"While there are clearly many heinous people on this version of Earth, I wish only the best for Phineas in his pursuits and do not wish to see his people wiped out. Universe Utro-Z58 may continue."

The screen shifts from Phineas and his space station to its usual silver block and whooshes away from me, leaving me in my chamber. Well, if you could call it that. My home is quite different from the worlds I observe; nothing exists but an endless white surface, a sky filled with the glowing screens that make my task possible, and myself, floating along through the cold, paperlike realm. I am both its ruler, and its prisoner. I have no idea how I got here or what I might have been before. I can't even tell you how I look; every time I look in the screens for an answer, nothing appears. I look at my hands, but still, even to my own eyes, I am but a specter. An endless wisp given a duty of great nobility... and even greater sorrow.

When I first woke here, I was terrified, confused, desperate for a way to escape, even just remember (If there was anything to remember). I acted as a caged animal in a place that most people would find peace. Then, the first screen appeared. It emitted a slight whistle that almost forced me to docility. I sat at the foot of the strange contraption as it delivered my instructions: "Decide what continues and what ends."

I couldn't understand it at first. Continue? Ending? Why was I the best thing for this task? I knew nothing, saw nothing, was merely a conscious without any experience that required thought, yet I was told to make choices on anything? My task became even more unnerving when the screen switched to the first scene: Vega-L79. The sky looked like papyrus, and the townsfolk were like stick figures had come to life, darting around the screen smiling and laughing. It was peaceful, happy, but I was still confused, and shamefully, a bit bored. I said I wanted it to end... Then it became clear. Immediately, the world was engulfed in flames. The screams still bellow through me. The world soon turned to black, and it was gone. I screamed, begged the screen to bring them back, that I had changed my mind. It did nothing, simply lifting toward the sky and sticking to the top, like a devilish honeybee collecting my sorrow and despondency like nectar. I did not know if what I saw was real or simply random scenarios pieced together. Honestly, I am still a bit unsure. I didn't care, though; I vowed to choose 'continue' as many times as possible. I say 'as possible' because whatever entity ordained this caught on to my plans quickly. Even when it showed me the worst, most vile acts, I knew it was only a single, small piece of a much larger system. I couldn't bring myself to say end when I considered what might lie beyond. So whenever this happened, the entity chose for me, bringing calamity and hellfire to countless innocents. I soon realized that my job was not mercy, but coldhearted, unnuanced judgment. Watch the scenario, analyze the details they give me, and make my decision. Once I finally figured out the rules, things became less combative... but the 'ends' are still far more frequent than I like. Worse still, I can only watch the darkness that comes after an 'end', never the brightness after a 'continue'.

I've done this for longer than any being can count, with nary a break between scenarios. You'd think they would start to blend together, yet amidst my sorrow over the lives ended, and the wave of dread over what may come next, I still perk up like a child when a new screen appears. What secrets do these people hold? What do they treasure? Who do they love, hate, or something in between? You start to see a slight symphony rise from the most monotonous of actions; the way they drink their water, a slight widening of their gait, a change in their tone when talking to a coworker versus a family member. They all weaved a patchwork tale of comedy and tragedy for me to enjoy. It has been the closest I have gotten to real interaction. I was content for a long time with this being my reality. At least I did not have to experience the pain of losing a family member to a violent death, or being betrayed by friends over money, right? But somehow, a relatively short while ago, something changed. The girl, oh such a strange girl. Her family; no contact for most of her adult life, and she was secretly miserable for years. Even when she returned, despite the pain of old memories and grudges resurfacing, she was as happy as she was as a little child on her father's knee. It was puzzling: How is it that even with all her pain and deep sorrow, she still had the urge to try? To fight for a family she thought long lost, despite all the turmoil she knew it'd bring? Was it possible, just possible, that behind all the rage and grief and sickness and death, that the value of connections was greater than all of it combined? I had never considered the notion until that scenario. I was not only excited for her new life to begin, but it made me wonder just how I would want mine to look.

I concocted a series of legendary duels, outrageous schemes, passionate love, terrifying beasts, and heartwarming fireside chats. Any of everything that I found interesting from my watching, I created my own versions, where I was the star. Nay, not the star, but one of many twinkling along a space filled simultaneously with terror and joy. It was a sensation like never before. My what-ifs consumed me to the point that I could no longer complete my duty. The screens simply followed me angrily, showing more and more worlds. Instead of judging, all I could do is take even more details to add to my own world. Even when the screens howled that howl that first sated me, it did nothing but turn into a gleeful song playing in the background of one of my dances, or a funeral march for a departed friend. My heart -whether I had such a thing, or if one was currently growing- was full, but no longer was it connected to this place. My fervor to find something more was renewed. I raced to find an edge of this realm, anything to show me there was a way beyond. It did not matter how long it took, for what was time to me? It did not matter how futile, for what did I need to worry about? All that mattered was the possibility. My passion kept me going.

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Then the screens tried something new. They surrounded me, lifted me toward the sky, and ensnared me in a swarm of their companions. Since I failed to judge properly, they made me watch all the worlds I had missed burn simultaneously. The weight of the agony after so long without it nearly broke the passion. I had been drained of my hope, left with a sadistically placed wound for my disobedience.

And so I went back to work, judging fairly, all the way back to Utro-Z58. I pass my judgment and wait for the next screen to come. But this time, it shall be different. Another screen comes, but before it can bring me a new world I lunge at the screen, hoping for a way to get through. It had worked for one being I had watched, why not me? Of course, it is not that simple, and the screen easily rebuffs my assault. For my disobedience, another swarm descends upon me and hoists me to the ceiling. They tighten further this time, constricting like a cobra. I somehow feel out of breath, my vision blurring. Suddenly, it hits me: If I can command the fates of worlds, why have I been so convinced I cannot command the fate of my own? Have I been so warped to think a being or force I have never could be so calculating that I have lost my sense of self? No, I would not continue. I pray this place dies with me, but if not, I pray the next poor soul realizes this quicker than I. I muster my last breath and shout: "End this now. End me now."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And then what happened, Grandpa?" rang out the voice of a mop-haired boy, sitting among a group of five young children at the foot of a thin-framed old man, with a bald head and a beard that nearly touched his knees. The man smiled and leaned toward the children.

"Oh, now I don't think I have quite enough time for all of that."

"Please! Just tell us quickly!" pleaded the little boy, with agreement from his companions. The old man sighed, unable to resist the childrens' cries, and continued his story.

"I'll keep it concise, but it loses a bit of spice. As it goes, I was born to this world to my loving mother, and grew up in a peaceful home, never really fitting in with the schoolchildren on account of my much greater life experience that took me years to untangle in terms of trauma. After secondary school I decided to train as a writer, finding the notion of releasing one's feelings with pen and paper and allowing the world to enjoy it quite invigorating. I took some of my most favorite scenarios from my old life and made dozens of plays, novels, and the like, raking in quite a penny from theaters to bookshelves. I then used that money to train myself as a baker and open a small shop in my favorite coastal town, still continuing my writing whenever I felt the urge. It was at that bakery at the age of 30 that I met your dear grandmother, and the spark was instant. I had learned long ago to never let fear overtake you, so I asked her out for a drink the day we met, and the time from courtship to marriage only lasted a year. And then, our 40 years of love and family started. Your mother and aunts and uncles were born, and we shared many laughs and tears as we raised them, and then you all came along. And heavens above, you are all so precious. Never forget that."

The children rose in raucous applause and ran over to their grandfather, embracing him with the loving death grip only a child could give.

"We love you, Grandpa!" roared the children.

"And I you, my loves."

An old woman with long black and silver hair then shuffled into the room with a wide smile.

"Alright everyone, let's give your grandpa a break. Don't let your supper get cold, okay? I made chicken wings!"

The children released their captive grandfather and formed a line to the kitchen, hollering with glee over the food that awaited them. Once they exited, the woman walked over to the old man and kissed him on the forehead.

"Your stories never cease to amaze them. Or me. Tell me... did you ever figure out just what that time, that eerie place, really was? Just a horrific hallucination, a fever dream, or something more sinister?"

"I never have, and I hope I never will. All I know is that those hellish moments granted me this life. I don't need to go digging for something that can bring nothing but pain when I can stay here with you, basking in a harmony of peace, community... and perhaps a little pain. Especially from those kids and their claws."

The woman chuckled and jokingly slapped the man's shoulder. She looked at him like a honeybee upon a shining flower and sat in silence for a few moments, adoring this puzzling person she had lover for over half her life.

"I love you, Gregory."

"And I you, Margeurite."

"Will you join us at the table?"

"Yes, in a moment. I just want to finish thinking."

"Oh, Honey, that will never happen!" Margeurite joked. She shuffled toward the kitchen where the ravenous howls of the children could be heard, and Gregory was left in his favorite chair in his home. He wasn't really sure what he was thinking about today, until a single word popped into mind: Sorry. Almost all of his favorite universes showed people apologizing for something, whether their own fault or not. He felt anguish over their self-inflicted wounds, but he was lightened by the fact that he held little of that within himself. Sure, a little for the universes destroyed, but there was no other choice to be made; it was heinous, perhaps unforgivable, but no avenue ended the madness other than his escape. Strangely, he did not feel upset about how long it took him to escape either. If he had left earlier, would he have still met Marguerite? Or learned the lessons that gave him his success? He did not know. All he knew was that the most formative, most crucial moments of his life, no matter how vile or righteous, happened in perfect time. It was his sole wish for the world he lived in, and however many that existed beyond: To experience that perfect, chaotic timing, at least once, so that their lives may someday make sense on a random day of reflection surrounded by loved ones, or alone in bed. It was a gallows kind of comforting, and it suited him just fine.

And so, with his thought of the hour completed, Gregory rose from his chair and walked to join his family for supper to partake in his wife's amazing cooking and share yet another lesson from his life; a journey he could never be quite sure ever existed.