Prologue
In the beginning, there was nothing. Nothing here, at least. The place was not infinite, nor was it finite, as nothingness certainly lived up to its name. Then, from somewhere else, a Thing came, and nothingness ceased to not be, and something started to be. First, the Thing drew a breath, a deep breath. Then It shaped an indescribable geometrical form, and let it hang in this Breath of its. Finally, It took colours and infused them into the breath and the form. The three parts merged and imploded, creating a tiny, oh so tiny sphere, but what it didn’t have in size, it made up with its brightness. The Thing looked at the tiny spark and, opening Its hand, let it flew freely.
Light flooded darkness, warm cold, and during a long time, everything that was was just an infinite space of hot messy soup. Then it started cooling down, maturing, the tiny pieces started to work together to create bigger things. This process took time, but the Thing had time, an infinite amount of it actually. It wasn’t afraid of waiting, so It waited, and It watched. But something was lacking and, closing Its fist, It ended the whole thing. And It made it start again, but something was still missing. Again. Still not good.
Again.
Wrong.
Again.
Failure.
Again.
No.
Again.
Maybe?
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Again?
And again!
And again and again and againagainagainagainaga!
Stop.
There.
This iteration.
Something worked, but disappeared so, so quickly. Analyse, extrapolate, why did it work, if barely? Try again, closer to the answer, closer and closer and closer. Each time more and more sparks, more and more hope. Each time more and more process, more and more wild and complex.
Their. In the end, It thought it understood. It built the world again, carefully, masterfully. Giving it all the ingredient that created a reaction, that catalyzed it in the right direction, building so creatively a world of harmony. Building thinkering adjusting for an amount of time so great anything else would have disappeared, back to the Main Core, despaired. But not It, It couldn’t go back, It had broken Its chain, Its link, Its relation with the Core. Desperately It worked and, finally, it was done.
One more time, It made the process take its course, stirring the ingredients, shaping the forms, working the colours.
Nothing. Even worse than the first attempt. All this perfection, all this creation, all the cost but for naught.
It looked, despaired. It was exhausted. It was alone… It closed Its ey-! There! Something!
A spark. Not white, as before, no, red. Then another, blue, then another, green, then another, golden, then another and another and another and
Abruptly, it stopped. The Thing looked, helpless, at Its dying creation, mourning its destruction. Stricken to the heart by this death so sudden, Its hope flew away, a colour no one has ever seen before, it left the Thing as It fell one last time in despair.
But.
But.
Its hope didn’t disappear. It flew down. Dove toward the still world. Embedded itself in its centre, before scattering and flooding all its part. A heartbeat, a standstill, and sparks started exploding everywhere, faster and faster and faster.
But this, the Thing didn’t see, as, having lost Its hope, It was now drowning into sleep, waiting for someone, a person a group an evil god a deity a monster purity incarnated or corruption made flesh, but waiting for anyone to wake It up, to open Its eyes and make It see the wonders, the wonders Its hope and work gave birth too.