A man sits in a recliner, his feet propped up in relaxation. A TV is on in front of him. His
eyes feel tired as the screen blazes. He tries to focus, but it is difficult. A news story of a local
shooting that happened two days prior is being told by a reporter. He yawns as the man describes
the violence.
“Fifteen people have been killed on this tragic day,” the man says in a serious tone.
The man in the recliner reaches to the table on his right. He picks up the glass of whiskey,
the moisture of the drink giving him chills as he does so. He does not shiver, the sensation barely
a whisper on the back of his neck. He continues to watch the TV as he sips the whiskey. The hard
sweetness touches his tongue, and he smacks as he feels the familiar buzz start to rise.
He wants to stay awake, he has things to do, but his thoughts begin to wander towards
sleep. His eyes slowly close as he lets the whiskey glass slowly lower down to rest on his
stomach. And then…
Stars rang out. Past the point of oblivion. Into a sky so vast that the man himself began to
shrink. A void within himself turned into black holes of swirling cosmos. Who was he? A
construct. A sentient mind brought forth by the gods to face eternity. Not even a body formed to
surround the mind. The mind was space itself. Time itself.
But then, there was something. A noise of sorts. A silence. An abstract image sent
forward into the planets of his own psyche. They were there. They had always been there. He
ruled them like a king. A merciful one that had found creation inside his dreams. He wanted it to
last. To be there forever. And it was so.
But then the man wakes, his feet propped up in his recliner, the TV a constant haze of
magic and flame.
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