The being startled into existence, looking around, not seeing much. The echoes of the two words bounced around in his head, like thunderclaps.
“What? Who is that?” asked the being, squinting eyes that were moments old into the pure, endless black.
“I ᴀᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. I ᴀᴍ Oᴍ.”
“Right, got it,” replied the being. “Now that we have you sorted, who am I?”
“Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ Nᴀʀʀ.”
“Narr? That’s a …well, that’s a name I suppose. Narr, son of Om. Hi Om, I’m Narr,” said Narr, cheerfully testing the names in his brand new mouth.
“Nᴀʀʀ, 14ᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴘʀᴏɢᴇɴʏ ᴏғ Oᴍ, ᴡʜᴏ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴍɴɪᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴍɴɪᴇsᴄɪᴇɴᴛ Gᴏᴅ ᴏғ Aʟʟ Tʜɪɴɢs, ᴛʜᴇ Bᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴇ Eɴᴅ, Cʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴏғ Eᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ, Jᴜᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ Aʟʟ, ᴛʜᴇ Uɴʟɪᴍɪᴛ-“
“That’s a lot of titles, Pops,” interrupted Narr.
“Yes, you mentioned that. So, where are you? Why can’t I see you with my.…these must be eyes?” Narr tried squinting harder.
“I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ. I ᴀᴍ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ ᴀʟsᴏ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ.”
“While deep, that doesn’t help much,” said Narr.
“I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴛᴀsᴋ,” boomed the voice of Om.
“Oh yeah? What sort?” asked Narr. He was aware of more of his body now. Are these.…hands?
“I mean, I am kind of hungry, I think,” said Narr, his brand new hands discovering the contours of his existence as he rubbed what he assumed was his stomach.
“Nᴏ. I ʀᴇǫᴜɪʀᴇ sᴜsᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ. I ᴍᴜsᴛ sᴜᴘ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ғʀᴇᴇ sᴏᴜʟs ᴏғ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇʀs,” explained the voice, which seemed to come from all directions at once, echoing forever.
“Sounds tasty,” said Narr, his hands finding what he decided must be his face.
“Iᴛ ɪs ɴᴇᴄᴇssᴀʀʏ. Tʜᴇ ғʀᴇᴇ sᴏᴜʟs ᴏғ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟs ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀs ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs. Eᴠᴇɴ ɢᴏᴅs.”
“So why not just make a bunch yourself?” asked Narr. He just discovered his fingers, and was preoccupied snapping them together. They didn’t make much noise compared to his Father’s endless voice.
“Oɴᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ғᴇᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴇʟғ. Iᴛ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ sᴜsᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ. Mᴏʀᴛᴀʟ sᴏᴜʟs ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ Mʏ Wɪʟʟ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ɴᴏᴜʀɪsʜ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴇʟғ. Sᴜsᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴇʟғ. Yᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴛᴏɪʟ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴀɪɴ Mᴇ.”
“Sounds like a lot of work. What if I don’t want to?”
“Tʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ Aʟʟ ᴘᴇʀɪsʜ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀᴍᴏʀᴇ,” replied Om, the last syllable dragging off into the silence for what seemed like eons. Was it eons? That felt like a long time to Narr. He decided it was exactly one eon.
“No pressure then. So how do I get all these mortal souls that you apparently require?”
“Wʜᴇɴ I ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇᴅ ʟɪғᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, I ᴀʟsᴏ ɢɪғᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ Aᴄᴛ ᴏғ Cʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. Yᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ Cʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴏᴍᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪsʜ ᴛᴏ ɴᴜʀsᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ sᴏᴜʟs ᴛᴏ ғʀᴜɪᴛɪᴏɴ. Bᴜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏғ Dᴇsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʟɪᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ. Mɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴏɴᴇ. Yᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ Cʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ғᴏʀᴛʜ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜʟs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴄᴀɴ Dᴇsᴛʀᴏʏ. Hᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ.”
“Heeded, I think?”, said Narr.
“Tʜᴇɴ ɢᴏ. Bʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. Cʀᴀғᴛ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟs, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴏᴜʟs ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴡɴ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ. Nᴏᴜʀɪsʜ ᴍᴇ. I ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ.” At this, the voice of Om seemed to fade, receding into the infinite void that Narr was now acutely aware he was floating in.
Narr drifted, alone in his thoughts for an indescribable stretch of time. With no external stimulus, the very fabric of time began to fray. Narr was reminded of a balled-up sweater neglected at the bottom of a closet.
Whatever sweaters and closets were.
Narr hesitated, listening to the nothingness of the void, wondering if it listened back.
He thought, idly snapping his fingers together, that this was going to take a while.
Narr stretched with what he decided was his back, and clapped his hands forward and together loudly, before pulling them away instinctively away from a new sensation.
“Ow!” He yelped, before noticing that the nothing by his hands was now something; an enormous inferno of gas, radiating pure energy into the void as it burned.
“Oh!” Narr exclaimed.