Creation

Through the void, the starlight shines to the astronaught, reflecting trillions of light beams, collecting space dust, shifting through the endlessness.  The colorless vacuum spins webs of deceit hurling to the lifeless planets of the galaxy.  Volcanic mists litter the hellacious surface of a dead orb.  A storm picks up, lightning collecting and surging to neighboring clouds.  Heaven looks down on the creation of a new entity, though life will not survive.  Bolting through the black, cozmic dust and light and unsympathetic matter plow into the sphere that once held so much promise.  Explosions shake the universe.



The pen lifts from parchment.  Existance is quieted.  All that was is no more, silenced by a lack of motivation.  Screams of the galactic masses fade into the memory, never to be at peace, toiling in the mind of an uncaring creator.  A guteral laugh from the voice of a creativly tormented soul fills the room.  The book closes, the candle extinguishes and thus exits the only entity that can breathe life into the nothing.



"Help me.  I once existed, I can exist again.  Don't give up on me."  The quiet, insegnificant voice shrieks from the pages of a forsaken universe.  But the call will go unanswered.  The ink of the voice drips from the pages and falls to the floor, burning it's essence into the hardwood floor.  A gentle breeze unsettles the ashes of silenced tears.