Matt lay in a bed of white stone and swimming silk and stared up at a ceiling which never ceased. Around them, the endless hall flowed cavernous and eternal, an empty cathedral steeped in never‑ending twilight, a night which never truly darkened, a dawn which never truly came.
Jane’s head rested against his chest and his finger wrapped around a strand of her hair as she murmured to him of her visions.
“I’ll make cities of glass and marble,” she whispered, her smooth skin warm and restless – their bare legs intertwined, “With green veins running through. Leaves and flowers growing everywhere, on every surface, avenues and avenues of trees, hanging vines. There’ll be no pollution; no war. Nobody will ever go hungry, nobody will ever get sick. Kids will play in the streams and pick fruit from the orchards and in the night fireflies will light up the darkness everything like stars.” She paused, leaning her head into him. “What are those cave worms called? The glowing ones?”
“Bioluminescence.”
“That’s them. I’ll put that on the bark of trees. Or maybe the worms underneath it. On buildings. And in the lakes there’ll be blue, un‑stinging jellyfish. When night falls the entire city will glow.”
“I can see it.”
“People can work, if they want to,” she told him, “They can make things or they can write or they can teach or invent. But they won’t have to. Whatever they need, I’ll give it to them. Everybody will be rich. Nobody poor.”
Matt was silent.
“I’m going to make saddles for the Pterodactyls,” Jane continued, “I’m going to domesticate them, I think, just change their brains a little to be more like horses, and then when the kids are old enough they can ride them.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“If anyone falls, I’ll catch them.”
“Sounds like an incentive to let go.”
Jane laughed. “I can keep making the world bigger I think, as big as I want to. Shuffle things around. Space for those who want to be left alone, you know, beaches where it’s never cloudy, mountains always covered in snow. People won’t have to live in cities, but I think a lot of them might want to. They might be used to it. Or might want to change between them, one after the other.”
“I imagine it’ll be where most of the good food is.”
“The food’ll be good everywhere,” Jane laughed.
“What, are you god of the kitchen now too?”
“Hilarious,” Jane smirked. She paused. “I’ll make the atmosphere high enough to fly in, but beyond that keep gravity low. Won’t be long before people can travel out into space, if that’s where their hearts take them. Or into the caverns below, or the jungles. Our own world is so big, but I could make this one bigger. All unknown, all unexplored. A whole new world of discoveries. I’ll make that for them.”
“Can you make Pokémon?” Matt asked, “Actual working Pokémon?”
“You are such a nerd,” Jane cackled, and rolled over on top of Matt to tickle him, breathless and bare as the new day. After a moment of Matt’s laugher and resistance, she rolled off and he ceased his squirming.
“What colour will the flag be?” he asked eventually. Beside him, her autumn hair splayed out over the white down pillow, Jane pursed her lips.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “What colour do you think it should be?”
“Green.”
“Ew, no, green? Gold. Definitely gold.”
“A gold flag? What are you, an Arab dictator?”
“It’s my world,” Jane laughed, giving him a light push.
“Is it?” said Matt, “I thought it was everyone’s.”
The goddess waved her hand. “It will be everyone’s. But it’ll be mine first and foremost. And yours.” She rolled over onto her stomach, fixing him with a grin. “Come on. What do you want?”
“Breakfast?” Matt’s own stomach grumbled. “I think it may have been legitimately two days since I’ve eaten anything.”
“Sorry,” Jane laughed, “I forget you need to eat. Do you want me to take care of that for you?”
“As in order something in?” Matt glanced at the endless white hall on the impossible utopia planet currently circling in low orbit around Earth. “I think we might be outside the usual delivery radius.”
Jane rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “No as in make you something. I could just snap my fingers and-” She broke off, clicking her fingers to demonstrate.
“Is there a risk your planet would burn down?”
“Hilarious. Again, just hilarious. You think you’re so funny.”
“I am so funny.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Or I could just take away your hunger.”
Matt’s smile faded slightly. “What?”
“Yeah, I could just make you never be hungry. Put, I don’t know, some self‑sustaining energy in your system, replace your stomach. It’d be pretty easy.”
It took Matt a few moments in silence before he was able to respond. “No… no thank you,” he said quietly, “I… I think I like the way I am.”
“Your loss,” said Jane, rolling off him onto her back. She propped herself up with her arms to look at the endless twilight darkness and the ceiling, not bothering to keep beneath the sheets. “It would be pretty easy.”
“You can just change people like that?”
“Gave you the ability to fly, didn’t I?” she said, raising her eyebrows, “It’s just atoms. Tinkering. You can sort of reach in and see how people work and just… change things. It’s complex, but not that complex. No more than making a stegosaurus.”
“What if you get something wrong? What if you break something?”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Then I undo it,” Jane shrugged, “A thousand times in a single instant, until I get it right. It’s easy though once you get the hang of it.”
Matt said nothing, and the room lapsed into silence. After a moment Jane turned and leaned on her elbow to look at him, frowning slightly.
“Is everything okay? Are you alright?”
“Sure,” Matt said, though he wasn’t quite sure he believed it, “It’s just… a lot, you know. I’ve never not been hungry. Or, you know, not needed to eat. It’s a strange thought.”
“Hunger,” said Jane, waving an errant hand, “Fatigue, sleep, aging, death. They’re all just things, you know, things that happen in our bodies, biological process. There’s no magic to them, they’re not vital. If I can get rid of them, why shouldn’t I?” She turned again, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes bright. “Just imagine never growing old. Never having to worry about dying. Never being afraid of losing anyone. Of having to say goodbye for the last time.”
“I think a few folk probably have people they wouldn’t mind saying permanent goodbye to.”
“Of course.” Jane shuffled back down onto her side again, seeming restless, unable to stay in one position long. “Nobody will have to see anyone if they don’t want to.”
“What are you going to do once people start starting wars?”
“Pff, wars, over what?” Jane scoffed. She fixed him with her grey‑blue eyes. “Everyone will have everything they ever wanted. There’ll be no scarcity. There’ll be no reason to hurt or steal or go to war with each other.”
“Except all the stupid reasons people have always hurt and stole and gone to war with each other throughout the whole of human history.”
“Like what?” demanded Jane.
“Jealousy. Anger. Hatred. Betrayal. Person A loves Person B who loves Person C. Disagreements about the correct priorities in life, the right books, the right songs. The right god.”
“Please,” scoffed Jane, “By the time people come here, that debate will be settled.”
“What if it’s not?”
“What do you mean?” she asked him, sounding a tad annoyed, though not quite angry, “I’m right here.”
“So was evolution. People still don’t believe it. People still believe in angels and astrology and demons and all kinds of stupid stuff.” He paused and tilted his head on the pillow, looking over at her. “Are you going to let them keep believing in that if they want?”
“They can believe in whatever they like,” Jane said with a small frown, “I don’t care.”
“So if they want to build a giant statue of an angel in the middle of your tree city, you’ll be alright with that?”
“I-” Jane hesitated, brows furrowing. “I mean, I guess. It’s just a statue.”
“What about if another city makes a statue which they think is better?”
“Then we can have a ‘best statue’ competition and goddamn settle it,” Jane growled, a little irritable.
“What if they don’t believe it was you who did this? What if they call you the Devil?”
“I don’t care,” she laughed again.
“What if they do believe it was you, but different groups have different interpretations of your rules?”
“I will literally appear and correct them.”
“What if they don’t listen? What if they don’t believe you? What if they want to start fighting?”
“I’ll make them stop,” she scowled. Jane paused, propping her head up with one arm, her face creased as she looked at him with a frustrated frown. “Are you trying to pick holes in this?”
“No,” said Matt, “I’m just asking questions.”
There was a long pause while Jane stared at him. “Are you… are you not okay with this?” she asked, sounding a little taken aback – maybe even offended.
“No,” Matt insisted, “I’m fine. I just… I don’t know if it’s going to be that simple. I’m just trying to understand how it’ll work.”
“Do you… not want me making utopia?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course you do.” Jane looked taken aback. She recoiled, sitting up straighter in the wide white bed. “You’re my partner in this. In everything. I’m doing all this for you.”
“Are you?” Matt asked, “Is this really about me?”
“How can you ask that?” said Jane, “Of course it is. I, I’m trying to make a world where we can be… where we can live…”
“As kings,” Matt finished for her, “As deities. Ruling over everyone.”
“I…” Jane sounded flabbergasted. “Yes! Is that bad? Are you complaining about the thought of being king of utopia?”
“Is it annoying?” Matt asked, gazing at her, “Is it illogical?”
“Yes!”
“Do you want it to stop? Do you want me to stop not doing exactly what you want, being petty, unreasonable and human?”
Abruptly, Jane fell silent. For her about half a minute she just stared at him, her face blank and her eyes narrowed.
“I see what you’re doing,” she eventually muttered.
“Were you tempted to look forward in time to see if I was going to do it?”
“I… no,” she grumbled, though her words and her gaze were dark.
“Will you be?”
“Will I be foreseeing our conversations?”
“Yes.”
“No. I told you that already.”
“So you’re not going to redirect the future? You’re just going to let conflict occur?”
“Matt.” Jane gave a heavy sigh and sat up, the sheet falling off her, her hands moving in frustration down to her hips. “Why are you being like this?”
“You tell me.”
“You know I can’t read your mind.”
“Can’t you?” Matt asked, “Because you can make me fly. You can teleport. You can change a living creature’s brain. You can do anything.” He let the words drift out into the empty, yawning silence, watching their ripples make their way across Jane’s frustrated expression. “And a part of me can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before you get sick of people disagreeing with you, get sick of them having their own opinions, and stop giving them a choice.”
“Please.” Jane stood up, rising from the bed, not bothering to drape herself in the covers – the air was perfectly temperate, and with the barest touch of her hand white silk appeared from nowhere and wrapped itself around her torso. “This is ridiculous.”
“What? What of what I’m saying is ridiculous?”
“You’re arguing with God,” she snapped, “What isn’t ridiculous?”
“You’re not God,” Matt replied, “And if you were you could beat me in an argument.”
“Well I’m the next best thing.” She stared at him, her face hard and disbelieving, her arms crossed over her white‑clad chest. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way? Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you get out of your own way?”
“This isn’t going to make me happy,” Matt countered, “It isn’t going to make you happy, living like this, domineering everything, getting angry at everything you can’t control.”
“I thought you said I could do anything,” Jane snapped.
“You can,” said Matt, “But that doesn’t mean everyone’s going to do everything you want them to. And eventually people are going to start making choices you don’t agree with. Choices you think damage things. And you’re going to be faced with the option of taking away their ability to choose, or letting them do things which hurt people.”
“I don’t… this is absurd.”
“You’re making heaven.” Matt said, pushing onwards. “Alright. What if everyone’s version of heaven is different?”
“Everyone can have whatever they want,” Jane answered, throwing up her hands, “I don’t care. I’ll make new planets. Separate planets. It’ll be huge.”
“The Klaus Heydrichs of the world? The white supremacists? The religious fanatics? The paedophiles?”
“They’re not coming in!” Jane almost shouted, rolling her eyes so aggressively she practically rolled her head.
“So some people are getting left behind then?”
“I… no! Maybe! I don’t know.” She scowled, though there was something troubled behind the expression, a look not necessarily directed at Matt. “There’ll… obviously some people are monsters. They… I won’t bring them over, I can’t, because then they’ll just hurt people, they’ll just…”
“And where do you draw the line? Who gets into paradise, who stays in Hell?”
“I…” Again, Jane’s words failed her. “I’ll look into their pasts,” she finally told him, though the way she said it sounded less like a foregone plan and more like anything she made up on the spot to get Matt to shut up, “And their futures. I’ll see… if they’re truly irredeemable. If they were always end up like that.”
“Are there many evil children?”
“You know what I mean!” she yelled, again throwing up her hands, “If they can’t be fixed, if they can’t be changed-”
“And you’re going to change them?” Matt asked, sitting up, “What bits of their pasts are you going to alter? What bits of their personalities are you going to remove?”
“No!” Jane cried, and in the twilit room the faintest white glow began creeping out the edge of her tattoo, “I… you’re twisting my words, I’m going to…” She suddenly stopped, her jaw clenched, the hackles of her nose raised. “You know what?” she said, “Enough of this. If you want to complain, to nitpick and find flaws in everything I’m doing, that’s on you. That’s fine. But I’m not going to stand here and listen while you do it. I’ve got work to do. Important work.” She turned away. “The most important work in history. I’m making a world.” She sniffed. “Our world.”
“What if I don’t want it?” Matt murmured.
“Then you’re an idiot,” Jane scowled, and this time the anger in voice was real and directed squarely at him, “A selfish fool and an idiot who doesn’t realise what he’s got, and everything I’m trying to do for him.”
And suddenly the nothingness in front of her folded like paper, and Jane was gone, leaving Matt laying in an empty bed in the halls of a great, empty cathedral, surrounded by empty whiteness, all alone.