Perhaps it's forgotten

I was taking a sabbatical on a planet in a galaxy several thousand light years from earth and making good use of the opportunity to study that galaxy’s wonderful pocket of physics. There were many different species of sentient life there on that planet, all evolving at the same time. They fed from a plasma that existed as, well, an ether that permeated all space. I suppose you could say that they ate as they breathed. There was no form of killing or murder, yet there was death. Death… maybe it should be called a reorganization of life.

The world I speak of was in constant flux. Species became while others perished on a daily basis. It seemed to me that their world was geared towards the experimentation of form and sight.

The last of a species spoke to me while I was on that world–-she had approached me as I wandered the land. I could not view her as beautiful or otherwise for her form was not as such. She seemed happy.

She said, "I’ve been to your world in my mind’s eye. Curiosity led me your god. It will destroy your world with fire in time." Then she left me there, wet with iridescent rain, by means I did not investigate.

I departed that world, but her words stayed with me.  I set about finding God, something I had never before conceived, and soon learned that God was from an old and dying breed. Those few individuals of God’s breed that were yet alive had scattered themselves about all space and time, creating caves well hidden for which to conduct their experiments. 

Traveling, studying, I learned that God had created our solar system when it was a child, long ago. It had caused the whirling to become, and did stir on occasion afterwards, but had allowed life to evolve quite randomly.

It hasn’t played with us in some time.

I found God. I needed to travel to the singularity at the center of the Milky Way--which was spilling in from a parallel plane of energy. It seemed that all galaxies were either spilling in or out from their center most points.

God was perched inside that singularity. It had built a little laboratory in a bubble, a void of a variety. I penetrated the void and watched God at work for a time. Grumpy, hunched, it glanced over its shoulder but took no other interest in my presence, though it did seem surprised to see me.

Old hands, long fingers, graying skin replete with fine white cilia, and with eyes that seemed to know things that I didn't care to learn. It could’ve destroyed me with hardly an intention, so I didn’t over stay my unwelcome.

Now I spend my days on earth skipping rocks across the ponds and wondering when the fire will come, and why and how (I picture a stone tossed from afar). I would die with you all, of course--terrible. Let us pray that we be forgotten.