream found itself a new home. Then there it found them.


The creature had found them. Still rather primitive, but it recognised the glimmerings of consciousness, there in the brain of this other creature.

Now it could breed.

Now it could grow.

Now it could create.

First, it spread itself through this brain as the rest of it sought others of this kind.

Once in the brain, once able to breed, the creature reproduced itself. First, it spread through the rest of the creature’s family, then its clan, then its tribe. The creature spawned the thoughts in each of those brains that enabled it to grow, develop and breed as its new hosts spread themselves across the surface of the planet.

Soon the creatures helped its new hosts by growing the brains that housed it, by developing the thoughts that fed it, by creating the imagination it used to procreate itself. Soon there was no way of telling where the creature itself began and ended and the minds hosting it began and ended too.

The hosts believed the thoughts that filled their new minds belonged to them, that it was themselves looking out through those eyes saw the world as it was.

It was them who gave a name to the voice that told them what to do, who to trust who to love who to kill and who to hate. It was that voice that told them it created them in its own image. It told them they should show their thanks and sing the praises of the voice they called a god.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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