The goddess of nothingness unrolled and stretched herself out of the void.

She created stars, dark matter, electromagnetism, the strong and weak forces, and to be mysterious, gravity.

She created asteroids, comets, planets, moons, and dust.

She created many, many planets. I will tell you about one of them.

On that one, she raised distant, aspirational mountains. She poured out deep pooling water, gushing streams, and restless, undulating waves.

She created living things: banana trees, banana slugs, lactobacilli, llamas, and lemurs.

Her fingers molded and stroked the touch of mouse fur, mud, a lover’s inner thigh, pelting rain, river stones.

She exhaled smells: cinnamon for memory, blood for pain, petrichor for longing, skunk for questioning, cut grass for freedom, ashes for endings.

Some of the things she created had imaginations. I don’t know which ones.

She fed their spirits with things that existed only in dreams: mermaids, kitsune, banshees, chupacabras, afreets, pixies, dragons.

She fed their minds with concepts that existed only in theories: true love, corruption, honor, betrayal, fairness, loss, salvation.

Creating everything was a lot of work, but she knew it was worth it.

When she knew she was finished, the goddess of what was now everything took a deep breath and sank into a comfortable chair. “Tell me a story,” she said.