The Sun didn’t come first. The Sea predates the rest of the universe. Blue, thunderous waves, lapping no shore. It was the Sea. And me, of course.
The Sea made the Sky. The Sea was a vain entity, you must understand, and knew exactly how impressive it was. So the Sea made itself a mirror of foam and light, and threw it overhead where it was caught — even the Sea didn’t know that I was holding the Sky, right where it only had to glance up to see its own majesty.
But then the Sky got lonely. All it did, every day, was reflect its superior below. If the Sea was angry, the Sky would churn. When the Sea was calm, the Sky could relax. So the Sky made the Earth, to bully as it chose.
The Earth was thrown into the Sea, a mass of the Sky’s spite. The waves broke and fought, but there was no stopping the one thing the Sky had free will enough to do. The Sky protected its creation in its early days, but learned soon that the Earth wasn’t weak. It splintered the Sky in seams of mountains, and was strong enough to stand up to the Sea. I watched the antics of the other entities, standing apart, still holding the Sky, my feet planted in the Sea.
There was nothing these three didn’t cover — land, water, the reflection of them both. But the Earth wanted more. It wanted its own victim to hate and love as it pleased. It molded the Moon. A mass of rocks, glowing silver, hanging from my thumb right under the edge of the Sky.
The Earth had a strong will, and prided itself on that fact, but the Moon was its creation. The Moon had inherited its strength — the Earth had merely resisted the battering Sea on its edges, but the Moon never touched the water and still succeeded in forcing the Sea back from the Earth’s shores. The Earth feared the Moon’s strength, and so it ignored its creation. It ignored the tantrums, the rebellion and the adoration of its child until it was far too late. The Moon had honed its craft of pushing and pulling on the Sea, and turned its skill upon the Earth. It pressed at the core of the land, deeper than even the Earth itself had dared consider, and pushed a mass of fire out the Earth’s flaming core to be an appreciative audience of the Moon’s silver glow.
None yet knew the power of fire. Not the Sea, nor the Sky, nor any of us. None of us had known the power at the Earth’s core that hung now off my other thumb, opposite the Moon. None had dreamt of the malicious hunger this incarnated spite would have.
The Sun blazed. It burned the Sky, heating it wherever it moved. It warmed the Sea without thinking. It breathed on the Earth and destroyed or created at will upon the other’s skin. Civilizations grew, species died, all at a brush of the Sun’s will upon the Earth.
We all marvelled at and feared these smaller beings of the Sun’s creation. They were known among us entities as humans. They each carried some of the Sea’s vanity, the loneliness of the Sky, the strength of the Earth, the abandonment of the Moon, and a streak of spite from the Sun. A beautifully painful concoction of these traits they were. There was nothing they believed to be beyond their reach. They climbed the Earth’s highest peaks, dove into the Sea’s waves, walked on the Moon, and hurled themselves into the Sky.
They never caged me, though.
All they reached they believed, but that was it. I didn’t carry any hatred toward the humans, but I was incomprehensible, intangible to them. And so infatuated with humanity were my companions of higher beings that they began to believe them. The Sun and Moon forgot they hung on my thumbs, the Sky no longer felt my fists on its edges. My feet did nothing to warm the depths of the Sea in comparison to the Sun. The Earth never even knew me. Where was the justice? If I were to treat them the same, they would all cease to exist.
I rarely spoke to my companions, but in those days I cried out as the Moon had for attention. I saw my reflection on the back of the Sky, the Sea’s creation smooth in my grip, slippery and cold.
I let go.
The Sun fell, colliding with the Moon on its descent. The two curled into one, silver and gold, ignored and honored, united in their last act — that was the pair that ended humanity and the Earth. They sank beneath the waves of the Sea, deeper and deeper, never slowing in the water. The three tore a hole in the Sea’s floor and, sucking the Sky down into the whirlpool, drained the universe out of existence.
I sat down. I’d been standing for all ages. But after a time that was immeasurably short and long and nonexistent, I became lonely.
So I created you.
And when I fall, you will build your own companions upon my back.
Yes, I believe the falling of Reality will be a good way to begin the reign of the Unreal.
The Sea made the Sky. The Sea was a vain entity, you must understand, and knew exactly how impressive it was. So the Sea made itself a mirror of foam and light, and threw it overhead where it was caught — even the Sea didn’t know that I was holding the Sky, right where it only had to glance up to see its own majesty.
But then the Sky got lonely. All it did, every day, was reflect its superior below. If the Sea was angry, the Sky would churn. When the Sea was calm, the Sky could relax. So the Sky made the Earth, to bully as it chose.
The Earth was thrown into the Sea, a mass of the Sky’s spite. The waves broke and fought, but there was no stopping the one thing the Sky had free will enough to do. The Sky protected its creation in its early days, but learned soon that the Earth wasn’t weak. It splintered the Sky in seams of mountains, and was strong enough to stand up to the Sea. I watched the antics of the other entities, standing apart, still holding the Sky, my feet planted in the Sea.
There was nothing these three didn’t cover — land, water, the reflection of them both. But the Earth wanted more. It wanted its own victim to hate and love as it pleased. It molded the Moon. A mass of rocks, glowing silver, hanging from my thumb right under the edge of the Sky.
The Earth had a strong will, and prided itself on that fact, but the Moon was its creation. The Moon had inherited its strength — the Earth had merely resisted the battering Sea on its edges, but the Moon never touched the water and still succeeded in forcing the Sea back from the Earth’s shores. The Earth feared the Moon’s strength, and so it ignored its creation. It ignored the tantrums, the rebellion and the adoration of its child until it was far too late. The Moon had honed its craft of pushing and pulling on the Sea, and turned its skill upon the Earth. It pressed at the core of the land, deeper than even the Earth itself had dared consider, and pushed a mass of fire out the Earth’s flaming core to be an appreciative audience of the Moon’s silver glow.
None yet knew the power of fire. Not the Sea, nor the Sky, nor any of us. None of us had known the power at the Earth’s core that hung now off my other thumb, opposite the Moon. None had dreamt of the malicious hunger this incarnated spite would have.
The Sun blazed. It burned the Sky, heating it wherever it moved. It warmed the Sea without thinking. It breathed on the Earth and destroyed or created at will upon the other’s skin. Civilizations grew, species died, all at a brush of the Sun’s will upon the Earth.
We all marvelled at and feared these smaller beings of the Sun’s creation. They were known among us entities as humans. They each carried some of the Sea’s vanity, the loneliness of the Sky, the strength of the Earth, the abandonment of the Moon, and a streak of spite from the Sun. A beautifully painful concoction of these traits they were. There was nothing they believed to be beyond their reach. They climbed the Earth’s highest peaks, dove into the Sea’s waves, walked on the Moon, and hurled themselves into the Sky.
They never caged me, though.
All they reached they believed, but that was it. I didn’t carry any hatred toward the humans, but I was incomprehensible, intangible to them. And so infatuated with humanity were my companions of higher beings that they began to believe them. The Sun and Moon forgot they hung on my thumbs, the Sky no longer felt my fists on its edges. My feet did nothing to warm the depths of the Sea in comparison to the Sun. The Earth never even knew me. Where was the justice? If I were to treat them the same, they would all cease to exist.
I rarely spoke to my companions, but in those days I cried out as the Moon had for attention. I saw my reflection on the back of the Sky, the Sea’s creation smooth in my grip, slippery and cold.
I let go.
The Sun fell, colliding with the Moon on its descent. The two curled into one, silver and gold, ignored and honored, united in their last act — that was the pair that ended humanity and the Earth. They sank beneath the waves of the Sea, deeper and deeper, never slowing in the water. The three tore a hole in the Sea’s floor and, sucking the Sky down into the whirlpool, drained the universe out of existence.
I sat down. I’d been standing for all ages. But after a time that was immeasurably short and long and nonexistent, I became lonely.
So I created you.
And when I fall, you will build your own companions upon my back.
Yes, I believe the falling of Reality will be a good way to begin the reign of the Unreal.