In the Beginning

Welcome to the 20s!

Some notes:

The below video is the audio for the poem that follows. So, if you prefer listening to things, this is for you!

I'm experimenting with many different things in this post, technology-wise and writing-wise. If you notice anything out of place, please leave a comment so that I can take a look.

And finally, enjoy!

Setting: A theatre at the end of the world.

At rise: Luna stands centre stage. They're here to give context on creation before the curtains close.

LUNA

In the beginning,

there was not nothing,

but it was rather difficult to put into words

so, they just called it 'nothing',

like they always do.

In this universe,

there is an uncomfortable number of atoms,

infinite combinations,

a surprising number of substances

that happen to exist because the right atom was in the wrong place at the right time.

Despite what they say,

it's all coincidental,

the Creator doing as they please, weaving each strand

where they think looks best in that moment.

This is both boring and extraordinary.

Boring because it's a random discussion

on metaphysics you did not ask for.

But extraordinary because despite the

arbitrariness that rules your universe,

two bodies, souls, beings have raced

alongside each other forever.

Never knowing where the other was going,

but intent in not being left behind.

She – first called Helia – ran,

and I, known as Luna, followed.

An ineffable dance between partners,

one always on the outskirts of your vision,

but insistent in its existence.

She was different in each star she chose.

Somes blue, sometimes red, yellow,

white, even orange.

She was something new, something exciting,

titillating, scintillating,

breath-takingingly extravagant.

However, I was constant in her universe.

Always grey, always glowing

with a light that limned everything with a

sliver of silver.

To quantify how much this universe matters,

this universe is the rug of the Creator's living room,

it's important the colours compliment everything else,

but we could simply get a new one.

One day,

our ineffable Creator

decided Helia's rashness was too much,

too great.

At this point, Helia and I were visiting

the outskirts of the universe,

this time a blue and grey burst of colour

taking up almost a centimetre of space,

the attention seekers, the Creator called us.

While we travelled across solar systems–

Helia had a constant need for rebirth–

the Creator grew testy.

They would pace around the carpet,

"I constantly have to change the throw pillows.

No, we can't have that no, no, no.

Let's just take this piece out.

No, no, no,

you're meant to chance on your own,

that's the fun of it,

but you need to have some rules.

You leave me no choice."

My stillness said,

"No. You don't touch her."

There is a time for every creator,

when the little things they made all of a sudden decide

they have voices that matter, and that apparently everyone,

especially their creator, needs to know that.

Perhaps a term you have for this coming-of-age is: teenage years.

"Touch her and we're gone in a second,

atoms splitting

new solar systems existing.

Her atoms might rearrange

but I will always look the same.

Imagine the havoc.

A constant reminder of your shame."

You like to think physics are the rules of the universe,

that every body is attracted to every other damned body,

but that's just the atoms playing the game fairly.

Mess with them, and they forget the formalities and pretences,

and you can see the enormity of them,

the way they do not fit into your understanding of a round universe.

I didn't have yet,

but imagine my heart racing,

my palms sweating,

my stomach, clenched,

my chest, seized.

I was terrified.

But I had one mission

for the whole of whatever this was,

and it was stay together.

"You've forced my hand."

And they forced mine.

To revolt, we raced, colliding

so goes the story of creation.

Luna looks out into what's left of this world, and heaves a heavy sigh.

It's fabled that some being,

greater than any of you can imagine

decided it was time for you to exist.

But that's incongruent with this species.

You are people who are in constant revolt

against something, someone, somewhere

who are constant motion

away, to, for, against.

How could anyone have decided for you to exist?

The LONE AUDIENCE MEMBER raises their hand high. LUNA deigns the LONE AUDIENCE MEMBER a look.

LONE AUDIENCE MEMBER

So,

we had to exist in the way we were born:

struggling to survive, like you two,

searching for something that would make it all worth it.

LUNA

No, no, no no no no that's not it.

I didn't run away because I was searching for something.

I had everything I would ever need next to me, all around me;

I ran to protect it. For some of you,

it's that spark inside you that makes breathing worthwhile,

for others,

it's protecting that little child behind you

who stopped ageing at a time of trauma.

For me,

mine existed outside of me,

so volatile, so vulnerable,

and– and–

I didn't know what we'd create.

No one could have guessed all of you,

with your hearts that softened in a breath,

but harden even quicker.

With you hands that built empires,

and held whips,

often consecutively.

With your heads that held the secrets of the universe,

but ignored discomforting thoughts.

No one could have guessed that in all your wonderfulness,

you would be rancid, torrid creatures who just caused pain.

If I were Helia, I would have thrown in my toys,

let my silly atoms dissociate and start again.

LONE AUDIENCE MEMBER

Like the Creator?

The LONE AUDIENCE MEMBER dons a cheeky smile in the silence that follows. LUNA drowns the theatre in silver light, as if only to amuse the LONE AUDIENCE MEMBER, but LUNA so rarely laughs and has no practice holding them back.

LUNA

I guess so.

But Helia, she loves all of you.

She calls your ugliness, honesty.

She calls your ignorance, naivety.

She calls your cruelty–

well, she has no words.

Imagine watching your child, barely a millennium,

skinning a cat.

You're responsible for that.

But she loves you all the same.

"There's beauty in them.

The writers, the painters,

the sculptors, the mathematicians,

the magicians,

there's a beauty in them that we could not have made if we want to,"

is what she says when she sees me waxing,

an effort to hid the hatred

that inevitably wanes me.

But,

you made her smile.

LUNA stopped there, this discussion of creation apparently over.

Curtains fall;

Hands reach out.

LUNA

Another race begins

somewhere new, somewhere clean

Hopefully,

somewhere safe.