by Arnold Snyder
I yelled at the top of my voice: “Flash!”
And like that he was standing before me.
“You have no need for me, Don,” he said. “Lulu looks tired.”
She was still passed out on the sofa pillows. Her panties on one side were slightly pulled down. I didn’t do it, but I knew how it happened.
“She’s sleeping,” I said. “We had a long night.”
“She sure looks good in those panties. Aren’t you tempted to have your way with her? Do you mind if I just pull her panties down for a little peek? I won’t touch.”
“Don’t you dare. I called you here for a reason.”
“Don, you’re omnipotent and omniscient. What could you possibly want from me?”
“Flash, I want to talk to my predecessor.”
Flash sat down cross-legged on the floor.
I got off the couch and sat down facing him, mimicking his posture. I wondered why I’d spent so many years sitting in chairs. I was more comfortable on the floor.
“The god who came before me,” I said. “The one who created this mess. I want to talk to him.”
“Bang? You. Want. Bang?” He paused between each word as if he were speaking a language I was struggling to learn.
“His name is Bang?”
“That’s what everyone calls him.”
“Can you arrange a meeting?”
“Ha! You’re looking at him.”
“You? You’re Bang?”
“Flash, Bang, what’s in a name? Think about it, Don. You already knew that. Use your noggin.”
“You created this fucked up world?”
“I’m very proud of my work. My attention to detail. You have to admit this is a pretty remarkable achievement. You should have seen what existence was like before I got here.” He nodded toward Lulu on the sofa. “Didn’t have anything like that before I came on the scene. I created women, Don.”
“Well, for that I thank you, but as for the general state of mankind, the world before you got it couldn’t have been much worse than it is now.”
“Ha! You should’ve seen it.”
“Who was the god before you? Did you meet the guy?”
“It wasn’t a guy, it was … an entity. When he passed me the torch, I couldn’t wait to destroy his version of existence. I pretty much chucked the whole thing and started from scratch.”
“I knew that,” I said, turning away from his penetrating stare and looking around the room at nothing in particular.
“Then why are you compelled to ask me about what you already know?”
“I need to hear you say it. What if this is still my flashback? My hallucination? I don’t understand how I know what happened so long ago.”
“It was barely fourteen billion years ago,” he said.
“Thirteen billion, eight hundred and five million years ago,” I corrected him, “rounded to the nearest million. Why did you wait so long to create humans?”
“It didn’t seem like a long time to me. When it first occurred to me that the time had come for me to retire, so to speak, I created them. I was compelled to find a successor.”
I took my coffee mug from the table beside me and took a sip, before saying, “But why would you create a species that couldn’t be satisfied?”
“You’re still so naïve, Don.” There was a tender warmth in his voice, but a cold look in his eyes. “You have to learn to trust your omniscience. Let me try to explain … Before I created the universe, there were no planets or stars because there was no space. I came up with the concept of three dimensions and that’s what made matter possible.”
“There was no space?”
“Didn’t need space. Not without matter. All there was was time and whining.”
“Incessant whining. If you think humans are dissatisfied now, you should have seen what it was like before humans, before space, before matter, when whining was all there was. Back then, everything was infinite. The concept of numbers didn’t even exist. All we had was infinite time. And infinite whining. I took all that whining and stuck it into a finite number of species on a finite number of planets. On Earth, that would be the humans.”
“But why have a species that whines at all?”
“Where are you going to put all the whining if you don’t stuff it into a species?”
“Why not uncreate whining?”
“Ha! If you can do that you’re a better god than I was. Whining was here even before time. The god before me, he created time. That was the only creation of his that I kept.”
I sipped at my coffee. Crazy ideas were flooding my brain. “What if I take the whining out of people,” I said, “and put it into a different species?”
“You could do that. I created non-human whining species on many planets. But if you do that on Earth the species that whines would soon surpass humans in intelligence, creativity, and ambition. And that species will come to view humans as either a pest or a pet. Mankind will be eradicated … or domesticated. Depends on the species you elevate. You see, if you’re really seeking to know the meaning of existence, it’s whining. Without whining nothing would exist, not even God.”
“Can I run tests?”
“You’re omnipotent, Don. You can do anything. What kind of tests?”
“What I’m thinking is that I’ll look at the future so I can see the effects of my changes, and if there’s anything that doesn’t work out how I wanted it to, I’ll go back to the time before I made the changes and I’ll try something different. Then I’ll just keep going back and forth in time until I get the universe into a state of sustained perfection.”
“You’re trying to use logic.”
“But logic isn’t any more real than illogic. I created logic so I’d have a system that would work with matter and energy. But you can do many more things—infinitely more things—with illogic.”
“But I kind of like matter and energy.”
“I can’t tell you how that pleases me. I remember when I decided to keep the concept of time, it pleased the creator of time no end. There’s an immense satisfaction to seeing another God admire any portion of your work enough to keep it.”
“How many gods were there before the God who created time?”
“That question is illogical. But if you get rid of matter, energy, and time, you’ll know the answer to that one.”
“I’m going to run tests, Flash.”
“Sounds like a plan, Don,” he said with a smile, but obviously no longer interested in our conversation. He stood up. “Could you just pull her panties down for a quick peek?” he said.
“Fuck off,” I said.
He shrugged and sighed with resignation, then said, “I’ll catch you later.”
And like that, Flash was gone.
But I had a plan. A logical plan.
I quickly wound time forward 50 years so I could see what my current version of Earth would turn into, with no wars, no death, no sickness, no pain, no hunger … I felt certain within 50 years it would be better than Flash’s world.
I looked at Lulu in those cute pink panties. I was going to show her what a God I was. And she would be the one to pull her panties down.
Go to Chapter Fourteen