CRA the Creator, aspiring Maker, checked Their metabox again, and again, and again, and on the seven-thousandth six billionth and forty-second hundred millionth time They found it full of package, and the package was full of promise, and all was revealed unto Them.
“Oh boy oh boy!” They yelled. “It’s here, it’s here, oh hoo boy it’s a good time guaranteed!”
And so saying They cleared off a big section of cosmic nothingness on Their desk and opened the box and shook out all its contents, which promptly exploded into existence and flew everywhere.
“Oops,” said CRA the Creator.
They looked at the side of the package. DO NOT SHAKE was writ upon it in fundamental metaphysics.
“Maybe I can sort of push it all back together?”
They could not sort of push it all back together.
“Well shit,” said CRA the Creator, looking across an infinite extending universe consisting almost exclusively of empty space to the point that matter was a rounding error of infinitesimal, unimaginable smallness. “I guess I’d better just sort of, pick a bit to focus on?”
***
CRA the Creator, Prime Mover and Shaker, gazed upon the foundations of the most convenient piece of Their creation They had found, which was where Their eyeball had rested after they concealed Their vision with one hand and went eeny meeny miny matter.
“It’s a little bit molten,” They said. “Is it supposed to do that?”
So CRA the Creator pulled out the manual and took a look at it, but it was in very small printessence and parts of it were upside down and some of it was back to front and while They were engrossed they heard a cataclysmic sundering sound and looked up and saw-
“AWW, NO! BAD! BAD CITTY!”
-that CAHT the Companion had wanted to help too, and had decided that what this piece of creation needed was for another piece of creation to smack into it at tremendous speed.
“No! That isn’t good! Good cittys keep their paws off creation! Bad!”
CAHT the Companion slow blinked remorselessly, and no amount of scolding improved that, nor did it undo the fact that CRA the Creator’s project was now being circled by a second wobbly lump of great sized comprised of ejected still-cooling rock.
“Oh well,” said CRA the Creator, as They hurriedly splashed water across Their creation. “Maybe it won’t make a big difference.”
***
CRA the Creator, Director of Cosmic Theater, sat patiently and watched, enraptured, as tiny cells begat tiny cells begat tiny cells begat tiny cells begat tiny cells begat tiny cells.
Sometimes, one of the cells absorbed another.
“This is great, this is really peak stuff. See, citty? See how nice things are when you don’t bap at them? Do you see?”
CAHT the Companion ignored Them. This meant it was feeling affectionate, and CRA the Creator was deeply touched and gave them a one-armed noogie as they peered back at their world, now so full of very small and very hardy life. They regarded it all with deep and profound fondness on a scale that, although incomprehensible to their children, they hoped they could feel on some level.
“Oh!” said CRA the Creator. “Look! See, citty? That one’s turned blue-green! Isn’t that beautiful? Look at it. Look!”
CAHT ignored this too.
“So pretty. Maybe we can make a few more of those.”
So CRA the Creator gently reached out and twiddled a submenu to open a window to find an option that unchecked a box that controlled a slider and moved it.
Nothing happened.
CRA the Creator moved the slider a little farther.
Nothing happened again.
CRA the Creator moved the slider a little bit farther than that, then changed Their mind and cranked it all the way to one side.
A preponderance of blue-green algae (cyanobacteria) overran creation, filling its atmosphere with oxygen and exterminating almost all anaerobic life on its surface.
“Oops,” said CRA the Creator. “Well, it’s still a beautiful colour.”
Creation began to rust.
“Oh man,” said CRA the Creator, and began to look for a Help menu. Those were still around, right?
***
CRA the Creator, Diligent Maintainer, could not find a Help menu. Which was annoying, because by now They were pretty sure They needed one.
“Not AGAIN,” They complained. “That’s like, the THIRD time everything’s gone anoxic! What am I doing wrong? Is it the volcanism? I can’t turn that off, can I? Not without losing continental drift.”
CRA the Creator did not want to turn off continental drift. They liked seeing the new patterns older rocks made; it kept Them from getting bored, and making maps was interesting.
“There’s got to be something that I’m missing,” They muttered as They rummaged around inside the packaging for a manual. “I can’t keep losing over fifty percent of all marine species every other geological period, it’s getting embarrassing.” They made manifest the sum knowledge of Their peers and consulted Their Wisdom. “No, no, I don’t want guides to Creation from six omneons ago; I want the rerelease. No, not the REMASTER. Goddamnit. Ugh, whatever happened to WorldFaqs?”
Disgusted, CRA the Creator drummed their fingers on the limitless expanse of their desk. “You know what?” They said, rhetorically, “I can do this Myself. On My own. I can fix this. Just with care, and attention, and limitless love and a lot of patience.”
So vowing thus, They opened Their eyes just in time to see CAHT the Companion carefully, curiously guide a twelve-kilometer bolide directly into Their creation’s atmosphere, directly above a carbonate seafloor underlaid with rich sulfur deposits.
“NO NO NO BAD CITTY BAD CITTY awwwww shit.”
***
CRA the Creator, Break Taker, gave Themselves some time to stretch Their legs and think about other stuff for a minute after putting Caht the Companion in the Time Out Spatial Fold.
It was fine, They decided. Sure, there had been some mistakes along the way, but that just made things exciting, right? Nobody learned from perfection, nobody wanted to watch nothing happen. Messiness was just more satisfying. A rich tapestry contained all kinds of knots, and scars, and loose threads, and so on. Right?
CRA the Creator looked back to Their creation, then zoomed in closer and closer, looking here and there. A small group of hairy bipeds was wandering in a wood, hooting excitedly at each other about ripe fruit, about interestingly shaped rocks.
“Here you go,” said CRA the Creator, and lo, They manifested for an instant and gave unto the little creatures a pile of interesting and pretty-coloured stones containing eye-catchingly shiny alloys. They chose soft ones, so they wouldn’t hurt themselves with them. “Have a good time, guys. Be messy. Learn!”
One of the bipeds picked up the biggest shiny stone and was immediately set upon by two others with tooth and fist, each seeking it for themselves. A fourth desperately started collecting every shiny stone in reach and bit its own children when they came too close.
CRA the Creator got up and took another walk.
***
CRA the Creator, Demotivated Faker, sat by the water on the grass in Their creation in the soft light of dawn and moped for a minute.
“I can’t do anything right,” They lamented. “This is really hard. I’ve just made a mess, and not an entertaining mess, a frustrating and painful one. I can’t even blame CAHT the Companion for it. Shoot.”
Something splashed near Them, and They jumped. Standing at the water’s edge, ignorant of Their presence, a heron of large size and immaculate posture clutched a fish in its bill. Water droplets flecked from its prey, then a blink passed and it was gone and the bird stood still as a statue again, legs steady and eyes clear.
“Okay,” said CRA the Creator. “I’ve done something okay. Look at that! Wow! Those legs! That neck! That’s a really lovely shape. Amazing. I can’t believe I came up with that. I bet I can do it again!”
So CRA the Creator cast about the shore until They located a small, round, quacking waterfowl, fixed it most sternly with Their grasp, and began to work mightily.
“Longer. No, not longer there, longer THERE. Well, the neck’s right, even if the legs aren’t.”
“Bigger – no, not wider, BIGGER. Well, wider IS bigger.”
“Louder – no, raspier, raspier – well, it’s louder anyways.”
The sun was setting when Their work was complete, and They looked upon their labours and saw what They had wrought.
“All else aside,” said CRA the Creator, “I think I can say this: I don’t believe I screwed up this one thing. You are My masterwork.”
“Honk,” said Their creation.
Then it wing-slapped Them.