It was a long time ago. The so-called Catalyst that ended the world It belonged to. “The beginning of the end,” the God had called it. When everything started dying in earnest.

Those words were the only words that were for sure spoken by the Golden-Eyed God who looked down at Its world, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction. Other entities, other things like It, all scrabbled over the rest of His words, quoting and misquoting and reinterpreting them.

Because surely, surely, this God must have appeared to them with his prophecy of doom for some reason. Surely he had a purpose, surely he pitied them. The Gods were supposed to love them, or at least rely on them, or at least were entertained by them–

Every generation that passed, the reasoning got more and more desperate.

It would not care even if It had the energy to. It had been born into a world that was long since passed the beginning of the end. No, It and the scattered few lives left on this plane of existence were borne to the end of the end.

It does not remember Its birth or any other kind of genesis. It simply was and It had been for Its eternity.

It was nothing. An absence of light in the shape of Its people. A human-shaped shadow. All the others were just like It. They were all Its.

But when this particular It approached others, in their huddles of dying misery, they all scuttled away. It did not know why until this moment in time.

It was searching for sustenance. The concept of food was not something It or any of Its generation had the luxury of even knowing of, let alone experiencing. Instead, It and the others traversed over the land, looking for a little bit of world that was perhaps a little less gray then the rest, with less ash and more life. Then drained it.

Every draining was unsatisfactory. Nothing eased the hunger pains, nothing gave the feeling of euphoria like taking that first bite of your favorite dish. But they were able to limp on still, surviving.

It was during one of these feedings when It looked into something shiny.

At first It thought that It must be looking through a hole in the planet, seeing the sky from the other side of the earth, able to see the pitch black and the very few pin pricks of white.

Entranced, It got closer and then suddenly the white pin spots disappeared, replaced by two, much larger circles of something new.

It reeled back, cowering. It had never seen that before. It looked up at the sky and saw the white dots were as fixed in the sky as ever. Slowly, cautiously, It approached the strange thing on the ashen ground. Once again, it looked down on it and once again, the white dots disappeared, replaced by the two different circles.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

It studied this not-sky. Slowly, It began to move, seeing if the image would change if It changed as well. It moved to the left. The new dots moved left. Same when It moved right.

Slowly, It brought Its fingers up to Its face, or what would be a face if any light reflected off of It.

As It moved towards the weak spots in Its face, where It saw things, the dots in the image warped, a finger shaped shadow covering the spot in the not-sky.

These circles that looked like nothing It had ever seen were… Its eyes. It didn’t know how It knew that word, but there it was, and It was sure of Its accuracy.

It dropped Its hand, looking at the not-sky with a new emotion it had never felt before - amazement. It had never seen the eyes of others before. They were all shadows, like It. Nothing there. The absence of light given a physical form. Was this why the others fled It? Because they had no idea what It was?

And what was this thing that filled the circles, It wondered. It was not one of the endless shades of gray and ash. It was not the darkness of the rest of It. It was not the white spots in the sky that It would sometimes look at, weak and crumpled on the ground, finding some kind of primitive comfort while also being so very afraid of the expanse of sky and the space between It and the white. No. It was like that but… not. What was the name?

And the word came to It. Red. Its eyes were not gray or black or white, but red.

It reached out for the not-sky, dipped in shadowy fingers, watching as Its red eyes rippled and warped.

It drew It’s fingers back, watched as it stuck to them, trailing down in viscous rivulets - another new word - and curled Its fingers.

This thing. This sky that was not a sky. This thing that gave It the color of Its eyes.

Mine. It wanted to hoard this. This thing that showed It a little bit of life. Because this realm It lived in was not life. It was one of infinite worlds where reality collapsed in on itself, unable to hold the strain of it all. It was a horrible Limbo, and death was a blessing.

It laid down next to the not-sky, watching the real sky, curling Its body around the small pool of wonder, and stayed there.

It looked at the white dots - stars - and slowly faded away. It had experienced the peak of it all. It had been dissatisfied with Its life as it was. Well, dissatisfied was not the right word. Everyone was dissatisfied, but this discontent smoldered in Its core, climbing and clogging Its insides. Dried It out until It felt like the ash floating in the toxic and thick air. It was… angry. It had wanted out but could not die until there was no energy left for It to drain. It used to rage and scream and cry but It was a waste of energy in the end.

But now, knowing that there was something beyond the endless gray and dust and fear, It was… not happy, not content, but… more at ease? Justified. It wished, oh how it wished, it could experience more like that discovery of red. But now that It knew that something like red existed, It knew that It had been right to want something more that It never knew was real. And It knew that was as good as Its life would ever get, no matter how much It might want to explode in a sunburst of color and pleasure and new, even if It did not know that was what It wanted.