Dear Miss Pond,
A month ago, I forgot some dough on my kitchen counter as I ran out of my house to deal with a family emergency. My family is now fine, but when I returned, I discovered the yeast had moldered and evolved agriculture, art, trade, and warfare.
No matter where I go in my house I can hear their voices. They want the war to end. The return of a friend. They want to save the day. They want to discover a secret treasure. So many want to get laid. They want their enemies and some of their friends to be smashed beneath a meteorite. They want to know why infants die, why bad things happen, why I’d make a world where evil exists.
I have no answers.
I never planned to be a deity.
At first, I tried to ignore them, but even with the TV on and a pillow over my head, I can’t escape the why, why, why, why.
Should I tell them the truth, their existence was an accident?
Should I just put that small world in the oven and finish my bread?
Sincerely,
A Baker Not A Deity
Dear God,
Do not bake that bread.
If mold has grown to civilization,
it is long past edible.
And there is always some
Noah-type who survives
Armageddon. Normally, I’d say
whenever you make a mistake
it’s best to be honest,
admit your wrongs, but in the case
of accidently creating a sentient species,
I’m not sure the massive
existential crisis
such honesty would create
would be worth it.
Every time a god has spoken,
someone has found a way to twist
their words to justify a little
mass murder. Gods are best
when they have little
to no interaction
with their creation.
After all, no god has ever
created on purpose.
Deities are less aware
than a teenage couple,
who thinks jumping up
and down after sex
is a viable form of birth control.
Our own universe’s
creator had only planned
to make an omelet.
When she cracked open
the egg, the yolk transmuted
into spinning galaxies.
She said, Yuck!
I can’t feed that to my kids!
and threw our universe
into the compost heap.
Let that small world
discover its own way.
