She’s two, and curious. She teeters with each step, barely remaining upright, a controlled fall across the surface of the Earth. She comes to an abrupt stop, her diapered rear planting itself in the grass, and she raises her eyes only to be dazzled by the sun.
The alien is an immense misshapen figure casting her in sudden shadow. It reaches down and —gently, carefully — pats her on the head.
The star goes into its bright phase, and it’s been eight months, and we all climb up out of the ground like so many cicadae and get to work. We don’t pause to feel the warmth on our faces, we don’t shake hands and hug. There’s too much to be done, to be built, and too little time to waste.
It’s when the dimming starts that we celebrate: not because we look forward to the dark, to long dangerous night that drives us underground; because of everything we’ve accomplished in the weeks of light. We eat and we talk and we make plans both for the coming darkness and for the brightness beyond. We watch the children laugh and play. They light the candles and run in circles under a sky dying from blue to red. They’re fireflies; we brought fireflies.
I just wonder where they get all that energy.
They sat in the café, mostly silent, as Wilbur processed the new information that had been laid on him. Eventually, he managed: “So, wait, you’re God?”
“Sure.”
“But, what about the beard? And you’re not even old.”
“People see what they want to see, what they need to see. Sometimes I’m old, sometimes I’m young. Sometimes I have an elephant head. It’s a whole thing.” He sipped his tea. By the time the cup came to rest on the saucer again, he was a woman. “And what are you seeing now?”
“Like Alfre Woodard, only younger.”
“Oh, I like her.”
We need you to look around, tell us what you see.
Grass. Trees. Fog… smoke? I can’t smell it, so I can’t be sure. There’s wind, the wind is blowing the leaves and smoke around.
The grass and trees and leaves aren’t important. Are there buildings? Do you see people? Any evidence of technology, of human habitation?
No, no people. My head is starting to hurt.
Just a little while longer, Mae. Can you see in all directions?
Yeah. Nothing.
If we set you down, can you walk—
You said you weren’t going to do that.
Don’t be afraid, Mae.
