I was basically God

Date: 4/10/2020

I had a dream that started off in what seemed like a totally desolate version of earth. There was no life whatsoever- no ocean life, no land life, no birds or even that much wind- there weren’t even any plants. And even weirder, everything was completely flat. There was just dirt, flat dirt, and gravel and stone stretching for miles. Occasionally there was sand, but besides the ocean (which surrounded what seemed to be a MASSIVE island, I’m guessing Pangea) there weren’t even any lakes or rivers or anything. It was just mud. Clay. Dirt. Stone. All flat. No mountains or canyons or valleys. No grass and no bugs. In the ocean, not so much as a single living cell. I seemed to be there, to exist somehow, but I didn’t know how I came to be. I just WAS. After exploring the whole land mass I found my brother and sister, who both seemed to find the same thing. Surprisingly we weren’t freaked out. It was kind of strange how well-off we were too; we didn’t seem to require anything to drink or eat, and we could walk for miles around this entire land mass (which, again, was basically all the land on earth at the time in this dream) and not feel any tiredness at all. When night came we would stay up without any struggle, but could still sleep when we wanted. We could breathe under the water just fine, and move around the ocean fine as well: depths that should have crushed us under the sheer amount of pressure were easily accessible to us, we could walk on the bottom of the ocean floor (again, just flat sand and rock, and water obviously, but no plants or animals or land masses) the same way we would stroll along the surface; my brother, especially, could swim so well through the currents or wade so naturally across the bottom it almost seemed he belonged there. We could jump so high we would have seen birds (if birds existed on this earth) and when we fell, it was so slow and graceful it seemed like we were flying. My sister was especially good at this, and could seem to almost hover in the air for seconds before beginning her gentle descent. The strangest thing of all was time. It seemed to be nothing for us. Perhaps it was because of the fact that we didn’t appear to be able to die, or even to age (my sister looked twelve, and my brother fourteen, for at least ten years on this earth, without even so much as growing a single inch). The only exception was our hair, which grew slowly considering how long we we’d been on this land mass, but it still grew- we’d dig a bit of stone from the ground to cut it if we wanted but mostly my sister and I let our hair grow. I don’t know why we didn’t age, really. And I don’t know why time seemed so strangely distanced. But days and nights passed like seconds. Years seemed to pass the same way minutes do. Soon we had been exploring this island and the ocean, trying (but failing) to find anything, for centuries, although it didn’t feel like it. Eventually we all met up in the middle of the landmass- we had decided, together, that we would stick together, since we were alone on this earth; it was an unspoken agreement- and we started talking. Sitting down on the dry dirt, with land around us for miles and miles and miles and miles and then, ocean for even longer, talking about what we found, or rather what we didn’t find. Eventually my sister said, “we should do something. I’m bored,” and so we began talking. My brother said, “maybe we could scrape up a bunch of mud and build a house.” I said, “that’s stupid, we should do something bigger. More exciting.” “Like what, though?” asked my sister. “There’s nothing to do.” I thought for a bit, and we sat in silence. Then I said, “what if we break up this land? That way we can have evenly spaced out oceans and lands, so we can have little bits of land to go on even when we’re all the way out in the ocean.” My brother said, “oh, we could have our own islands, then.” I hesitated. “Maybe, but I dunno, technically all of this land is ours to share. We could each have an island that we stay on the most and can do our own stuff on, how about that? But it won’t actually be ours.” “Why?” asked my sister. “Having our own islands sounds fun.” “There’s not much on this planet,” I responded, “what little we have, we should share. That way everyone can have- or at least SHARE- a bit of the small amount of everything that we have.” My siblings agreed and we sat for a little while longer. Then I said, “okay, how many islands should we break this land into?” My brother laughed and shrugged. “I dunno, it doesn’t matter anyways.” Then he got up and stomped on the ground a bit away, like how a little kid would stomp on a bug; playfully, almost. The ground split underneath of his foot and cracks spread out from where he stomped, going for miles. We all seemed unperturbed, even when the ground shook underneath of our feet we remained steady, as if it were just any other day. My sister frowned. “Patrick! That’s too long, now that ones gonna be bigger than the rest.” “I call it then!” he shouted, running down to the end of the crack. He ran with what can only be described as godlike speed; he reached the end of the crack, so far away we shouldn’t have been able to see him, in seconds. And somehow I could see him from that far away as if it were nothing, as if he were a few feet away, that’s how clear he was and how far I could see. I smiled and ran, in a similar fashion, to the opposite end. I stomped, grinning from ear to ear, positioning my foot a bit sideways. A crack exploded beneath my feet and ran along a long distance, but small in comparison to Patrick’s. “The one I’m making now can be one of mine!” I call gleefully. “Don’t start without me!” whines my sister from far away, but we hear her fine. “Finders keepers!” my brother laughs back. “No fair, now you guys are gonna have the best land!” my sister complains. I run to the end of my crack and start making more, slightly smaller cracks, trying to shape the land mass how I want it. “Just hurry up then, before we make them all without you!” I say. I hear more cracking as my brother and sister start making their own islands. After a few years- which feels, again, like nothing to us- we’re all finished. I’ve made a few bigger land masses, but then I’ve also made a few ‘proper’ islands- small, itsy-bitsy pieces of land in comparison to what the original landmass was. I swim under the water and position them how I like by pushing them, and it’s as easy and pushing around furniture. Soon we have the earth kind of like how it is in real life- at least, in terms of continents. My brother, sister and I all meet up on the biggest landmass again, dusting our hands off on clothes that never seem to wear away. “You guys totally took all of the biggest land,” my sister pouts, still mad. “Aw, Grace, cmon. Really? You were standing there complaining, it’s your fault!” says Patrick. “Yeah, well you still could’ve left SOME land for me!” “We did!” “I only got, like, eight cracks! Ella got like a hundred or something!” “Hey,” I interrupt them, “that’s because I shaped my land more carefully, instead of just making huge-ass cracks like you two.” “Huge ass cracks,” my brother snickers, and I punch him on the arm- but not hard. Then we talk a bit more and soon we’re bored again. “I wanna go explore,” Patrick says. “We’ve literally already explored everything Patrick,” Grace says exasperatedly, laying on the dirt and drawing patterns with her finger. The patterns go deep into the ground, deeper than they should go for just her finger. “I dunno, maybe we missed something,” Patrick says, “and anyways, I like the ocean better than the land sometimes. It’s nice to dry off, and the light’s a bit better here, but at least the ocean moves. Here it’s so BORING.” With that he heads towards the ocean. My sister and I sit for a while longer, her drawing in the dirt and me thinking. I’m bored again, I wanna do something, make something. Making these islands was fun, but now that we’re done there seems to be nothing else to do. But my mind goes back to my brothers idea of making little houses and things from the clay and dirt. Although houses weren’t the BEST idea, I think, perhaps I could make something else, maybe something more fun. Or at least more realistic, because if we’re being honest here none of us needed a house. We didn’t sleep, we didn’t eat, we didn’t stay in one place for too long- what were we gonna do with a house? “I’m going,” I sigh, getting up and heading towards the sea, where I know I’ll find plentiful amounts of clay and mud. “Why?” asks my sister, not looking up from her drawing. “I dunno. I’m bored,” I respond. “Well have fun.” I leave her and arrive at the ocean quickly. From there I sit down, running the mud through my fingers, making a clay ball and playing with it while I think. I wonder about what I could make. Then, finally, I come up with an idea. I take the clay in my hands and carefully sculpt a horse. Then, I smooth it out with my hands. As I smooth it out, short fur begins to be revealed, a simple brown color- which, hey, give me some credit alright? I hadn’t seen that many colors on this earth so far- and I go around to the head and, using my fingers, carefully, slowly, I smooth over, creating details. I run my finger down into the face a bit and an eye socket appears. I roll a smaller ball of clay between my hands and place it in the socket, then smooth it over and suddenly the clay reveals a perfectly detailed eye, complete with a pupil, iris, everything. I go back to the nose of the horse and smooth it out and something similar happens, with the clay wearing away to reveal what looks exactly like a horse. When I’m finished I step back to inspect my work. It’s basically a horse, but frozen- not alive, but not dead either. It’s been a little while- a few centuries, which wasn’t as long as it seemed to me, in fact it felt like I had been at work for a few hours at most- but I wasn’t finished. I had so meticulously shaped every bone, organ and muscle with my hands, adding layers and layers of clay, smoothing it out to reveal the true nature of what I wanted, then adding more shaped clay on top, and more on top of that- but finally it seemed ‘done,’ in a way. Then, I put my hands on the horse. One hand on its forehead, right on its temple- and the other hand over the heart which I had spent days carefully shaping and creating- and I gather energy inside of me. It’s kind of like how you gather your breath and your strength before a round of whatever sport you play, or before a race; kind of like how you take that deep breath and center yourself before performing with an instrument (or your voice) or giving a speech; I gathered my energy and kind of, pushed, if that makes any sense. It’s very hard to explain, but as I did so I breathed, very steadily. And I brought my face close to the horse’s and I blew on it, breathed on it, and apparently I could breathe life into things because it blinked. Then, the horse slowly moved it’s head down. Then it’s legs. It’s tail twitched. It clopped forwards, tentatively, looking around. I grinned and held out a hand, and the horse came to me and nickered. “Hold on,” I whispered to it. Then I ran back to where my sister was. She had drawn a very large pattern, circular-like, which stretched for miles. She still had that air of boredom around her. “Grace,” I panted, not from the run but from excitement. “Huh,” she said not looking up. “Do you know where Patrick is?” “Uh-uh.” “You don’t?” “Why?” she said, glancing up at me, sensing my excitement perhaps. “I have something to show you guys.” “What is it?” she was looking up from her drawing now. “PATRICK!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. The sound echoed so far I wondered if it went around the entire world. A few moments later I heard a shout. “WHAT?” It was my brother, in the ocean somewhere by the sounds of it. “COME HERE!! QUICK!” Grace sat up and was looking at me, waiting. We both stared in the direction where Patrick had shouted from. Soon we see him run towards us. He’s going fast- whereas him going along the distance of the crack he’d made earlier was just him hurrying slightly, this was a full-on sprint. Within seconds he was next to us. A trail of dust settled behind him, marking his path where he’d disturbed the dirt. “What?” he asked, annoyed-looking and a bit wet. “Listen, I had this great idea, it’s so cool, I found something to do!” I say. “What?” asks Grace. “Clay,” I answer, purposefully being vague. “What?” asks Patrick, really annoyed now. “Listen, just follow me, okay?” The two have basically no choice but to follow me, they have nothing else to do anyways. I run, super excited to show them what I’d made, and when we get there they both seem amazed. My sister squeals. “Aw, what is it! It’s so cool, it’s moving and stuff, what does it do?” “Why’d you make its face so long?” my brother asks, teasing, but I can tell he’s interested in it. “I don’t know what I want to call it yet,” I say, “but I figured, we’re so ALONE here. We need other things. But, I was thinking, not just other land masses and stuff... those are just the same but spaced out. We need SOMETHING else, you know? And this is something! It’s alive. I made it with clay,” I explain. “Ooh, can I try?” my sister asks. “Yeah, that’s why I told you guys. We should each make a bunch of stuff!” “Well, your thing doesn’t have any stuff to keep it alive!” my sister says. “It needs to eat?” “What, why?” my brother asks. My sister and I roll our eyes, but luckily he seems to be half-joking. “Here, I’ll make you something,” my sister coos at ‘the thing,’ and the takes some clay and makes a little thin piece of something, then draws patterns and lines into it. Then she smoothes it away to reveal a blade of grass. “Wow, creative,” my brother says. Graces shoots him a dirty look and holds the blade of grass out to ‘the thing,’ and it sniffs the blade. Then it eats it. “See, Ella’s Thing likes my thing, even if you don’t!” Grace says, scrunching her face at ‘my thing.’ Patrick snickers. “Okay, listen, we can’t keep calling it ‘my thing’ all the time.” “Why?” asks Patrick, grinning. “Cause it sounds weird, shut up,” I tell him. “Well it’s your thing, you have to name it,” my sister says, petting it’s nose. I bite my lip thoughtfully. Patrick laughs. “Cmon Ella, whats its name?” “Uhh,” I say, “hold on, I’m tryna come up with something!” My brother laughs again and under all of the pressure I come up with a name on the spot. “Horse,” I say, “it’s a horse.” “A HORSE?” my brother says. “What kind of a name is HORSE?” “Shut up!” I say, but I’m smiling. “Could you have come up with anything better?” “HORSE,” my brother laughs. “It’s mine, I get to name it, stop laughing! It’s a good name, it’s better than yours.” “She really said HORSE!” my brother is still saying. I scoff and go over to it, and pat it’s nose. “You’re horse, okay?” It neighs. “It needs a friend!” my sister insists suddenly. “Help me make one, then,” I say. We make one together, and although Patrick and Grace seem to have a much harder time than I do, once I start just telling them what to do it’s faster. Soon we have a friend for the horse. This time I say, “let’s make it a different color.” “Why?” asks my brother. “I dunno,” I respond, rubbing away the clay to reveal black fur. “Wait, what color?” my sister asks suddenly. “Black,” I say. “Oh, oops...” “What did you do?” She stays silent. “Grace, what’d you do?” I demand, going around to the other side of the horse where she’s standing, making the “yikes😬” face. A small, white spot is revealed where Grace had been (clumsily) revealing the fur. “Okay, well, this one is gonna have a spot,” I decide. “Wow, good job, grace ruined Horse 2.0,” Patrick says from the front, where he’s trying to perfect a clay ball for the eye. He keeps accidentally squashing parts of the eye when he goes to smooth over another part. “Here, lemme see,” I say, and make the eye for him. “Why’d you decide to make something so complex?” my brother mumbles. “It’s more fun!” I say. We finish the second horse and it goes over to the first one. Then my brother says, “wait, what if they could make more?” and then we start making new horses with genitals and then my sister says, “they should always eat my grass!” and we make new horses with digestive systems and teeth made to eat the grass. The old horses die quickly and their bones disintegrate, and we’re kind of sad the same way you’d be sad about a goldfish you’d owned for a day. But we keep making new ones and Grace keeps making a ton of grass, and she eventually makes some grass that grows and spreads on its own (“it’s gonna eat the sun, that way it’s always full!”) and meanwhile my brother starts thinking while we’re making the horses and then he says, “wait, what if we made a horse, but in the water?” “Why would you do that, the land is so much better!” I say. “Nuh-Uh, the oceans cooler. No question.” “Okay, it’s cooler, sure, but the land is more EFFICIENT,” I say. “It’s easier to do stuff on. It has clay to make stuff with, and the sunlight is brighter so we can see what we’re making easier. Plus, grace already made all her grass up here, it’s going for miles and it grows on its own now so it’s spreading like crazy. What will they eat in the water?” “Maybe we could make water-grass,” my brother challenges. “No,” I say. “Fine, I’m making water horses myself then.” “No!” I shout as he goes to the water. “I made the horses, they’re my idea. You can’t steal them! Make something else for the water.” And so he does. We all meet up occasionally to talk or share ideas or to explain things we’re doing, but generally we each stick to our own thing. My sister makes more and more grass, and eventually starts making leaves; then bushes; then trees, and then flowers and soon we have forests and fields stretching over miles and miles of flat land. My brother keeps making ocean animals, first starting off my making a small fish; he brings us over to it, all proud, and when he says he’s naming it “fish” we laugh but it seems oddly fitting. Then he makes an octopus, to which I say, “it has too many legs!” “They’re not legs,” my brother insists. “It has too many whatever’s!” So then a few hours later he drags me back over and shows me a squid. “Really?” I ask. “It has less legs now,” he says. I roll my eyes. Meanwhile, I work on improving my horses. Finally I come up with one that I’m happy with, considering it’s my first ever Thing that I’d made, and I make a few pairs and allow them to breed, and soon we have oceans with little fish and squids and octopuses swimming around, and land with grass and fields and forests, and horses running wild. We all meet up and start coming up with new ideas. My brother says, “you should give your horse something dangerous.” “Why?” I ask, appalled. “So it can be cooler!” I consider this. “Well, maybe we should all work together on a cooler horse then, if you think my horses aren’t cool enough.” So then I work on creating a new horse, taking input from my brother and sister as I work. They watch me and shout suggestions. “Make it all white, and shiny!” my sister calls. “Give it something dangerous!” my brother insists over and over again. Finally I oblige, making a sharp, pointed cone which I stick on the horses forehead somewhat sarcastically. “There, now it can stab other horses,” I say, satirically. “Make it rainbow and shiny!” my sister calls, seriously. I roll my eyes and form a horn on the horses head, doing as she said and thinking about how dumb it’s going to look when I’m done, at this rate. “Make it’s hooves the same stuff!” I do. “Make it’s mane all colorful and shiny!” I do. “Give it really strong legs and stuff, make it so it can jump and run way higher and faster than normal horses!” I do, making muscles that last longer, wear down slower, and work way more efficiently. “Make it super smart!” I form a brain that’s as intricate as I can make it, and place it carefully inside of the new horse. Suggestions fly like that for a while, while our world that we’d created slowly starts to grow- grass reaches the outer edge of the sea and the fish have started to multiply, and horses now run wild everywhere. Forests have trees that tower into the sky, almost as old as the continent they were on. Finally we’re done, and before I breathe life into it we all argue over a name. “It should be called a uni-horse, because it’s one of a kind!” my sister says. “No way, it should be a horn!” “That’s so dumb!” “It has a horn, though!” We end up deciding on a name that’s a mashup of everything we argued over- “unicorn.” Then I breathe life into it, and it’s beautiful. It’s been made to last for a long time, but even then, for us it would die too soon. “Can’t we make another one, it’s so lonely!” my sister says, almost in tears. And so, wearily, I create a second one, making sure to be as careful as possible. But because I don’t want too many of them running around- those horns were dangerous, after all, they could hurt Patrick’s fish or graces trees or my other horses- I make it so that they only bear a few offspring. Just enough to keep the generations going. Then I let them be free and they go, seemingly happy. “That was so cool!” my sister says. “Smarter animals seem so much more... real, I don’t know.” We all understand what she’s saying. The unicorns seemed to have more presence- for a bit it really WAS almost like we weren’t alone on this earth. Then we talk a bit more and my brother gets an idea. “The land is so boring to look at, still,” he said, to which I responded, “what if we spiced it up then?” He grabbed clay and stretched it and somehow made more of it from a little, and I followed his lead as he arranged it on the ground in piles, adding more and more. Grace helped too, when she wasn’t busy making moss, or more trees, leaves and grass, or more flowers. Soon, we had built a mountain, complete with caves (aka spots where we’d forgotten to fill it in and didn’t feel like going to get more clay, so we just finished it off how it was) and rocky inclines at the top. We climbed them with ease, unsurprisingly, since it was apparent now that we weren’t human. Then my brother smiles and says, “we should make more stuff like this!” and he creates a few smaller mountains nearby. Meanwhile, I go off to create some canyons and big indents in the earth, making it look spotty. My brother comes over when I’m creating a particularly large indent. “What’re you doing?” he asks. “Making different land,” I say as if it’s obvious. “Ew, it’s so ugly!” “No it’s not, it looks cool, like a little dip!” “No, it’s like an inversed pimple!” “Well what do you want me to do with it?!” I ask, irritated. He seems stumped and I turn around, going to finish it. Then he says, “let’s fill it with water!” “Why?” I ask. “Water makes everything better,” he responds. “You just like water too much.” “Well, I’m doing it.” Despite myself I help him fill it with water, by creating little dents in the dirt leading to the ocean. We form rivers and lakes that way, filling all the holes I’d made. I have to admit it’s way better. Then my brother says, “you should make it so your horses use the water! Then it’s not just for looks.” And so I take my horses, which are now at a population of about two hundred or so, and carefully change each one to need water. Then I go over to grace and tell her to make her plants the same way, so all the rivers and lakes aren’t wasted/for nothing. Luckily her grass was easy to fix, because although it spread quickly, it died quickly as well. Changing just a few hundred stalks would change all of it after a few years. We did the same to the trees and the plants, and the flowers, which now had every variation of color and shape and size and form. “Why don’t you make something else?” I suggest. “I am!” she says, showing me a red flower. “You’ve made that already!” “No,” she says. I point to a flower that looks exactly like it. “No, this one has more petals, and it’s red, not pink!” she insists. “And this ones called a rose, that other one has a different name.” “Why do they all have so many names?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “I’m not gonna bother remembering all those names. They’re all basically the same, I’m calling them all flowers.” “What?!” “Make something, like, COMPLETELY different. Like not another flower,” I say. “It’s gotta be boring creating so many variations of the same thing.” She shrugs and says, “fine, lemme finish my rose first. This ones gonna be extra different.” “Yeah, sure,” I say. “It’s gonna be dangerous!” she insists. “Alright, have fun with your dangerous flower,” I say. “I’m going to make some NEW and DIFFERENT and EXCITING things.” “Okay, have fun making more horses.” “I’m not making more horses!” I say as I walk away. She giggles. When I get back I realize I have no idea what to make next. I think, hard, and finally decide on a new creature. I mold it, carefully, and eventually come out with what I decide to name a “rabbit.” I create another of the opposite sex, and then breathe life into both. They hop away, and soon there’s rabbits almost as plentiful as horses. I go over to grace and say, “I can’t make different things unless you give me different foods for them.” “Geez, okay,” she says, and then she has me help her make an apple tree. Then, berry bushes; then more fruit and berries, then nuts, then even edible roots and plants that grow in the ground that are edible. Finally she says, “that’s enough food for all your new things. I wanna make flowers!” “Fine,” I say, and start making more plant-eating creatures. I create squirrels, then mice, then deer, which I base somewhat on my horses- and then a few bugs- starting with ants, but then I create beetles, and then I have so much fun making the tiny little creatures that I make a bunch of different beetles and ants. Then I go back to creating other plant based animals, and I even create a few which eat some of Grace’s flowers, which pisses her off. But she calms down once I point out that she has fields full of just one type of her flower, whereas my creatures have maxed out at about two hundred per species. Then Patrick comes back and tells us that he’d come up with a ton of ideas for his ocean and insists we come see. Sure enough he’s been working hard. Tons of different types of fish swim all around us- some so elegant and colorful that even I have to admit that it’s masterful work- and below us, crabs walk around, near rocks and crevices and underwater-geysers each formed by my brother’s hand. Octopuses, squid, and other various creatures prowl along the floor. As we go deeper stranger creatures appear- first jellyfish, which, once I get over my initial shock and laughter (“it’s literally half a circle with little legs! It doesn’t even have a brain or anything!”) I start to realize their beauty and find myself awed. My brother even shows us, proudly, how some of the jellyfish are quite dangerous- he places his hand on one and a shock runs through the water, although it doesn’t seem to affect him. “Woah, what was that?” my sister asks. “You know whenever it rains and there’s lightning?” my brother says. “Well, I made it so they have lightning too!” “That’s cool,” I admit. He grins and takes us deeper, to the bottom of the ocean, where I start to get a bit more disturbed. Creatures, both huge and horrifying, and some just plain weird move all around us. First he shows us the whale, which, as he explains, is friendly and very soft once you get to know them. I’m impressed with the sheer size- taking that much time and clay must’ve been a nightmare- but then I’m also a bit scared of my brothers imagination when I see strange, underwater creatures that seem to have no purpose for themselves whatsoever. They float through the water endlessly, in shapes that have no eyes, nose, mouth; no form, no beginning or end; most of them glow ominously as they slink by. “Why?” I ask my brother. He shrugs. “I was messing around, trying to see what types of stuff I could make. They were just prototypes.” “Then why are they still here?” I ask. “Well, I dunno. I made them without anything; so then I guess they don’t really die.” I shake my head at him. We arrive back on the land and my sister says, “wait, do any of them eat?” My brother shakes his head. “No, I’ve been trying to make food but I’m not very good at it. It’s just too boring.” And so my sister creates some food for the creatures, first creating underwater versions of her grass and ferns, but then getting creative. She makes seaweed that’s so tall it touches the surface; patches of underwater grass that stretch along the sea floor, glowing slightly; and then, in a stroke of either luck or brilliance, she creates coral. The corals start evolving as she makes more and my brother and I help her, and soon they’re more than a good source- they’re almost creatures of their own. After a while, once we’ve decided that the creatures have enough food in the water, we all return to where we’d left off. I create a few more land masses, making caves and cliffs and valleys and lakes so clear you can see the bottom, where I’d carefully placed every stone and boulder so they’d seem larger than they were under the magnification of the small pond. I went back to creating more bugs and other plant-based animals but soon began running out of ideas. I went to my sister and said, “I need more food sources for them!” She looked up from what she was making (a vine blooming with flowers) and said, “no, I’m not making you any more, I’ve already made a ton.” “Please?” I ask. “Just make them yourself!” “I’m not as good as you, plus you’ve had more practice. You know it all better than I do. I don’t wanna ruin your whole system or something. I don’t wanna mess it up!” She groans. “I’m not making any more food.” “Then what are my animals gonna eat?” “Have them eat each other for all I care,” she says annoyedly. “Leave me alone, I’m making something new.” I gape at her. Having them eat each other... it was a ghastly idea at first, almost unthinkable, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea. After all, if my creatures ate each other then there would be a sort of cycle. Grace’s plants ate the sunlight and water, and the soil. Animals ate those plants. Other animals ate THOSE animals, and so on and so on, until finally somehow, the cycle was returned to the earth. And then the earth would be eaten by the plants, and thus it continued. It was both a chain and a loop, and somehow it seemed right, even though I felt bad for having the creatures I’d created die earlier than they could have. But despite my feelings of guilt, I push forward, somehow knowing that it was right. The first predator I create is the fox. It’s cute, and soft, and I even make it with orange fur, trying to match its color to the color of my brothers hair. I take my time, and think everything over before I create it. I make sure every organ has a purpose and that that purpose is a good one, a useful one. I make its teeth sharp so it can eat other animals- but I made it small because I couldn’t bear to have it eat horses, not yet anyways, I had a special place in my heart for the creatures that had started everything, that had come so far and taught me so much as I worked to improve them. And finally, when I finished, as always I created a second and then breathed life into them. And, surprising myself, I found that I loved them just as I loved the rest of my creatures. They were smart, and somewhat sneaky; they were often cleverer than the rabbits which they hunted, and watching a hunt filled me with disgust and guilt, but then awe, and even a little bit of justice. It felt as if things were how they should be. And then as I watched the foxes hunt and grow I realized why it was right; because it was balance. Balance was what was right here. My siblings and I had agreed to it from the start, after all, hadn’t we? When we decided that the one, big landmass should be broken up, spread evenly across the globe? We had been looking for balance even then, balance between earth and ocean, between land and sea. And balance now was the same. If the rabbits were to keep multiplying them soon there’d be too many, they’d eat all of the grass and food Grace had provided me with, they’d make their homes everywhere, so that I wouldn’t be able to walk without finding another; it wouldn’t be right. But the foxes brought balance. And so I kept creating. I created some more basic predators at first- wolves, which I adored, and then wild cats, which I adored even more- but then I started getting creative. I made spiders to eat other bugs, and while making I’m not gonna lie I kind of stole from Patrick’s octopus idea by giving them legs. But having them make webs was all my own idea. Then, when my brother, sister and I met up after a bit like we always did, I told them what I’d decided to do. I tried my best to explain how, even though it seemed terrible, it was RIGHT, somehow, it was the cycle and the chain for life we made that was needed to truly keep and sustain it. Luckily they seemed to understand. My brother especially liked it, because now he could put all his Dangerous Creatures to use. I went back to see what he was going to do and sure enough he had already created sharks, teethed fish, and several other predatory sea creatures which he didn’t know what to do with. I watched as he recreated sharks to eat fish and dolphins and whales; as he made crabs able to catch prey; as he even made whales able to eat the other tint creatures he’d created, krill he called them, and they were plentiful because he had made them almost as an experiment in some of his first tries at creating things. I went back to the land and saw that even Grace had taken up on my idea. She made mushrooms to eat decaying trees and even animals (which I was slightly thankful for, as it meant that their bodies weren’t useless once dead), and she later made the Venus flytrap (which I was kind of irritated about at first, because it was one thing to have your creations fight with one another but to have them fight with someone ELSE’S creations... that was just not right! But then Grace pointed out that technically my creations killed hers all the time, so...). Slowly it continued like this. Sometimes we collaborated- my brother and I made the frog, my sister and I came up with the idea for birds, all three of us worked to create mountains and to make the other continents just as plentiful as the first; slowly we created life. I chose what would later become Africa as my ‘island,’ my sister chose the area which is now the Amazon as ‘hers,’ and my brother, while generally sticking to the ocean and ocean creatures, still ended up claiming an ‘island’ for himself- a smaller one, since he didn’t create much from land, but all the same he ended up choosing what’s now Australia. We all stuck to our general ‘categories,’ if that makes sense. Grace created forests filled with plants of all kinds, trees that grew to be hundreds of years old, flowers more beautiful than I could’ve imagined. She even called me over every so often to make some unique animals for her forests, and I obliged, happy to be given the opportunity with all of the different foods she’d provided for my creatures. And while we were collaborating we created tons of birds- most of them wildly colorful, per Grace’s request. Patrick, on the other hand, stuck mainly to the ocean, creating creatures for quantity rather than quality (in my opinion at least). The creatures he experimented with sometimes were a success; like the jellyfish, for example. The ones that... weren’t as successful... were placed down at the bottom of the ocean, almost hidden away, left on their own. He created millions of fish and predators to eat them; he made crabs and lobsters and all sorts of cool creatures, one of my favorites being the starfish. Occasionally he’d come to his land to mess around, but because he didn’t use it often it was left mostly barren, save for the occasional creature put there by myself or Grace. He made the platypus in a fit of pure experimentation, stealing ideas from all of my other creatures but then mashing them together and making it water-dwelling so that ‘it’s his idea.’ I made the kangaroo and koala for him so his land wasn’t so lonely, and Grace put a few trees and grasses there. Meanwhile, I worked on creating as many different creatures as I could, and after every new creation I’d closely inspect it, spending years perfecting it until I was happy. I worked to create that chain, cycle I’d been thinking of the whole time. And as I worked with the clay I became more skillful- but not just with my hands. Sure, my fingers became adept at smoothing and shaping even the smallest of forms, giving the exact textures and colors and sizes I wanted, but while I traversed my growing lands I found some other ‘abilities’ of my own. My speed was unparalleled, and even when I tried to create creatures to match me, I could beat them in a race by walking the whole time. Not to mention my strength- as time passed, my power seemed to grow, until I could flick the ground with my pinky and break off a chunk of my land so large it was a new island. Navigating the wildlife around me became effortless, too. My footing on mountains that my siblings and I had created slowly got surer, until I could climb them as if I was walking up stairs, and I could swing around and through forests faster and more efficiently than anything else on the planet could. I started to remember everything as my own, like a map imprinted on my mind, and even as the terrain changed so did that map. I could anywhere on the continent in a matter of minutes or less, without so much as stopping to wonder which turn to take next. The land was my specialty; in the ocean I was still powerfully masterful, but not nearly as much as I was on land. My siblings seemed to develop similar abilities, each according to their ‘categories.’ Patrick mastered the ocean, and it’s terrain, as well as I had mastered the land; he knew every inch of its floor and of its waves, and where all of his creatures would go, and when. Swimming looked so effortless he seemed to be flying, propelled by an invisible force. He ran along the bottom almost as fast as I ran on the land. And, weirdest of all, he somehow managed to learn how to balance on the surface of the water. He could walk, run, sit, or even lie down on top of any body of water- even the raging ocean. I didn’t bother asking him how he did it because I knew I wouldn’t be able to, somehow. That was his ability, and would be his. Meanwhile my sister seemed to have a different sort of mastery. Plants seemed to somehow bend to her will, the same way my brother and I could command the creatures we created; forests that were to thick to walk through parted as she wandered past, grass leaned in her direction as if pulled by a magnet; if she needed to get somewhere vines would seem to grow from the trees and lift her, or roots would extend to make a bridge; and in addition, she seemed to be able to almost fly. She could jump so high she was with the birds, above the clouds sometimes, and she’d hover for seconds at a time. When she fell she’d lay herself flat, parallel to the ground, and she’d extend her arms and tilt her body, gliding down with a control neither my brother nor I possessed, and landing gentler than either of us could as well. As the years and eventually centuries passed, our creatures grew in numbers and evolved as we improved upon their designs again and again. Most of the earth was covered in my sister and I’s creations, and the sea almost entirely my brother’s, with the exception of the underwater plant life, which was a collaboration between Patrick and Grace. Soon enough we started to grow bored again. We had brought mountains forth from the mud and dirt, made geysers with careful tunnels and stone, covered the land with lakes and ponds and grasses and trees and filled those grasses and forests and ponds with creatures to inhabit them. We’d given every animal and plant a name, given every one a friend or more, let them make their own homes and find food and water and expand and grow. We’d covered every inch of the sea and the land and come back again to make it beautiful, to fill emptiness with SOMETHING. To create something other than ourselves. And so we watched, for a bit. We still created occasionally, mostly collaborations which were more fun, but we took our time walking through the forests and mountains and oceans and watching what we’d created grow. And then, one day, I had an idea. It was such a big idea I wondered how I’d never had it before. Because even after all that we’d created, we were still, truly, alone. Our creatures, they all had someone like them. Even in death they went together. And while the creatures obeyed us; we were their gods after all; and while they filled the empty space with SOMETHING, we still desired more. Something greater. We wanted something like ourselves, friends or family or SOMETHING. We had each other, sure, but such a big planet was a little lonely with only three of us. It was thriving everywhere and yet we still felt lonely. We just wanted more of US. More people. And so, I thought, why don’t I make some? I began to work as if in a dream, fevered and excited, the same way I’d imagine Frankenstein felt when making his creation; only mine was more controlled, more calm. I didn’t even think to tell my siblings because I’d have to find them and I didn’t want to waste a single moment. I dug up the earth and the clay and began sculpting, using the water’s reflection of myself to try and make something like me. I made its arms, legs, torso, and head like mine. I tried my best to give it bones like mine, because although I couldn’t see them I knew how they felt in my body and how they were shaped, and so I tried to make the clay the same. I gave muscles where I had muscles and brains like mine, eyes like mine, a nose and mouth and tongue and organs like mine; I mimicked myself in every way possible when I worked. And when I stepped back, ready to breathe life into it, I hesitated. I felt something curious stir inside of me. I don’t know what it was... the name of this emotion escapes me now that I describe it. But it made me think, hard. And then, after thinking for some time, I destroyed it. And I restarted. This time, I mimicked myself and then some- I made their bones like mine and then sculpted them to be sturdier, to hold more weight and to be less fragile. I made their muscles like mine and then added some, made them capable of growing within such a short amount of time that they could gain almost any amount of power they could think of. I made their organs like mine and then tried to improve them. Despite living for so long, my knowledge was still limited. I didn’t know how to create the perfect eyes or ears or nose. I didn’t know how to shape muscles to give creatures strength like mine. I didn’t know how to build them to equal myself; and worst of all, I couldn’t manage to shape them in a way that allowed them to live as long as I did. The creatures I made from the clay were mortal, and they died in the end, no matter how hard I tried to prevent it. They would drown or be killed by another animal or starve or freeze or overheat or fall from too high of a ledge, they’d step on something too sharp or be crushed when too much snow collected on my mountains, they’d get lost when they were young or they’d eat something they shouldn’t have. Even if they managed to live past all of that, eventually the body I’d worked so hard to create would fall apart. The muscles I’d spent so long shaping would fail. The intricate hearts I gave them would slowly break down or clog itself up. And I’d watch as all of my creations, every one, without fail, would die, and after a long time their bodies would return to the earth, back into clay and mud and soil. I tried so hard to make them like me but I never could. Perhaps the clay was just not strong enough; perhaps I was made of something different, and that was why I lived so much longer and was so much stronger and so much faster. Whatever the case, I set my mind on changing that for this new creature. I formed them to be as close to me as I could and then made them better; I gave them bigger and more intricate brains than anything else I’d ever made, I gave them sturdier hearts and made them more durable than anything else, as durable as I could make them. After a long time- longer than I’d ever spent on another creature- I finished. And then I did it again, creating a second. Once I was satisfied with my work; once I was finished; I breathed life into them. This time, carefully. And suddenly, humans existed. They seemed to understand, like all other creatures, who I was- or what I was. That I was their creator, either way. I slipped away from them and watched as they grew, but unlike the rest of my creatures, they created too. They used leaves and the skins of other animals to clothe themselves, bones and rocks to better equip themselves to hunt. They are just about anything- plants that were normally poisonous, were perfectly edible to these creatures. They started making themselves homes, only they were much more beautiful than the homes other creatures made. They piled wood and sticks and animal skins to make tents, first. Then they used wood to build little houses. And they discovered fire, too, something no other animal had done. I watched as the first human came across it by accident, and used it to cook his food. And I watched when another human figured out how to make fire with the stones she had found inside of a cave. And from there, I watched them thrive. Eventually I told my brother and sister, and they were awed by my creation. Although they both claimed they had made better- my brother said that whales were the best thing created, their size unparalleled, and my sister claimed that her trees and grass were the basis for everything else and therefore superior- they both loved my humans almost as much as I did. I was delighted when they figured out how to use the vocal cords I’d given them, and then they developed language. Of course, I understood them, even though different groups of humans used different languages- I understood them all the same way I understood what my horses wanted when they neighed or what my wild cats meant by growling or sniffing or flicking their tail silently. My brother and sister had a harder time- I had to teach them the languages the humans used- but we lived so long that it was easy to learn every language for them. I remained hidden most of the time, just watching them. Of course, I wasn’t afraid to be found. I’d stand a distance away to observe them, so far away that they couldn’t see me, but so that I, with my unparalleled vision (except for my siblings of course) could watch them easily. They were like me but even they died, as all my creations did. But while they were alive they were awe-some. I marveled at my own creations when they created paintings and invented things, using the brains I’d given them. They made things I could never have thought of, came up with morals and systems I admired, and stuck together in a way that reminded me of myself and my siblings. My siblings, too, spent time observing the humans. We still created things but at much slower a pace. Sometimes, my sister or my brother would create something specifically for the humans; an animal good for eating that was easy to catch, or an edible plant that could be found even in winter when everything else died. Surprisingly, the humans loved all of the creations, too. They adored my sisters flowers, finding every name for every one- as my sister bragged whenever the topic of them came up, of course- and they painted scenes of my brother and I’s mountains and lakes and hills. They both respected and feared my brother’s ocean, using it for food and travel but at the same time looking into its depths with caution (this pleased my brother, although he never admitted it, saying, “well, of course they like and fear it; any decently intelligent thing should,”). Even stranger was the way they loved my other creations. My other animals were respected so much by the humans that some of them even began to domesticate them. Soon, they had created dogs and cats, and I was filled again with that curious emotion- I truly had created something under the image of myself. Something that created other things, just as I did. Occasionally a human would come my way, usually a child playing but sometimes, I’d be spotted by a hunter or simply a human exploring. There’d even be times when a lost human would stumble upon me. When that happened I wouldn’t try to run or hide or anything; they’d seem to be able to sense, as all my creatures did, that I was their creator. Some would fall to their knees or offer strange items to me. Others would ask things of me; items or answers to their questions, or even to do things for them, make things happen. I tried my best to please them. When a human asked for gold I’d take some earth from my feet and make them gold. When they asked for fruit I’d ask one of my sisters creations to give me some. When they asked me a question, I’d answer it as best I could- some would ask me who I truly was, and I’d give them my name, and tell them that I was their creator, and the creator of almost all other creatures. Others would ask more difficult things, like why I had created them. I’d answer truthfully, saying simply that I was lonely and that this planet was empty despite being full. Some humans would ask for me to make things happen- for it to rain, for their draught to end, for animals to become plentiful where they lived. Again, I’d try my best to oblige. To change the weather I’d leap into the sky and with a big breath blow the clouds where I wanted them. To end their drought I’d stomp hard on the ground to make a new river leading towards their empty lakes. I’d call my creatures to their location or even create new ones if they wanted me to. But most humans I encountered didn’t even ask anything of me. They simply thanked me, or praised me, or questioned me. And I was fine with all of it. My favorite was meeting a child, though. They, in their unbiased wisdom, would simply know that I was their creator, the way all my other creatures did, and they’d stay with me for a while, perhaps talking to me or asking my name. Some would hug me or give me their toys, others would ask if I wanted them to do anything. When, of course, I said no, they’d run off to play, smiling and waving or saying bye to me. They never asked anything of me but for my name. And they treated me not like some sort of god but like a friend, or maybe a mother. It was very nice. One thing I liked about the humans were their simplest ideas. They came up with braids to put their long hair in and, seeing as my hair trailed on the ground behind me, I followed their example. It never got caught on anything or slowed me down, but it was nice to have it up. After seeing them braid hair I had kept mine in an intricate braid since then, and it just barely touched the ground behind me but didn’t even drag at all. They also came up with the ideas for houses and tools. Their tools allowed them to shape the world around them, almost as much as I could with my bare hands. They gave themselves armor to make themselves almost as invulnerable as myself, and they learned to tame and then breed horses to let them run faster. They gave themselves weapons and tamed animals to make themselves stronger. It was truly amazing. Eventually the dream progressed to the point where humans were now in the ‘Viking stage.’ It was my favorite part of them so far. I loved how they dressed themselves, how they buried and revered their dead, how they made beautiful weapons and armor and even more beautiful ships. My brother, too, admired their ships, and came up to the surface of the water often to see them sail by. Of course, the Vikings, upon seeing my brother on top of the waves, sitting upright and watching them, began creating tales of him. Somehow they seemed able to sense that he was a creator; even though it wasn’t the same as when they met me- that is, they didn’t immediately know him to be different from them because he wasn’t their creator- they still sensed his power, or something. And so they began spinning tales, of a Poseidon-like man ruling the ocean- which technically, they weren’t really wrong. And for a while they had drawings of my brother, looking fourteen years old, a clean face except for all of his freckles, dark red hair messy over his head and cut roughly with some rock or other, simply sitting atop the waves cross-cross-applesauce style, watching with a slightly curious expression. They named him a god alongside me, and he boasted about it to no end. And then the humans found my sister, in a similar way, as she was flying with her birds or when she was walking through the forest bending trees and vines and roots as she went, and they came up with legend after legend for us. Eventually, there came a time when I was watching the Vikings and their boat had been hit by a particularly large wave. They had almost reached the shore- they were so close I’m sure even they could see it- but it seemed they wouldn’t make it. I generally didn’t intervene with their affairs, even if they were in trouble, simply because it didn’t seem right- but also because if I helped one, I’d feel the need to help the others, and with them spread out everywhere, and with them being so incredibly MORTAL, I knew that was impossible. But this time I felt especially bad for them. There were dozens of them on the ship and they were going to die right before they made it to safety. And I was right there watching, able to help. So I went into the water and sped over to them, moving through the water with ease. I grabbed a few of the humans who’d fallen into the water already and brought them swiftly to shore, where a hundred other Vikings were watching, shouting and cursing. “Some of them may need to cough up some water,” I tell the Vikings there calmly, trying to tell them that they needed CPR. They understood me and started helping the ones that needed help. I leapt back into the waves and saw the rest of the boat sinking, with all the other Vikings still inside. I swam under and lifted the boat; then I rose to the surface and swam to the land where the rest of the Vikings were, and carefully lowered the boat down to the sand, making sure not to crush anyone or anything. The Vikings are watching me now, kind of confused-looking but also amazing since obviously I just saved their friends. I leap up to the top of the boat and go inside, and find that all of the Vikings inside are okay. “They’re all safe, that I know of,” I say, and leap down to where the rest of the Vikings are waiting. Then I ask, “how many were there on this ship?” One of the Vikings from the ship says, “we set sail with 49, but when we were coming back to shore we had 34.” I nod and do a quick count. There were 34 Vikings from the ship still here. “Okay, I saved them all then, I think.” I watch them, waiting to see what they’d do next. I didn’t plan on observing them from this close but since I was watching them before anyways, I didn’t really feel the need to run away. Plus, I’d never interacted with this many humans before- I’d just never really tried to, I guess- so I was curious as to what they’d do. One of the Vikings asked gently, almost tentatively, “who are you?” I answered truthfully, since I could tell that he was really asking, “if you’re not one of us then what are you?” I replied with, “I created you. My name’s Ella. You can call me whatever you like, though, whatever sounds right on your tongue. I’ll understand you any way you call me.” The Vikings murmured for a bit and then the questions started. “Why are you here?” I shrug a little. “I’ve been on this planet since before any other life existed, save for my brother and sister. So far, it seems as if I can’t die- nothing can hurt me, that I’ve seen, anyways, and I don’t really age. I look the same as I did when I first existed here.” Then, “do you know of him?” The man asks about their Poseidon figure, which is my brother. I smile. “Yes. That is my brother. He created most of the things in the sea. Although he likes to watch you guys the same as I do. I think he really appreciates the way you guys respect his creatures, and he likes your boats. I do too. They’re very elegantly crafted.” Another Viking asks about my sister, and I say, “She keeps more to herself. She created the plants and the trees, and she and I worked together to create the birds. She can fly, better than my brother and I can anyways, and she has a way with her creatures of course. We all do. She created the coral with my brother, too. You might have seen her flying with our birds, or maybe in one of her forests.” A thousand more questions start coming at me, mixed with praises. “How old is the earth?” “Will you help us become victorious over the other clan?” “How did you create all of this?” “What was it like at the beginning?” I say, “I will answer all of your questions I suppose, if you want me to; I don’t have anything better to do either way. But perhaps we should go somewhere else, so that I can speak and you can listen easier. Plus, I’m curious as to what you have in all of your buildings. I’ve only ever explored them when you’re asleep, because I don’t want to disturb you.” They take me to one of their temples where they show me pictures of a woman sort of resembling me- she’s been twisted over the years but retains the same general features, and I can tell it’s supposed to be me. I see my brother next to me and he’s been twisted too. There’s no way he’s that tall, and he definitely doesn’t have abs- he looks fourteen after all. There’s also a picture of my sister, who is, just like the rest of us, slightly morphed- she’s shown to be much taller and more elegant than she really looks. But then there’s other pictures, too. There’s a picture of a man who appears to also be my brother (although the Vikings probably consider him a different person) who is pictured at the bottom of the sea, and seems more evil, commanding sharks and fishes. There’s a picture of a woman flying above the sky, birds mingling with her long hair which flies behind her- my sister I’m guessing, but again the Vikings, having seen her from below, probably thought of her as a different person. Then there’s about two or three other pictures of different ‘versions’ of me- there’s a picture of what is obviously a little girl, long golden hair piled on the ground behind her, holding a boulder over her head with one hand and laying a hand on the peak of a mountain with another. There’s a picture of a woman, fully grown and MUCH more curvy and full-breasted than I am, with the same long hair piled behind her, whispering to a tiger which has its head lifted to her. And then there’s a picture which seems the most like me in terms of appearance, which shows me placing my foot on the ground- from which a giant crack appears- and holding above my head, with both hands, a newborn baby. There’s a sort of altar in the back of the temple, made of solid gold, and encrusted with gems. The Vikings offer it to me and I sit on top of it, smiling. It’s beautiful. Then I begin to answer their questions, and they file into the building, squeezing to fit inside, some climbing pillars or sitting on windowsills from outside to listen and watch. “The earth is over a billion years old,” I say, “and you guys have only been alive for very little of it. At the beginning there was just the water and the dirt, and stone. Nothing else was alive except for myself, my brother and my sister. The sky was devoid of anything but the sun and moon and stars; hardly any clouds could be seen at all. And there was just one land, completely flat. No mountains or lakes or rivers. No islands, no other lands. No grass or trees or creatures of any kind. No life. My brother, sister, and I all explored every inch of the earth. We went to the bottom of the ocean and the top of the sky. We found nothing. So, eventually, we decided to create something. First, we stomped on the ground, and we cracked our land into many parts. Then we pushed the different lands across the ocean, so that there were many islands spread out across the sea; that was the beginning of balance. But we were still alone, it was still empty. So then, one day, I decided to try something new. I went to the edge of the sea and gathered mud and clay in my fingers, and started making something. For a while I just thought- I spent years sitting there and thinking. But then I had a fully formed idea, and so I went to work.” As I speak I see the Vikings watching me intently, mouths slightly parted. In the back a few of them are writing down every word I say. I smile, remembering the incredible invention of writing that my humans had made. “I began shaping the clay, building it up from the ground. I made foundations first, shaping them carefully. Then I smoothed the clay out and the clay foundations became bones. Then I added more clay and shaped that, and smoothed it out and it was muscle. I kept adding clay and shaping- for a century or so I shaped and smoothed and created, until finally, I had my first creation; a horse.” I pause to give the scribes time to write, because I feel bad for them, scribbling so fast ink splatters onto their faces. “Except it wasn’t finished. Although it had muscle and bone and skin, and a heart and brain and eyes and a nose and everything else- it was not alive. It was a statue. So I placed my hand on its nose and took a deep breath, and gathered my energy, and breathed life into it. And then, it was alive. I called over my brother and sister and showed them what I created, and they were delighted. This earth was desolate, but with this newfound ability, we could create something to fill the void space around us! My sister suggested that I make the horse a friend, and so, while my brother and sister watched, I made a second. Then my brother and sister started making things of their own. My sister wanted the horses to have something to eat, so she took a small ball of clay and rolled it between her fingers and made a blade of grass. Then she started making more, and soon it started growing and spreading. My brother, too, wanted to create. He had loved the water since we had existed, and so he suggested making something for the water. And he made the first fish. We continued making things, but somehow, we couldn’t seem to make anything that lived as long as we did. The clay could only create mortal creatures, it seemed. But we wanted our creations to last, so we made them able to bear children or lay eggs; to reproduce and spread and grow. After a few centuries we had found a system. My sister created trees and grass and sea grass, and flowers and ferns; and my brother and I created creatures that ate those grasses or leaves or flowers. But soon, we began running out of food. We could make new creatures that ate my sisters plants, because then the creatures would all eat all of the plants. So my sister suggested that we have the creatures eat each other, rather than just her plants.” As I tell the story I attempt to explain to them the cycle, the chain which keeps life going. They seem to not only understand, but to admire it, which gives me moral relief I didn’t know I needed. I continue. “Soon we had created millions and millions of things. My brother and I worked together to build mountains and lakes on the flat land, taking clay and stretching it to make more, building it up and up and smoothing it into stone and moss and dirt, cracking the ground to bring water from the ocean into our lakes, creating rivers in the process. My sister created forests and flowers enough to cover the entirety of the land everywhere, and she made moss, mushrooms, edible plants and fruit and vegetables; she made the basis for my brother and I’d creatures. Meanwhile, my brother filled the oceans with fish, whales, sharks; he created predators fiercer than you could imagine, which lurk in the depths of the sea, but schools of creatures so beautiful it makes up for the danger. And while my brother and sister did that, I created the creatures of the land. I started off with simple things. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, even bugs; small things. Then I started creating more. I made lions and giraffes and wolves and bears, and wild cats and foxes, and spiders; predators and preys so vastly different it seemed almost strange. My siblings and I also worked together sometimes. My sister and I created birds for her forests. My brother and I made creatures that were able to live on both the land and in the water. We all worked together to make powerfully secret animals, creatures you think of as legend. But it still wasn’t enough, somehow. Although the world was full, we were still alone, really. Our creatures bent to our will, but that was all. We were the only ones like us. We were lonely, and somehow it seemed like the world was still as desolate as it had been before...” I struggle to explain it all, to describe exactly how lonely we had been. Once again, I’m grateful when the Vikings not only understand but even pity me, living the story through my eyes. “And one day, as I was thinking about it, I had an idea bigger than all of the rest. An idea to create something in our image, to make a creature so like us that it would fill that void of emptiness that existed in the world despite everything we’d made. I was so feverishly struck by this idea I didn’t even bother to find my brother and sister; I felt a strong desire, a NEED, to begin my work. For centuries I spent time examining myself, feeling for the shape of my bones so I could copy them with the clay, making sure every stroke of my hand was purposeful. I made something exactly in my image. But it didn’t feel right. I destroyed it, and started again, and this time I aimed to create something better than myself- something with bones more durable, skin tougher and more clear, hair softer- something with muscles that could grow faster than mine, with intelligence that could surpass my own- I wanted my creation to be better than great; I wanted it to be the greatest. After a long, long time, I had finished making my creation. I made a second for it, as I did for every creature, and then I breathed life into them and called them humans. For a while I watched as you evolved and created; I didn’t ever interfere with my creatures, because when my creatures see me they try to take me as a leader, and I wanted these creatures to be their own. My brother and sister, once I called them over, we’re just as interested in my creatures as I was. My sister was excited to find that they loved her trees and flowers. My brother boasted to me about how they respected and were in awe of the sea and the creatures he’d made in it. Even I was happy to find that they enjoyed everything I had made- they enjoyed my animals, which they made pets of or used to make furs and meat- they enjoyed every valley and mountain and lake I’d created, every pebble I’d do carefully placed. I watched and watched as you grew and invented, but despite my efforts you still died like every other creature. Clay, I realized, would create mortality and nothing more. But I still admired how you extended everything you had- you made armor for protection, made weapons to fight with, even made houses for shelter. And you invented. As you grew my siblings and I became attached to you. We still created things occasionally, especially my sister who loves to make flowers, but mainly we watched you guys as you grew. It seemed as if you were the creatures designed to be here with us. We even started making things for you. My sister made fruits and vegetables easier for you to access. My brother made slow, surface dwelling fish for you to catch. My sister and I created easier prey, with good meat to make you strong. My brother, while spending most of his time in the ocean, surfaces to watch you guys. He can balance on any water, sitting or walking or running on top of the waves- he’s the only one of us who can. My sister watches you too, when she’s not creating another flower or vine or tree. She can jump higher than any of us, stay in the air for longer, and can glide in the air so well she can almost fly. She’s the only one who can do it as well as she does. She can also control her creations in a way, like we all can, and she has her trees make bridges for her with their roots or leaves shield her from rain. As for me- well, I’m a sucker for the land. I can run so fast you won’t be able to see me move, and if I wanted to I could tap my pinky against the walls of this building and turn it to dust. I can create earthquakes by jumping and lift mountains if they’re in my way. And so I stay on the land, far away, and watch you humans from a distance, farther than you can see but my eyes are not so mortal as yours, I guess. Sometimes a human will wander away from the dwelling and find me, but I don’t generally care. All creatures that I’ve made seem to sense, in a way, that I made them, and so the humans will always react. Some will shout praises, which I accept gratefully before telling them that they should go on their way. Others ask things of me, and I try my best to fulfill their requests. Other times they’ll ask questions, like you have done now, and I’ll answer to the best of my ability. But despite being so old my wisdom is as limited as the years have been. I do not know everything. I will never know everything, not even if I live forever. After all, I do not know how to create something immortal, even after all these years. Children seem to be my favorite humans. Their wisdom is untainted by the world around them, which humans believe they know; which they believe is unchanging. But children know simpler things, and so they do not ever ask things of me, save for my name. Often times they know me for who I am immediately, but they do not treat me like some sort of god. Rather, they treat me one of the only ways they know- as a mother, or a friend perhaps. They talk to me and sometimes I’ll talk back, other times I’ll just listen, but they don’t seem to care. And after a little while the children will leave me, saying goodbye however they know how. And while I don’t meddle in your affairs very often, sometimes I see something that strikes me with such pity I intervene. Like today. And that is the story of the earth, thus far, how I know it.” The question about the other clan comes up and I grow angry. “I created you to be better than myself- I took time to form every inch of you- so why do you kill each other? Over simple disputes that could be solved without death, and for what? Honor? I let you do as you please, but do not expect me to help my creations slaughter one another without reason. And ESPECIALLY do not expect me to kill some of my creations for nothing.” The temple shakes a little as I shout and I realize I’m being too loud for them, probably. I lower my voice. “I apologize if I’m being harsh, but that is one of few things I will not do for you.” The Vikings talk with me a little more and I learn all of the names they have for themselves, and a few of them ask for things like gold or food and I provide it. Then I tell them that I will go, because I want to watch over my other humans in different places. The Vikings give me a bunch of offerings which I accept- they give me things for my hair, which I am especially grateful for, and a luxurious cloak which, although I don’t need, feels soft against my skin, so I keep it- and they give me food which again, although I don’t need it, I take anyways, because it smells and looks delicious. They offer me gold but I refuse, saying, “if I want gold all I need to do is take the earth beneath my feet and shape it.” Then I leave them, with braided hair now twisted up in gold-plaited ties and pins and combs, held securely in place with little bands or pins. My cloak flutters behind me which I like, and I like the red velvet color of it so much that I dig up some clay and make myself a new shirt, with thin, black cloth for the main part of it, golden buttons along the center; and the inside of the collar and long sleeves are plaited with the same red velvet. It looks like a really cool version of a modern day long-sleeved, button-up dress shirt. I also make some black pants and shoes to match, and with the cape, my decorated braid, and my new clothes, I feel awesome. The humans inventions inspire me to create new things, and my things inspire them to create new things; and the cycle goes on, which somehow feels like the final balance. Later in the dream, when it’s a few centuries later, I’m in Hawaii watching some humans building and swimming around the clear water admiring creations. The little fish were colorful and I loved how they swam through coral that had been there for a long, long time. I swirl the sand and mud under my finger and, almost boredly, I form the mud together to make a little fish. Nonchalantly I puff up my cheeks and blow life into it, making bubbles erupt around me. Then the little fish I’d made flits off into the water, and I watch it, knowing that it will be one and only; there will never be another like it, I did not make it to reproduce. I will never make another exactly the same. For just a year- a year, which was nothing to me in all time- it would exist, and then it would die and like that there would be no more. I was starting to grow tired. Wearisome, in a way. I had created so much and seen it all grow, and yet I had also seen everything pass by me. The only things that lived as long as I did were the trees and my clay, and of course my siblings. But even with them it was lonely. It didn’t feel right that I would never die. And yet I had come to accept it, to know that even if I wasn’t really ‘god,’ an eternal life is the most lonely one of all. My siblings and I met up more often now, but talked much less. We were still young, in a way- we each looked our age, except for me, because I’d stopped cutting my hair since it was just too much work, so now even braided it was much too long for me to look young. The length gave away some hint at my age. And our personalities were still, in a way, unchanged; my brother and sister seemed like they always had. Childish, still, in their ways, as was I. But we had seen and created and done so much, we had so much wisdom, that it felt as if we were bearing the weight of the world on our small shoulders. We knew so much and yet so little; we knew of all creatures and how they grew and when they were formed, and how each one worked, and yet in another way we had no idea what made them live. I didn’t know how I made the clay into bones and flesh- all I knew was that I could. And I wasn’t some super intelligent being who could create perfection; I was a kid trying my best to make bone structures that didn’t fail, muscles that lasted, eyes that saw. But all of my creations had faults, I couldn’t help it. And the same was for my siblings. And yet somehow when I looked past the fact that we created everything on earth, we seemed very unimportant. It’s hard to explain but we had been there so long that we had come to realize that, when you live forever, small events were unbothersome; flowers and trees that once took my breath away were the same as always, and I knew every inch of the earth and sea like the back of my hand. I looked into the stars every few years and wondered where life would take me next. Sometimes, I’d find somewhere comfortable and secluded, as not to bother anybody, and I’d go to sleep. Not that any of us needed sleep. But sometimes the lure of dreams was enough to pull me from the life which had grown so boring, and tiring. I guess perhaps I was tired of being awake. And so I’d sleep, for a long time, sometimes dreaming, sometimes simply sleeping in darkness without thought or cares or awareness; and after years of sleep I’d wake up, stretch, maybe create myself some new clothes if they’d worn away while I napped, and wander back to where all of my creations were, and watch them to see what they had done. My brother and sister did the same occasionally, but I think I did it more often than both of them. And there were some times when we’d all meet up and sit together and not say a single word, because there wasn’t much left to say, and we’d just be contented with the presence of each other because we were the only ones like us. The only ones who understood. And maybe I’d mention something and we’d have a short conversation, or someone would sigh, “I’m tired,” as if speaking for all of us; sometimes we even decided to work on a huge project together, like making a dragon (which, thanks to my suggestion, we made unable to reproduce- after all, we didn’t want the other creatures to be wiped out by this all-powerful thing), or even creating a new landmass somewhere from just a few balls of clay. We were thankful for each other but at the same time, existing for so long in what used to seem like such a big place was just... tiring. The earth was so small now that we’d walked and swam and covered every bit of it twenty times over, now that we had seen everything there was to see and heard all there was to hear, smelled all to smell and felt everything there was to feel; we created things to fill the empty space but after a while, the colors and textures and smells and sounds faded and it seemed just as empty as before, only more full- with meaninglessness, maybe?- if that makes any sense. And three wasn’t a big number. Especially not to someone who, when looking into the future ahead of them, saw a timeline stretching on infinitely. It didn’t matter what we created. The promise of an end, it seemed like something we needed. Without it we were burdened. Because it seemed right that everything with a beginning would have an end- to finish the story, to make that cycle, the balance; as all things seemed to be except for us. I don’t know. I felt hopelessly lonely and tired. I cling to morals as if they could ease the apathy that had shrouded the rest of who I used to be, but it seemed to be taking over all three of us. We never had to say anything, because we knew the others understood. And some days I’d wake up and force myself to forget about the fact that I was eternal, and I’d have a good day. I’d be myself again; I would see hope and purpose in everything again. But I couldn’t pretend forever. And so it continued. I watched and watched and watched. Soon I even stopped creating, for the most part, unless I collaborated with my siblings or if I was especially bored. I just watched, mostly the humans, as they grew and advanced and died. At the end of the dream I realized that I had unintentionally made the humans far greater than myself in one single way; I gave them death. When making them I had tried so hard not to, but in the end, it seemed that it was better off for me to have failed, at least in that way. Because when you see a start and a finish you have a sort of determination, a fire, passion, a WILL, and you can be so much greater because of it. I had given to my humans the one thing I wanted most of all- and the one thing I could never get. And a sad sort of fulfillment came over me. I watched some more, and strangely, with that realization I was slightly more contented. The humans destroyed some of my creations but made new ones with what I had given them; they built cities from the metal I’d placed in the ground with my brother so long ago, they bred my animals to get new ones that they wanted, they grew plants and they themselves grew and grew and grew. As they advanced I stood from afar and observed, as they made rockets and went to space, as they investigated the universe and tried to find their purpose. I watched as they made gods for themselves and imagined what came beyond death, as they feared it, even. And then I woke up.