I Keep Trying

There have been many creation stories.

First I tended to the oceans, to them that swam and drifted, them that hunted, and them that accepted their fate as prey. Soon the water was not enough, it was too limiting, they wanted more. So I allowed them to crawl upon the lands, to explore the fauna that sprang up from dirt and sand.

It wasn't long before even this was not enough. So I made the molds bigger. More ferocious. I gave them tools to hunt their brethren, and tools to chew the fauna. I looked down upon them, glorious in their diversity, and smiled.

My mirth was to be short-lived.

They chewed too much, hunted too much. The delicate balance of the resources I laid out for them became tenuous, and cracks began to show. The Earth herself trembled in anger, until finally she rained down holy destruction upon them, her fury seething with fire and tempest. 

And then they were gone.

A few survived, a bare few. My strongest creations. But what is a whole world without those that move through it? Who would appreciate the rainbow of flowers? Who could look upon those that survived the upheaval and wonder at their awesome fortitude?

So then I created new beings, them that stood on two feet and used their hands to create tools, art, homes, fire. Creators, out of the creator. The ultimate being. I didn't know what to expect. Creation, after all, is the opposite of destruction.

It took some time for me to understand the duality of these new beings, how strongly both sides of a coin could live within them. I thought upon scrapping them, thought about going back to the drawing board and starting again, but they are resilient. Like them that survived the first apocalypse, but with the ability to adapt, grow, change. The Earth trembles softly when they get too confident, but her silence stays my hand. Even she is fascinated by their sheer audacity.

So I wait.