The end of time; I had hoped for so much more.
A myriad bubbles each a universe, or more, popped in and out of existence in a never ending stream of imperfection. Someone tried so hard to get one right, a perfect copy of the breath it was breathed from, but failed. They always failed. A billion species travelled the eternal night each hoping to be better than the next, each praying for continued life. The irony: not one knew of the other, nor of their failings. These peoples of the cosmos, of the very timestreams, were born to fail. They, we, never stood a chance.
Were we no more than the exhalations of a bored God, who sought to send a little piece of He into infinity? I could not answer that question, but had to believe there was more. If just one of those universes could reach the freedom of the other side, the place I had travelled from, then perhaps, just perhaps, they would flourish in a way we had not.
I’d seen everything on my voyage, the beginning, the end, and all that lay in between and yet still I claimed no answers. Was a life spent dreaming of a better place, a brighter tomorrow, to be snuffed out by an unfelt cosmic breeze? Was I to be no more than another tiny atom of someone else’s dream?
I wiped the tears from my eyes and flicked my sorrow into the space between creation and death. That was my legacy to those who I had promised to free, tears. Perhaps there was no more fitting a tribute to He who had formed us than the sorrow of one knowing he should never meet Him. Not in any of His realties, anyway.
A last glance even though I told myself it was a mistake, and I climbed back into my ship of temporal displacement. The readout said ‘The End of all Things’. How right it was, as I pressed the ruby button for home and those I had left to die.