My Father told me
I stood over their broken form. Their tortured limbs pulsated with pain, struggling wet maggots covered in thick bloody goo. I had done that. Here, nearing the End of Days, I had killed them.
The sky burned, and all the water had boiled away. I walked, and I walked. It was true that the tallest mountains had been hidden deep down the oceans. Rotten trees fell, my skin broke, and my blood dried.
Love was long gone. Sculpted stone had turned to dust. I wasn't thirsty. I wasn't hungry. Sadness had died in the wee morning. Ideas and feelings had to go because there was nothing else to annihilate. I remembered that I used to sleep sometimes. I had to carry on because I wasn't finished erasing.
Let's go back.
I stood over their broken form. I witnessed Hate's last breath. I had done that. Compassion had been the first to explode in anguish. It was fitting to end with them, then. All the skulls had eroded. I opened wide and ate Space.
It crumbled on itself and tugged its corners inside me.
My Father told me He was done playing. My work was all but finished. He needed a clean slate; I had ended Life.
Time glared at me. Time was easy. I closed my eyes.
I forgot.