splashes of orange and red

Splashes of orange and red, and a few hints of yellow painted the sky. Hubris. But the chaos of the universe, and therefore it was and looked natural. Like it was meant to be. Like it had always been. But there had been a time before. When there had been Nothing. Not the nothing we know today. What are you doing? Nothing. You aren’t doing nothing. You are a living, breathing creature, sitting or standing, as blood is pumped by your heart across your body, billions of cells doing their tasks to make you exist. You are a thinking creature. You exist. You may not be doing anything according to your definition but that’s the point, isn’t it? Your definition is flawed. Nothing is not a matter of perspective. Nothing is not what you are doing. There was a Nothing before, capital N. After, it ceased to be. Because there was such activity after, chaotic, of course. Such is the nature of the universe. You struggle to make sense of your lives. You fail to see that the only thing that makes sense is that it does not. Chaos reigns eversupreme. You are a mutation of nature, a series of endless mutations that led to you. And you are not the final product. There is no such thing. You will keep on mutating until your first ‘ancestors’ as you know them today will seem like aberrations, will seem like a different species to your descendants way down the line. The universe is a fickle and chaotic creature and you are just in the crossfire.

Splashes of yellow and orange and red painted the sky. Hubris. But such is the chaos of the universe, it is in its nature. At least there is always activity. Stars are born and stars die. Yours too, the one that paints your sky these beautiful colors, it too will one day die. A supernova. A flash of light. Beautiful bright burning. Flashfire. You will all die instantly. You struggle to make sense of your lives, to find meaning. Such is the curse of your intelligence. There is none. But if there were, this is how your world will end. The day of judgement. When you will all be charred in seconds. Powder not having time to fall to the ground. Gravity broken because the rock on which you live will die along with the eight big others in your system and their companions. The universe is a beautiful thing. Oh how you should long to be there on that day. The sweet symphony of screams and cackling fire. The flash and in a blink, all of you will fade. The end. Sweet, sweet, fucking silence. Nothing else. Just that. Ah, I can taste it on my tongue. Better than chocolate cake, freshly baked. The end of your world. Not the end of the universe. It would take a one in an octillion event for your universe to end. But such was the one that began it all. Maybe there is life after