The Price of Perfection

Micro-fiction by Emily Ness

A galaxy of longing could not describe the infinite urge the creator had for things to be just as he had left them.  It was not to be so.  Everything had gone pear-shaped in the short period of time during which he left his nearly finished experiment to grab a snack.

When he returned, he found the entry to the tidy lab that housed his workbench had warped with the weight of his ideas. He was now stuck rimming the threshold, perched on the edge of the space-time continuum.  If he stepped any closer to witness the disaster, he would be in danger of slipping in to the vast hole created in 4-dimensional fabric.  He had no desire to be caught in the vortex that would flush him in to otherworldliness like scummy bubbles after a child’s bath.

So he held still in all dimensions, orbiting nothing and everything.  He watched what was once everything he had hoped for vanish into something that would never become.  He briefly considered taking the plunge, reasoning that if he dove, at least his failures would not come before his eyes because his past was now creating a new future.

He had just released the most precious commodity that countless workers had spent the last 14 billion years cultivating.  Father Time’s son was a joke.  He had failed.

Old Father Time had been unconcerned with aesthetics.  He was responsible for the clutter that was strewn all over infinite space and this had never bothered the old man a bit.  His son felt it was his duty to pick up the pieces.   He worked his whole life to overcompensate for his father.  He had made it his mission to embark on a meticulous mission to clear the mess of space and put it back in to the bin where it belonged.

It had almost been in its final assembled form, condensed in to a tidy ball, coiled and rearing with potential energy.  The last task necessary before the unveiling was to assemble the metadata about his life’s work.  He figured that in case anyone had another accident due to carelessness like his old man had they’d have some guidance regarding the inner workings of the universe on how to assemble it again.

But this perfect primordial atom somehow escaped under its own weight and formed a singularity out in to a new universe, a new blossoming of space-time expansion.  Now it would be up to a new keeper to be born some billion years later and figure it all out again.

Father Time’s son gave a resigned sigh and decided he may as well go out and have a beer.

This story is based on the prompt, “A galaxy lof longing…”

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