And
all will know the name Jared Fischer.
When I first stumbled upon the star Minusculus, it was raining. It had been raining for years. My entire life, in fact. Torrents and downpours and sleet, and every day, the clouds spit on my face. I have never owned an umbrella, nor rain boots, or fancy water-proof jackets. I’ve felt the wet on my face every day of my life and not once has a stranger put his jacket on the ground for me to walk over. Grey. Grey is everything I know. My life is grey. No divine pleasure, nor heartbreak, or jealousy. I’ve been called a robot, but even that invokes some sort of technology: powered by batteries, and made specifically for a purpose.
If I were a color, I’d be beige. If I were architecture, I’d be a cubicle. If I were light, I’d be fluorescent; flickering lupus-yellow inside a building in a downtrodden newspaper’s back office.
When I first stumbled upon the star Minusculus, I was tiny. I had been tiny for years. My entire life, in fact. Never small enough to fill the small gaps in great histories, nor petite enough to retrieve keys from behind the table, or miniscule enough to be the building blocks of civilizations. I’ve felt shrunken every day of my life and not once has a stranger given me a leg up.
I also didn’t know what it was like to be big, on top of the world, omniscient.
When I first found the star Minusculus, I was walking to the temp agency. I was to be an unknown number in an uncaring office, pretending to work. I wasn’t unhappy, and I wasn’t happy. I found the star Minusculus floating on top of a puddle incased in a glass necklace. Curious, I thought: a firey sun floating on top of water. I picked up the star and noticed a secret hinge as if it were itself hidden in the emptiness of space.
I opened the casing.
And saw it was battery powered: a watch battery. Something so small powering something so very large. I laughed and closed the lid. How could something this important be forgotten? How could a sun – a SUN – The very beginnings of life itself, be lost in a puddle?
It rained.
Now there were tiny little planets circling this sun, and I laughed. And it rained. And it was grey. And I was laughing.
And
I wanted to control this universe. All will know the name Jared Fischer.
I wear Minusculus around my neck. I am its God. I see and hear and know this entire universe. Every planet, every dust cloud, every rock. The civilizations are evolving, I know it, and with a tiny, sour spark of vengeance, I can open the lid and take out the battery. I control everything and am everything.
I’ve been to the store and bought Windex and battery chargers and rain boots. And it was cloudy. And it was just drizzling.
I often wonder what this universe thinks of me. Would it be embarrassed to know its God is actually working on a computer every day, and answering to Dennis? Turning in cover letters and reports and thank you notes on time, and making bland Folgers coffee every day with my un-toasted white bread? Does God have a day-job?
I am – Happy. I feel important. I know and possess something that nobody else knows. I am its comfortable home base. It needs not feel lonely, because I am always with it. In my arms, Minusculus, you will find the comfort of a caring mother. In my tight grasp you will never feel fear or sadness. In my watchful eye I will lick your wounds and feel the tiny, sour spark of your energy. You are mine, and I will cherish your every need, gentle universe.
It’s clearing up outside.
I’ve made a habit of using Minusculus as a stress-ball. When I am pissed, I open the lid. Because I can. When Dennis asks me to stay late I think about removing the battery. I wonder if they know what’s going on inside there? Can they feel it? Are they frantically praying for me to help? Am I making others heart-broken by taking away their loved ones too soon? Have people devoted their lives to me?
I rarely go to work now. I rarely leave my house. If I had a girlfriend she’d be livid. If I had a goldfish it would be dead. If I had a Universe I’d.. Well. I’d cherish it.
I leave my apartment when I need eggs or batteries or toasted rye. I wear rain boots but there aren’t any puddles to step in. It’s sunny, and I’m happy.
I laugh.
And when I laugh the sun shines brighter than it ever has. Birds sing from the trees, airplanes are just loud enough, and the smell of fresh cut grass is always in the air. Lawnmowers never happen before 9AM, now. And I am happy.
Cleaning its casing is a light night/early morning activity. Every evening, I spray the outside of the necklace with Windex and make sure it is clear as water. The next morning when the sun rises outside, there is dew on all of the flowers. They look beautiful, and their color is as vivid as light through water.
When I hold Minusculus tightly, I notice both Sun’s rays get brighter. The cicadas come out, outside. Curious, I think; a little early for summer.
When I stare into my necklace I feel comforted; as if I, myself, am being watched by a loving, omniscient mother. I feel safe. I feel that all of my scraped knees are being kissed and I always get a bed-time story.
I miss the rain.
I was comfortable being beige. I was comfortable blending in. Being a God is stressful, and I barely sleep. I miss mediocrity. The clouds slowly return.
My rain boots become littered with holes, and my socks are cold and wet. Winter is coming, and the flowers are dying and the clouds are back and it is grey. And it looks like rain.
If I were a stronger, more mature, man, I’d not care. I have an entire galaxy dangling from my neck. Then again, if I were more mature it wouldn’t be on a cheesy leather cord. If I were a stronger, more mature man, I’d keep the days and eons of this universe safe from all harm, and pass it down to my children and my children’s children for safe keeping – We would be the keepers of time. Then again, I would have to have a companion to make children. I smirk. And it is grey.
It’s pouring. I do not want this universe
When I first stumbled upon the star Minusculus, it was raining. It had been raining for years. My entire life, in fact. Torrents and downpours and sleet, and every day, the clouds spit on my face. I had never owned an umbrella, or fancy water-proof jackets. I felt the wet on my face every day of my life and not once had a stranger put his jacket on the ground for me to walk over. Grey. Grey is everything I knew. My life was grey. No heartbreak, or jealousy. I’ve been called a robot, but even that invokes some sort of technology: powered by batteries, and made specifically for a purpose.
And one day I opened the lid and pulled out that battery.
And the rain stopped.
And the sun fizzled.
And the moon disappeared.
And the stars, outside, vanished.
And
Everyone knew the name Jared Fischer, because I was the man who ended the Universe
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C Beatty is a Portland living, Chicago born, writer and composer. He thinks life is splendid and doesn't write 3rd person bios well.
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Picture Credits:
http://fav.me/d1mobp6
