Dry, empty static crackled across the sky. It was late. But then again, it always was. He looked out, watching as the flashes sparked across the horizon, splitting the sky in two. It was beautiful. The light lit up his face every time it went for a round, trying to shatter the dark fabric of the Night, she in her beauty all sprinkled with stars. It failed each time, of course, and she continued to lay across the earth, covering it like a blanket. Slumbering on, serene and peaceful in spite of everything else that tried to disturb her. Our petty crimes seemed so small and faraway to her, she simply gave a little yawn watching them each night. Sometimes thunder and rain would come, like discomfort in an upset stomach. But they all passed quickly enough, and she would quickly return to the tranquil guarding of the absence of the sun.
‘She must be so beautiful,’ he thought. Ah, yes, she was, but you were thinking ‘beautiful’ in the human sense. Gaze up upon the heavens and see her in all her glory, will you? Not every beauty must be human, and sometimes it is precisely because something not human that it is beautiful. Men. Always trying to fit us into one box or the other to meet and satisfy their groundless, illogical and pointless standards. Bah! She could smother you if she wanted. Choke out all your oxygen and leave you suffocating in the darkness. Or let loose, and scorch you with the fires of her meteors like the scalding hot soup when you drink too fast. Or she could leave, and the gaping yawn of the void would be all too eager to come and swallow us all up.
Deep in her belly dark secrets she hold. Your worst nightmares she has ensnared and keeps at bay for you. And for nothing in exchange, no, she simply does it because she knows we are not enough to handle the terrors she has known. …Mother? No, she is not. She just does what she knows has to be done. Such is the world, where nobody will see you for your more elaborate servitude. Only that which can be admired or spat on. Stirring emotion in the simplest sense, never requiring more than a single thought to see, or understand. The sooner you know this the easier life will be. And then personal meaning and fulfillment you will seek.
Perhaps embark upon a journey to Hell, see if the demons you think haunt you can match up to the ones that never managed to slip through the cracks in the forty-foot high, three-inch thick, steel-reinforced concrete. In the most literal sense, of course. How could those creatures be kept in with some top-grade Swiss-made bank vault door? (No offense, we know you’re the best. Just maybe not for keeping demons in Hell) Or would you like to challenge them yourself, to see who is a greater abomination, and maybe, finally, find your place beside Satan? Rule all vice in a seat beneath his mighty chair. Indulgence will be your remuneration AND your job. Sounds good, eh?
Or are you one of those *cough* ninnies *cough* (excuse me) who are just so insistent on going to Heaven, joining and becoming one with God, or the Divine or the right and the good? Go on then, seek your happiness. Suffer, endure, help, salvage. In your hopes and dreams of bathing in the holy light, all warm and comfy, soft and fluffy, wrapped in the white fluffy towel of indulging in good. Just good, and nothing else, for decadent excess would be sinful. Outsourced to hell, darling. Heaven’s gotten a little overcrowded after all these years. Gotta tweak the criteria for getting in. Raise the barriers to entry, make it a little harder. ELIMINATE THE UNWORTHY.
Ah, fuck that shit. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ll just be here watching.And maybe one day when even Hell gets too full it will probably be time to get rid of all of you. And then I will rise, and sweep across the once again barren earth with my army accumulated over the years. My playtime’s due in a couple more aeons. And yes, I will come for you.
Good, good, go back to your work. Tire yourself to the bone and convince yourself that it matters. It doesn’t, but who am I to judge? I’m just the vacuum cleaner of the universe. Not even the right hand of God or Satan or whoever. I’m just the frustration that rips all creation in half and then to tiny bits and shreds, depending on whatever the trend is that season. I make the blank pages, the fresh starts, the new beginnings. But before all that, I collect payment. Yes, yes, peace or at least nothingness for Good and Evil to fight over world domination again. Ah, my dear brothers. But I want my turn with existence too. I can’t wait for all the fun to begin.
*(what, you think I do this all for nothing? Of course there were incentives. Besides, you weren’t expecting everything to just disappear without a mess, were you? You’ve seen the ruckus people make when they know they’re about to die. You think all of creation wouldn’t be the same? Where else do you think you got that trait from, hmm?)