Short Fictions, Thrills And Wonders

A Divine Tragedy

A man in his thirties, dressed in a white shirt and a pair of jeans slumped lazily on the white sofa, one hand holding a ridiculously large remote for the large flat screen TV in front of him while the other holds a black shiny metallic sphere.

He has a very long beard, white as snow.

He's given many names God, Allah, Ra, Zeus, Osiris, Thor.... So many that it would not be an exaggeration to say that it would take a century to state all of it. Once, he himself was so confused with all his names and sons and prophets and chosen ones (he never had any connection with most of them, and frankly he himself isn't aware of the existence of the sons and prophets he had over the centuries), that he decided to give the mortals a big fuck you and named himself Charles.

Charles is staring at the screen at the moment. The screen shows a rather serious looking man commenting about some serious issue or another, with the sounds of the studio exploding into laughter as the only soundtrack he needs.

How pitiful of them, he thinks, they have no idea.

The next moment, the screen goes black, and Charles scrambles to change the channel. He places the orb on the table and, worried that it may roll off, willed there to be a slight dent on the table that he can place the orb in, and indeed there is a dent on the table, although the table had only existed after he wanted it to, which is a few seconds ago. He presses a button out of many on the gargantuan remote the size of his arm. The channel is changed. The screen now shows, the sun, slowly expanding, swallowing planet after planet, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Neptune, Uranus,... , until there is only fire and debris in the entirety of the screen.

He switched channels again, this time showing the same scene, but with another sun and other planets.

Another channel shows some strange two headed monkey speaking to something as the screen goes black once more.

Slowly, Charles went through the channels, giving each one two seconds before it collapses into darkness or flames. Soon, all the channels show the same thing, a black screen. But there is one final channel. He presses a button, and the TV turns into a mirror, and he sees his own eyes set on himself.

One last job.

Sometimes, when he is bored, which is pretty much most of his time, he would wonder why he bothers with this game of creation and destruction. He created everything. From the unknown to the known. And ever since his first dust particle was made, he had a great plan, a plan to create beautiful civilizations and wonderful lifeforms, and a plan to destroy all of that in one day.

The mortals think that he alone holds the answers to everything, for he had created all, but the more he knows, the more is revealed to him that he doesn't know about. He does not know why he had bothered creating the infernal sphere that sits on his desk, and why he needs to use it. He does not know why he creates, why he neglects and why he destroys. It just seems right and proper for him, and he should know, as he had created right and proper, but yet he doesn't know the origins of that notion or the origins of much of his thoughts.

It should end, it will end, but that's only because he wants it to end, but what if he doesn't?

But he does.

The question is philosophical, but reality isn't. Actions, not ponderings are important now, and what is important becomes priority.

Priorities priorities priorities.

He picked the sphere up from the table.

He closes his eyes, he shall not see the end.

He drops the ball.

And the last surviving bit of the universe is swallowed by the darkness around.

"All hail the Lord!"

"Indeed, all hail."

All must hail.

Who can oppose?