Tevun-Krus #100

24 - Bzzzt - @napagpagurang_p - Theological SciFi

 Bzzzt

By napagpagurang_p

Click. Click.

Bzzzt.

Click.

Click. Click.

Bzzzt.

Click.

Click.

The boy, with his mind stuck like a pig in feet deep mud, stared at the static screen bending outward to him. Its light came from the inside of the black box it was attached to, reflecting a variance of colors on the boy's face while his eyes examined the variable objects in labels the screen showed him. The colors were sharper and stronger to see, as the room had nothing in it other than the boy, the box, and the darkness.

And the light. The box's light.

Click. Click again.

Then again. The screen then revealed panels that appeared to offer the boy options. He clicked a few buttons, the selector went rows down with every press, and the box's lights had changed again. The boy was seemingly calm, but he was determined to create something today. And he will make it beautiful.

Solus?

The dialogue box appeared.

Alone?

He'll tune the human mind and emotions, characteristics and tendencies later. The other aspects can go first for now, he thought.

And he thought again for a minute, wondering if the project this time would be alone or not. His creations had varied characteristics, especially situations and aspects and conditions—as everything that exists have been— wherein each would differ so much, if not drastically, to another—some have been one dancing, rotating globe in the middle of space so wide and contained no other life than the globe itself, other globes that encircled it were nothing but accumulated dust, clouds and storm with no life; One was similar but only had clear, starry night skies, for their skies had no clouds and the blackness they believed was a void was actually a dark canvas with shiny things—they called them stars, yes—on it which led them to believe there were others and that they weren't alone, except that there were no other life than them that existed and that they are, inconsolably, alone.

And the world was irregularly—very—shaped.

One was many; it was the only one in its own space, yet it existed together with its exact, same copies side by side, all sharing the same turn of events, every detail and every size—every everything— so that whenever an inconvenience in one occurred, the others would still live on without it happening to them. Like a backup, or an insurance. A reserve.

And some were flat. Some doughnut shaped, but he dumped them real quick, like he did the other projects he deemed failures. And there were huge amounts of them he dumped, clinking and buzzing as they go and in the archives of the black box's memory, deleted.

His recent failed attempts in finishing a work aimed at creating something so beautiful he himself would be baffled to look at—which he had, always, struggled with—had piled up in his memory and into his heart and mind that now, he feels even more driven at tuning all the little aspects and settings of the world to his liking and to his mind-image of the most perfect one there can ever be. He was ready to leave someone in awe, someone he always had been with in this dark, dark room barely even lit by the black box he himself had created worlds with. Someone he had thought out everything with, fought with, struggled with, talked with—