Very Short Story

May 22, 2013 15:42

A woman I met recently was asking me to write her a story, so, after a bit of playful reluctance, I wrote this in a spontaneous, stream of consciousness type way: no editing, no proof reading, and no changes--simply let the fingers tap it out. Seems to me it belonged here as much as anywhere, so...

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Back before time began, and space became something extended, there wasn't much of anything, which is to say that there was everything that one could possibly imagine. Of course, since there was only No One, which was One, well, it was crammed together right there--no where--and didn't make much sense in any way at all, and was, therefore, extremely difficult for one to imagine much of anything, let alone everything.

So, instead of fretting and dwelling within all this tension of being and nothingness, of non-being and everythingness, one simply imagined something.

And then there was light, but ain't no God had to say nothing about that no how, and if He did, what of it? And if He was She, then all the more of the same, which is, of course, to say something different.

And then, yes, there was difference, even if it was all the same.

Years later--many years later, many, many, many years later, in the relative scheme of things, see--there was some small speck of dead star stuff that gathered itself all together about some other larger collection of dead star stuff that was, itself, collapsing into itself due to its on severe, and very serious, gravity.

It was a very heavy situation, you see?

So, as this other stuff sparked itself off into what would become a new star--some regular, run of the mill star in a galaxy full of similar quite ordinary other stars--this collection of other dead star stuff spun itself up into what would become some insignificant ball of mud and water, which, once that mud and water learned how to get up and walk around, would actually begin to consume itself in some little understood act of self destruction, which, when we stop to think about, is pretty silly, and perhaps only a misunderstanding--all that walking, talking, scheming mud and water simply not very self-reflective perhaps: a skewed and very shallow understanding of self-interest, we could suppose.

At least, that's what the shrinks would say, if only they themselves weren't so tiny, and getting smaller and further away all the time.

See, when everything else is expanding and moving away and distances getting further and further all the time--indeed, things on the edge dropping right off as they move so fast, now, that their light cannot catch up to whatever point becomes a central place of a taken observation--well, is there really any difference between that and the distance remaining the same while the little bits of stuff get smaller, and simply shrink and shrink and shrink?

Well, in the end, it don't matter all that much as, in the end, well, there's the beginning, and in the beginning there was only One, which was none, and there was nothing and everything, and it don't matter what no God or Goddess said no how, 'cause all of that is something would come much later, even if all of it--any something at all--was all here, now, waiting to be imagined.

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In other news, I picked up a Macbook Pro, and, man, is it ever fuckin' sweet!
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