1
In the beginning there was only darkness. And an idea. But mostly darkness. Like many good ideas, this one needed to be implemented and executed to completion; otherwise it would fester and turn into something unpleasant. And that was exactly what she did.
Mother Nature knew what she wanted to do since the beginning. She wanted to create the most perfect world in the whole existence, without wars or hatred, like in so many of the neighboring worlds that had already been created. She looked at them with derision. Surely they could have done a better job of creating creatures and not botch it as spectacularly as they did… right? Her partner, Father Time, disapproved of her ideas and wouldn’t agree to her creationist projects. “What for?” he’d told her a million times. “Look how it went in all the adjacent worlds! Isn’t that proof enough for you?”
But Mother Nature was undeterred. Somehow, it make her want to do it even more than before. After all, Father Time and her had existed at the same time, in the same plane; none older than the other, they simply had appeared and found each other. Decisions should be made together, but he expected her to comply, and she wasn’t about to do that. She was determined to go ahead with her idea and create the perfect world and the perfect species.
But she needed resources. She couldn’t work without them, and she couldn’t create life from nothing, so she planned on visiting Elder Space’s world in search for the perfect stuff to build her world. She told Father Time that she wanted to take a stroll through their universe and stretch her legs for a while, and he simply grunted and wished her a good time.
Elder Space’s world was located a couple of light years away, but she was fast. She arrived in two minutes, a measure Father Time had invented and that nobody else understood. She knocked on the metaphysical doors of Elder Space’s world, which appeared in front of you if you were creative enough to see them, and Elder Space appeared after the third knock.
“Who dares—disturb my slumber,” his booming voice asked as he opened the doors. “I was—oh, it’s you!” His voice softened and he smiled. He almost looked benevolent when he did. “Come on in!”
“Hello, Elder World,” Mother Nature curtsied. “I came to ask you respectfully if I can take a look at your well-crafted world.”
“Why, of course! You know my doors are always open for you and Time. How is he?”
“Oh, he’s fine. You know us elementals. He’s always coming up with terms and measurements. It takes him seconds now.”
“Takes him what?” Elder Space asked, looking perplexed.
“Never mind.” Mother Nature entered and found herself blinded by a bright and colorful world filled with a staggering assortment of resources she could use to build hers. Metal, minerals, wood… so much to choose from.
“Are you thinking of creating your own world now?” Elder Space’s voice made her jump. “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?”
“Ummm… well, Time doesn’t want to do it, he says it’s a waste of time.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, only a half-truth.
“Shame,” Space replied. “Real shame…” he seemed to reminisce for a moment, and then asked, “do you want to drink something? I have a delicious liquid called water.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with it.” She rolled her eyes; if she had the proper resources, she could create water. “Thanks, water will be fine.”
Elder Space left to fetch the water and left her alone staring at his creation. It was gorgeous. The blue sky and clouds, water everywhere, wood in piles and yellow sand. It was lacking in plants and living things, but she knew there were some. She looked around and decided to grab some resources now that Space wasn’t looking. She found a thread lying on the ground and a small multi-colored creature with feathers. She snatched up the thread and plucked a handful of feathers from the creature, then hid them in her dress. Stealing a glance toward where Elder Space had disappeared. She stooped and grabbed a couple of wood planks, hiding them inside her dress as well. She was about to straighten up again when a hand grabbed her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Elder Space’s booming voice asked.
“I—”
“You’re stealing from me? Really? Don’t look at me like that! I saw you hide those wood planks! Give them back to me.”
“I need them.”
“Give them to me. NOW.”
Mother Nature reached inside her dress and retrieved the wooden planks. She handed them to Space and he snatched them from her hands. “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t stand smugglers. Now leave.”
Nature was taken aback. “What? Wh—”
“Leave, I said! You’re not welcome here. And count yourself lucky that I don’t unleash my fury upon you!”
Nature left promptly, forgetting to open the metaphysical doors on her way out. She went back home and arrived in a couple of minutes.
“Well, that was quick,” Time commented when he saw her. “How was everything?”
“Same as always,” she replied, and left him by himself.
Mother Nature lay in her darkness, by herself, a piece of thread and several feathers in her hand. What would she do now? She couldn’t go back, and these didn’t seem enough to create a whole existence. Unless…
Nature decided to take a chance with the resources she had managed to steal. She lay them at her feet and practiced her powers in her head. When she deemed herself ready, she cut off a piece of the thread and targeted it with her breath. She watched it expectantly as it began to move groggily around, as if searching for its creator. Nature scooped the thread in her cupped hands and watched it closely. Then she grabbed a purple feather and held it on top of the living thread. She breathed her life breath upon it again, and the feather stuck to the small creature’s body, slowly covering it completely. Using her pinky finger, Nature touched its end and produced two eyes and a mouth. The purple thread smiled at her, and she saw what she done was good. She named it Feathread, a clever word play, if she said so herself.
Her first species was done. Next, she cut another piece of thread and stretched it as much as possible, using her mind as her engine to will its growth. The thread, which had originally been no more than a meter long, stretched to about ten meters. She breathed life into it and pressed her hands gently, hardening it more with each touch. It turned into a thick structure that had essentially become wood, except for its yellowish color, but that didn’t matter. Then she got another feather (a green one this time) and crushed it inside her hands. She opened them and found that its filaments had stuck together, forming something similar to a leaf. She held it on top of the thread that was no longer a thread until it stuck, covering the top part of it in leaves. And, just like that, she created her first tree.
Now, all she had to do was multiply both her creations. She picked the Feathread from where it was slithering and held it close to her mouth. She placed her lips upon its head, and inhaled. Once its organic composition was in her mouth, she exhaled out dozens upon dozens of similar creatures, each a different color. They rained down on her original one and started interacting with each other, some mating, some communicating, some fighting, but interacting regardless. And she saw that it was good.
She did likewise with the tree, creating millions this time. A whole forest at the Feathread disposition. Then she rested. Ah, but she’d forgotten the most important parts of her little project: light, water, and ground.
She thought she could create ground and grass with the feathers. She set them down at her feet and multiplied them, then stomped on them until they were completely flattened. She gave her blessing to it and breathed her life on it, filling it with living essences that would retain its minerals and nutrients. And she saw that it was good.
She yelled: “Let there be light!” Immediately, her world grew bright. The sky shone a forget-me-not blue and a beautiful star that had been dimmed a long time ago, just waiting for her command, illuminated it and all its surroundings. Her Feathreds bounded happily this way and that, enjoying the late and the warmth, and her trees seemed to get stronger by the minute. All was good.
All that was missing was water. But, with a breathable atmosphere, she could now retrieve oxygen, and with the shining star, she could easily get the hydrogen. She concentrated and with all her power brought them together (just the right amount) and a fountain of water exploded above her, washing her entire world and creating rivers and lakes everywhere, quenching her trees’ and creatures’ thirst. And she knew that all was good. Then she rested.
Father Time found her a bit later, his eyes half closed because of the brightness. He nudged her, hard, and demanded to know what was happening.
She opened her eyes. “I created my world out of thread and feathers.”
“You created a world, huh? Why did you disobey me?”
“Disobey you?” she felt offended. “We’re equals, I have as much power as you do. It was my decision to create it, so I did.”
For a minute, Father Time seemed to be bursting with anger, but then he calmed down. He raised his arms. “Fair enough. I’m just going to make a little change, fine? His hands turned gold, and rays of light filled her world. “You shall have your world,” he announced, “but your creatures shall be mortal, no more than eight years of life. And if you deem necessary to create another species, I will review it and decide their life span again.”
Mother Nature regarded him, her jaw almost touching her chest. He had spoken, and like she herself had stated, that was his right. Fine. She’d do with mortality, she would create so many creatures, he’d have trouble keeping up with them. That was a task for another day, though. For now she just wanted to rest, though. And tell Father Time to go away.
