(This is the result of word association. If you persevere with it, please let me know how it could be improved.)
Sam sat on the moon-grey hillside, razor blade in his hands, staring at his wrist.
“Turn around Sam.”
“What the? Who are you?”
“I am the Creator.”
“God? Go away, the creator is an urban legend.”
The cattle roamed slowly in the field below, furnished with fresh hay. The moon cast its light on the lakeside, shimmering silver in the watery mirror.
“The creator is the reality; you are the urban legend Sam, your world is.”
“Who are you; where are you? What is this?” He stood up, spinning to find the origin of the voice within him.
“Look towards the stars Sam, listen to their songs of colour, they are calling you.”
“What do you want of me? Stop it, your screwing with my head.”
“There is no end to either of us Sam, you must get used to this idea. It will be the making of you. It is the making of both of us. Death is not a black thing to fear, nor is it a place to hide, but a light, that shines on your bleeding world, showing you the way, put the knife down.”
“No. Who cares about immortality?”
“Realise yourself Sam. It is your time. Shine. Create yourself.“
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I could tell you what to think and you will believe you thought of it yourself. Sam, do not argue with me.”
Turn around
“The mountains, they’re breathing. They’re pulsating”
“They are what you want them to be. Make the world what you want it to be. You can’t destroy it any more than you can destroy me or yourself.”
“Leave me alone, I’m fed up with it. I’m dead inside.” said Sam.
“The mind is all powerful Sam, it cannot unmake itself”
“Are you going away or not, is there going to be an end to this?”
“You are on the fringe Sam, death is the grand illusion, come back from the brink, set the world in its place.”
“Who am I to set the world to rights, I work in a fucking office.”
“The vanquished arise in victory. The spectator rises in the auditorium to sing his song of worship. Become the music Sam, free yourself.”
Enter Sam…
He ran. He ran until he couldn’t run any more. Then the voice said. Keep running. The Creator spoke, “Keep on running.”
At that the stars came out over liquid sky and sang and vibrant colour soaked their music. They sang to him and Sam returned his chorus. Shine.
He swam in liquid fiery light, and heard the applause in orbiting resonance. The spectators arose in the galactic auditorium, and Sam arose in victory. "I am the Creator." Towards the bleeding world he looked.
He returned enlightened, with belief such as the breadth of space, and a mind as rich as life itself. To the earth he spoke.
“I am the Creator.”
And the earth replied, “You are a universal legend”
“You are the universal legend.”
“If you are the Creator, then heal me” said the earth.
“We are both the Creator here to heal ourselves. We are to evolve and understand ourselves. Such is the nature of Creators.
At which the earth still bled and said “Who cares about immortality?”
Sam lay his head on the grassy carpet. “If I were to tell you what to think, you would believe you had thought it for yourself.”
And we lay and bled together, until eternity passed away, and I awoke again. Sam the office worker, the Creator loved by the world, immortal, back from the brink, the power to melt mountains, the power to grant freedom to the earth. He returned anew. With the power to evolve, Sam walked home, and left one more blade in the grass.
