The Creator
It was always warm here. This reality was stuck in the cool warmth characteristic of the first few days of spring. For miles and miles, the surface was covered in emerald green grass. The sky was completely blue, not even a sun disturbing the smooth canvas, though there was no way to describe this world besides ‘sunny.’ This world was an empty world, content to exist in serene simplicity, except for a small grouping of dandelions surrounding the Creator, though you would not expect one such as her would hold such a mighty title. She was small, young. Thin chestnut hair hung around her shoulders, hanging limply down near the bottom of her back, a conglomerate of loose strands and thin braids, sprinkled with long grasses weaved throughout. Closer observance would reveal silver tears rolling down her tan face, despite the cheery calm of her surroundings.
The Creator carefully selected a gorgeously full dandelion and plucked it from the earth after gently brushing its head with her finger tip, disrupting a trail of pollen to drift in an unseen breeze. As she picked the flower, the asteroids of a dead planet crashed together with silent ferocity elsewhere in the universe. Purple mist wrapped around it, concealing this process of chaotic creation from the many prying eyes throughout all universes and reality, each eager to steal the dying secret of creation. She examined the flower and the curtain of mist dispersed to reveal a lush planet of canyons and rivers, forests filled with ferns and ivies, vast oceans with massive waves, breezy fields of lavender and violets. “One flower for creation,” she murmured, her voice thick with tears.
She picked another dandelion. Eight remained. She rolled this new flower between her palms and honeybees popped into existence. She tied the second dandelion to the first, and the bees found a home in the forests of the new planet, pollinating and creating and making honey. “Another for fertility.”
Again, she chose a flower, making sure to harvest it near the base of the stem. There was no room for mistakes. As she rolled it between her palms, fish popped into existence in the seas. They found their breath as she tied this third dandelion to the second. “This dandelion for calm.” Six dandelions remaining.
She removed another flower from the earth the place birds in the sky. “And this one for freedom.” She tied the knot. Each bird spread their wings to feel the cool breeze under them as they soared, unfettered by gravity. Five remaining.
She picked another and cats appeared on the surface, this new planet growing more bountiful even as the Creator’s home became more barren. Four flowers remained. She tied this one to the chain of the others, struggling with shaking hands. She created with the energy of destruction. Some would call her selfless or brave. “Coward,” she muttered to herself as she fastened the knot.
Her hand hovered over a new flower. One thin finger brushed the petals, coming away yellow with pollen. The Creator looked at her finger for a moment, a single tear dripping off her chin, falling onto her finger before splattering onto the ground and sinking into the earth. In one quick motion, she picked the flower. “This one for ambition,” she whispered and mankind popped into existence. As she tied the flower to her chain, humans started making tools. Three remaining.
In quick succession, she swiped for a dandelion as if she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to do it if she was slower. “For need,” she muttered, tying the flower to the rest. All the creatures of the new planet felt the hunger in their stomachs. Two flowers left.
Just as quickly, she took the next. “For chaos.” Her voice was louder this time, stronger but also colder as if fortified by some hate. Rain and lightning poured over the new planet, torrenting all the newly created creatures with quick, hard raindrops. One left.
She gave it a hard stare and something in her seemed to die as she took the last dandelion from the land and tied it to the others. “For hate. For apathy. For cold and for violence.” Man turned his tools to weapon. He killed animals for food and other men for jealousy.
She tied the ends of the chains to create a crown. “So mote it be,” she declared flatly. The Creator stared at the crown. She knew her duty to it. For all the rest, she had rested it in her palms and offered it to the wind, which had greedily snatched it from her, carrying it away to a Ruler. The Creator stood. She gripped the crown in her fingers, not willing to relinquish control. Instead, she set it on her head.
Wind picked up, whipping the Creator’s white, grass-stained dress around her calves, her hair blowing about her wildly. But the flower crown remained calmly on her head. “This new world will be mine,” she declared. “I have killed my home, but I will not die with it. I am more. I will continue.” Her voice was barely discernible in the wailing gales of hurricane force winds yet the corners of her lips almost seemed to quirk upwards, unharried by the violent storm of rage and destruction around her. Even as she spoke, the emerald grass shriveled and disintegrated, carried in the wind to form a storm of detritus that spiraled like a swarm of locusts. The Creator seemed unaffected. In contrast, she almost seemed to be glowing with green energy, encircling her and pulsing with the steady beat of her heart. Her feet lifted from the ground and she floated towards the heavens, her body expanding, consciousness shifting. She was no longer Creator but Ruler, no longer a physical entity, but one of pure energy, encircling the infinite span of everything she had painstakingly created.
With a simple breath, she erased all those who had deigned to assert command over her creations from existence, placing herself to the direct worship of all beings. “I have been Creator and am now Ruler. All those who deny me, know that you remove yourself from my benevolence. I will not harm you, but neither will I protect you. Should there come a day that all deny me, all will fall to chaos and all will live or die by their own merit.”
With all reality and more stretched out ahead, a part of her, still she wanted for her home. With a loving stroke of thought, she re-fertilized that planet, filling it with fresh dandelions. With a whim, she added daisies and other wildflowers. Then, with a blink of energy, she formed a new Creator to sit in those endless fields and weave her imagination, allowing each harvested flower to regrow for an endless supply of variety and possibility. The Ruler gave her heart to that planet, to its Creator. May they be everlasting in that position, as she had never been destined to be.