ageofaetheria

[ageofaetheria]

Mountain Wyvern by Jannis Mayr

[ageofaetheria]

Age of Aetheria: The Trouble With Playing God

THAT’S THE TROUBLE WITH PLAYING GOD:

You can’t. And if you try, you’ll end up dead. Or something like it. Whatever this is. Whatever I am. Nothing.

So, I’d like to start by saying I in no way think I am God and I understand that feeling the need to state this outright is a likely issue in itself, but here we are. Everywhere, nowhere. Here.

This is what I know:

They call it Remembering. It’s not exactly right but it comes close, scrapes the surface of the inarticulable. 

In the instant that it happened, four of us were transported one hundred thousand kileons away to today. Or what we call today anyway. What you may call it. I don’t know. The mechanics of it matter little, and in truth, I don’t know what they are, but the location matters a lot—that much I do know, I think: He threaded them into thin tombs of stone, deep within the Seaborne catacombs sometime before. There, they lie in wait.

Nearby, there is a book. Once buried, His meticulous weaving of aether in an infinitesimal moment unearthed the lost artifact. It, too, waits. I can’t tell you what it is because I don’t know but I have the sense that you do. Or will. So, maybe, eventually, you’ll be able to tell me. I know nothing. 

There were three more of us. Two got stuck Between, both liminal and necessary. And as for me…well, as I said before, I don’t know.

I don’t know anything. In all honesty, maybe you shouldn’t even be listening to me. If I can even be heard. If I am anybody at all. Any body. Nobody. No body. Hmmm.

So, here we are: on this bed or couch, sunlight pouring in from a skylight overhead. His voice comes as it does, uncanny and familiar.

Go, Scarlett.

Scarlett. Is that me? It can’t be. It feels strange to attribute it to myself. It doesn’t quite fit. But then, there is no one else here, besides you—sorry about that. 

Maybe Scarlett was here before us. Maybe this was her home. Maybe she’s still here, hiding somewhere. No, no. That doesn’t seem right. 

I’m the only one here.

So then, it is strange to hear the name upon waking, but now it is all that I know. That, and how she doesn’t live here anymore. Now it’s just the bed-or-couch and the desk-or-table and the maybe-glass walls. Solid black; opaque. And also me. 

My reflection comes into focus as the name—her name—rings in my ears. I try to avoid it, which is impossible because of the walls. I’m everywhere. Do you see a mirror or the face inside of it? He wants me to look at me. He. She. They? I think He’s a man, but maybe not. Is God a man or woman? Either? Neither? Does it matter? He knows. I don’t.

What I do know somehow is that I could have left this place by now only for some reason I can’t. Am I meant to leave? I’m not sure. I don’t believe in coincidence. Too many timely moments and existential accidents to relinquish myself to chance. I’m here on purpose. But—whose?

And know that skylight wasn’t there yesterday if yesterday is something that still exists. And I know I don’t want to be alone right now and my dreams don’t work like they used to. So, all I’ve got is you. I hope that’s okay.

I also know Scarlett was only a child when she did it. She didn’t know any better yet, what would happen, so she can’t be held to blame. Can she? And yet look at where we are. Can’t she? Someone did this. 

And—haven’t I told you? 

This is a cautionary tale: dreams are dangerous.

And life is low hanging fruit, for better or for worse.

There is no order to this story. Not yet, anyway. All of this will change.

So then, let come what may. And then, let it come again.

[ageofaetheria]