Short Stories

I Am A God

Entropy. 

Chaos is the reigning tide of which the foam and dust of stars ride upon to create the intricacies of life. 
It is my hair, and the sun is my eye, and of which my body is born from this eternal entropy. Trapped in the infinite wonder and I am but one of them. My consciousness is vast, and alone with all these thoughts in the indefinite silence of my being I can see all. Feel all. 
I am no cosmic horror that can be unseen, nor seen at all, for I am so far reaching that even the centuries of light that reaches your eyes is lost by the derelict concept of time itself. 
I am alone though, in all of this creation, these black holes that tear away at my corpse, these planets and galaxies that form the tone of me are lost on me. 
I do not create life as it is, I am not life as it is. 
I am the humbleness of infinitesimal chaos. 
Even as I am, I am nothing. But to the tiniest of creatures, I am a God. 

Tinies

Among me to my wonder are the tiniest of things. Small orbs that breathe the air in my lungs, the gasses of my form. They spindle around in the nothingness, a waiting an atmosphere to thrive in. They fall on rocks and planets in my gullet and try so very hard to survive, but they can't.  I cannot make them, and I will not. 
As they move and grow, multiply into complex little creatures with arms and legs and teeth, they are dumb and entertaining. I may blink and they are dead. 
I am so very old, and their tiny bodies are so very young, and when I move they die. 
This is not my fault. But I am sorry of it, because these tiny things strive so hard to live, not knowing that I will always outlive them. For what they know not, I am sorry for. 

Watching

Life, is this what they deem it? I can see far ahead the creatures that spread like a virus in my body. I am incredibly bored of it. All the emptiness around me, all the squirming bodies inside me, I can watch them though. It brings some kind of solace to the darkness. Interfere, I cannot. They have developed bodies, and knowledge, but so very little of it. Making rough tools from rocks and other tiny creatures body parts. What brutality they possess.  To kill and kill and kill. But, perhaps this is their world, and their lives do not last nearly as long as mine, so to live, they must kill. For me to live, I must simply be, until my body devours me, I presume. 
These ones grow and grow in numbers, and seem to love the chaos they live inside. Such dumb little creatures, they know so little,  but what is it for me to assume their stupidity when I know they have such little to understand. The mere concept of their existence is misunderstood by them. That is okay. I will continue to watch them.

Conscious 

What must I be, if I am nothing? If I am chaos, if I am the cyclical pattern of all things ever conceived? I think, I suppose.  
That my composition is just that. Composition. 
No great power, no entity of wonder, but I wish to be. I am just the abode of life and nothing more. The timeless entirety of entropy. 
If I were to think, would that make me be? Or does the application of thought simply create a caricature of mockery as my existence? These questions are human. And that is something I long to be. 

Human

Humans, and all the intelligent life similar have built what seems like lasting societies within my belly. They named me a God, something I am not, but appreciate nonetheless.  They fight and kill over what they think I am to say, and this is interesting. Despite their hatred of eachother they grow, all these beings, in numbers, in knowledge. Some have developed measurements for the rules of my body, and apply it to their daily interactions. Others have moved off their rocks to other rocks far less habitable, for curiosity I suppose. 
But some still believe that I command their worlds, and I bring them rain, and thunder and food. 
If it is me, it has never been intentional. Still though, despite my many names, they defy what they believe to be me. In saying I have any plan for them, any invested interest in them, they defy my nature as chaos. I do not have any care for what they do. I have no interest in what they say of me. I have not once infringed upon them any might that I, truly do not possess. 
I understand them, but I don't. And although I have not blinked, when I do, they will die. 

Energy

I have known for all this time that I am energy. I am the natural pull and push, the soft and hard and every element of me resides in all the things inside me, my life I lasting. Far longer than any other creature inside me can fathom. But my body is devoured by the stars that turn inward. And eventually I will turn inward upon myself. 
They grow in size and numbers, tearing me apart and spewing my innards from singularity into another blank canvas of nothingness. All the things inside me will die, the humans have all died, their predecessors are dead, the other creatures who've taken their rock have died as well. There is other life in here, but it will die too. 
I feel my eye burning, it's hot gravity sucking inwards as it begins to expand, before sinking into itself and imploding. 
I feel the emptiness as my corpse is shredded by it's own consumption, I am dying. And all life within me is dying soon the chaos will be no more, I will be no more. 

Atrophy 

Chaos is the reigning tide of which the foam and dust of stars ride upon to create the intricacies of life. 
It is my hair, and the sun is my eye, and of which my body is born from this eternal entropy.

-Authors note-

I wrote this one I think, last year, and this is how I imagine a true omniscient god would feel and react to its world and universe. It's in no way theological or represents any particular gods sorry, but it does represent my theory on how universes are made, destroyed and recreated. Something I nod back to in various other works I've written lol.