The Crime of Creation

The shards of a mirror slowly rotated in place as they drifted through the black, its silver splinters reflecting a gray gallery of paintings. As they passed by, images of cities glinted up in a flash, broken in the next by sprawling forests or wastelands covered in graves. But despite the contrasts of those views, a single trait was shared by all of them: The world they showed had just been destroyed. Everything was over.

Or it should have been.

Standing between the murdered memories was a group of three people. They were the cause of this disaster and looked at least somewhat upset. "I don't think this is what she meant," remarked an uncertain voice, belonging to a middle‑aged man with long, disheveled hair. His sunken eyes were constantly closed to the way ahead, for he was the Dealer that Gives History. But with their old world gone, there was no history left he could give.

In response, the Grandmother of Gossiping Worms, his companion, nodded her wrinkled head. "You are right," she agreed with an aged voice and shifted on top of her seat, a mountain of a million Worms cascading from her head. But her minions, usually so talkative, were silent: There was no gossip left they could whisper to each other.

"However, didn't they look different right after we lost?" The Grandmother's words held a trace of sadness as she remembered, and she wasn't wrong in her observation: The shards did indeed not appear the same as before. "What happened?" At her perfectly reasonable question, the last of their group reacted quite sensitively for some reason.

"Why do you ask me, hag!?" he yelled huffily. "While you were asleep, I wrote the perfect story to patch up this mess, and yet, it didn't work! Clearly, someone must have made some kind of mistake!" The person who had spoken was a formless man with neither hands nor head, although he still wore a stylish beret. Like everyone else, he was chained by his name, and turned into the Poet who Omits Endings and Beginnings.

"You have done what?!" the Dealer returned in reply, his blood freezing in his veins. Furiously, he flipped through his Diary, home to all records of the past, and it confirmed his fears: This had never been part of the plan. "Why did you simply start on your own?"

The beret was silent while the shards of the world fell like leaves all around him. It was indeed like the Dealer had said. Right before everyone else had woken up, the Poet had tried to fulfill Her Wish, and yet, he failed, completely and utterly. There was nothing he could say in defense, so naturally, the Dealer didn't receive an answer either. "Ugh," he said and snapped shut his Diary, massaging his temple while the Grandmother hid her face between her Worms. Unlike her, her tormentors were extremely elated about the Poet's selfishness. With this, they had something to gossip again.

"The Poet who can't do anything!" "True to his name!" "Typical, isn't it?" "I always knew he was stupid!" "Let's call him the Dull Poet instead!" On, and on, and on their little mouths jeered below their hollow eyes, their bodies swaying around the Grandmother in their center. As usual, the target of their taunts soon couldn't take it anymore and grabbed something from the void.

"YE NO MORE BRAIN THAN STONE, WORMS!" the Poet shouted, glaring at the writhing mass from eyes that could not be seen. "YE THINK YE CAN DO BETTER?! FINE!" Enraged, the quill and inkwell he had taken were thrown at the Worms, but before either could come close, both items disappeared without a trace. Seeing that pitiful display, the mass of slithering strings quickly formed a mocking choir, whirling around their owner as they sang.

A Poet who cannot create

can too not hope to silence us

no matter what he did or does

how verily ridiculous.

Hearing their insults, the Poet threateningly stomped closer while the Worms repeated and repeated their words. Annoyed, the Grandmother finally decided to stop their insanity. "That's enough I think," she said admonishingly and hit her own head, sending a stir through the slithering ranks growing from it. "We are as responsible for this mess as he is." The Poet snorted in satisfaction when the Worms fell silent at that bitter truth. This was simply what happened if no one paid attention to him.

"Isn't this bad though?" The Dealer eventually asked the important questions. "What should we do now!?" His tone was extremely hysterical, although there was no reason to be so. For in return for his knowledge about the past, the Dealer had difficulties handling the future.

"You idiot! What do you think!?" the Grandmother of Gossiping Worms started to yell at him. "This does not keep us from creating our new world in any way."

"And who is supposed to do that!" the Dealer shrieked and turned to the Poet for some reason. The person in question, though, was strangely silent, cleaning his fingernails although no one could see them. After all, his hands, too, were entirely transparent.

When the Grandmother noticed once more how crazy her companions were, she couldn't take it anymore. "By the Source, why are men so dull-witted?" Sometimes, it felt like she was the only one who had retained her sanity, but as if to object, the Worms on her head suddenly giggled maniacally. Although her face twitched, she let them be. Usually, it was best to ignore her minions. "Listen," she spoke to the others above their laughter, "this changes nothing. If the Poet is not able to, I will create our new world instead." Her declaration certainly was confident but was met with mixed feelings in the minds of the others.

While the Dealer was simply nervous that he would have to deal with the future, the Poet had been angry the whole time. This new world was so important, and yet, he wasn't able to contribute to it at all. What if the Grandmother and her accursed vermin, spawn of all the bad rumors, would defile Her Legacy? Sick at the thought alone, he knew that he couldn't watch this, and so turned away from the other two. As he started to walk off into the darkness, the Grandmother was already too submersed in her work, but at least the Dealer noticed him leave.

"Where are you going?" he called after him, mystified by his destination. Except for the frozen memories of the dead, there was nothing to look at, nothing left to visit. Was he trying to kill himself now that everything was over?

For a moment, the Poet stopped at the words of his old friend. "I think I will search for new inspirations," he said in a grand tone, and yet, his words rang strangely hollow through the void. "But please," he added, "do have fun smearing something onto these pages."

Frowning, the Dealer continued to watch until the Poet was eclipsed by the shards. Even before everything went wrong, he had always been a weird fellow. The Dealer was sure that, one day, they would meet again and have a drink, just like the old times...

Speaking of drinks, the Dealer hurriedly faced the Grandmother. He had to make sure that there was something tasty to share with the Poet in case that happened, and so he quickly joined their great work. It was a pity though. The Dealer simply did not know yet that he and his old friend were never meant to meet again.

***

"They took the Page of Beginning, the last from the Dealer's Diary, and on it, they wrote the first sentence of a new dawn.

As it ended with our feelings, so will it begin. The present, that is now the past, we leave, to step from loss and into peace. A last glimpse, and the world will be wiped clean: Removed all our grief.

Heeding their words, the frozen images of the old world burst apart, their dust forming to weightless tears that whitened the black around them.

Rejoin what is left to an endless sea.

The drying Ink made the weightless weighted, and tears rained from the sky like a flood gathering below. Their endless flow swelled up to a mighty ocean, a stormy place with waves befitting of its scale. And thus, it was the Eternal Sea.

Inside its depths, let arrive spheres made of space.

Cascades of water along polished globes, until countless holes seemed to bob on the blue surface.

And let the darkness be filled with worlds.

Ripples spreading, like ink in water seeping life into the black, continents restored and worlds imagined.

And where another world will settle, let its globe swim in the stormy currents. On paths that ever cross, they venture forth into the unknown time, where places die and places are reborn.

With that, the water rushed left and right, right and left, dancing the worlds on its palms like snowflakes on a stormy night. And just like this, it came to be that ending begot beginning, and beginnings beget ends."

As the Dealer put down his Pen, the Grandmother heaved a weary breath: To their feet laid creation.

***

"It's done," said the Dealer, completely fulfilled, and the Grandmother nodded at his side. Finally, there was history to give again, and gossips left to whisper. It made the Dealer look down at his old Diary, filled with records of their past, good and bad. What an honor that the last of its pages was carrying their new world, Her final legacy. "I have a good feeling about this," he said, "we must do everything to make this work."

The Grandmother gave a tired grin as her Worms started to bunch up at her side. "I feel the same way," she said hoarsely and reached into the mass of strings while the Dealer smiled next to her. He could be so naive at times.

Suddenly, a biting blade stabbed into his back. It was a letter filled with bitter words, and it cut his impervious skin, the ribs and lungs and bones behind it, until it pierced through on the other side. Groaning, the Dealer stared at the letter now growing from his chest and couldn't quite believe it. He knew it well, the only record of the past he considered meaningless. How... was this possible?

While the Dealer was frozen, the Diary was ripped from his hands. "I will be taking this," the Grandmother purred into his ears and made him shiver. "I didn't want to do it, but you simply know too much. And like you said, I have to do everything to 'make this work.'"

With a squelch, the Grandmother's hand dislodged from the Dealer, leaving the letter in his chest as he plummeted towards the Sea. He kept staring at it the whole time. "Oh, Mary..." he whispered from cold lips. "Forgive me." Then, his wet grave swallowed him.

***

Floating above the ocean, the Grandmother of Gossiping Worms looked on as the Dealer became a speck of color vanishing in the dark Sea. The Grandmother and her minions continued to stare at the spot he left, the letter that now bobbed on top of the waves.

"Finally he's gone," said one of her many Worms. "I never liked that antiquated dud." A few of the others nodded in agreement, while a few shook their heads. One of them, golden in color, started to circle in front of the Grandmother's head. "But why did you do this?" Faced with that question, the old woman furrowed her gray brows.

"Why shouldn't I? This is for the best."

"Really?" spoke the golden one. "But why are you crying?"

A hand was lifted to the Grandmother's wrinkled face where her fingers found the tear the golden Worm mentioned. But she didn't feel sad. So... "Why am I crying?" The Worms around her all started to giggle at her confusion. Why did she kill her former companion, annoying as he may have been? Staring at the tiny drop of water from her eyes, she saw the lights reflected from their new world. Was there a tiny trace of color, there, deep inside its depths? The Grandmother's hand lost all its strength, and the tear was sent spinning back into the ocean. Staring left and right, the worms laughed as she fled from the scene of her crime, fled from the worlds below slowly setting out for the future. She had found an answer to her questions. And it frightened her.