Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt?
A room that is too tall. In it stand GOD, GIRL, and BOY. There are too many voices and nowhere to sit. There is something to remember.
GOD regards the breadth of the sky, sees that it is just wide enough to measure. He makes a square with his pointer fingers and thumbs, trying to know it. He looks at a cloud shaped something like a liquid.
GOD: (murmuring) I used to have a name. (He pauses, the memory rattling the airy contents of his mind. Then, louder—) I used to have a name. (He pauses again. Is that his voice? It sounds too old, too red, too far away.)
A television buzzes. The screen is white.
GOD: Where did it go?
GIRL cracks every knuckle on her left hand with her thumb, blinks the sand from her eyes. So heavy, all of it.
GIRL: Is there a purpose for all this?
GOD: I want to remember.
GIRL: Why did you bring us here?
The room is too tall. There is not enough space for three people.
GOD: Maybe I thought it would be better. Maybe I thought it would be easier to carry.
There is no floor. GOD arches his back.
GIRL: (nearly angry, the ghost of failed imitation in her cheeks) You wanted too much.
GOD: (agreeing) I wanted too much.
The low scent of semen is crawling towards him. He notices, for the first time in a long time, the blood throbbing in his wrists, as if it had always meant something. As if he’d once been someone. What had been his name?
The walls are white, the floors are tiled. How bright can lights be?
GOD: (reluctant) Did I ruin it?
BOY: (in some way walking across a line) Yes. You did. You went against the laws of purpose and need. You made what should not have been made, took what was never meant to be taken.
GOD: But there is no purpose.
BOY: Not anymore.
GOD’s bones are clinking against each other. His teeth sound like the rolling of gravel.
GOD: I used to have a mother.
GIRL tries to breathe.
There is an absence of light. A low rumble. The next song starts to play.
GOD: Am I alive?
GIRL and BOY: (in unison) No.
GOD’s eyes flit over the long planes of their conjoined bodies, so pink and soft. He tries to imagine skin stretched over his nerves, what that might feel like.
GOD: What have I made?
The sea moans expectantly as it licks his ankles.
GIRL and BOY: (in unison) Nothing.
The creation of nothing, the production of what has been removed, the mumbling curve of a black hole as it makes the decision to exist and to not, its eyes made bloodshot by the hospital lights.
GOD’s arms are broken.
GOD: I can feel a spear in my chest.
He remembers, for a moment, that there used to be humans here, a world of faces and cities. In the next flash of time, the realization is lost. Now there are too many voices and nowhere to sit.
GOD is a child, weeping over the cuts on his hands, wailing out mama, mama, mama. The sky is full.
GIRL: We should not exist.
BOY: Yet here we are.
Their very souls a malformation.