There are tiny dots in a never-ending black canvass. Some are clustered tightly, while others are loosely placed. Dots they all are.
One of these dots is a tiny blue one. That tiny blue dot revolves around a tiny yellow fireball together with other tiny dots named after fabricated gods and goddesses made up by even tinier restless little dots that lives on the tiny blue dot.
On the surface of this tiny blue dot are mobile tinier beings who walk in circle, back and forth, to and fro. Their purpose varies. Their sizes differ. Their colors range from dark to light. Each one of them thinks that they are unique. And yet, everyone shares the same will to live.
You see, before they roam the surface of this tiny blue dot. They were even smaller. Smaller than their digits. Smaller than the food they now ingest. After some time, the parts such as the head, hands, feet and everything that made them start to form.
Inside of them is a wrinkled mass of mush. Inside it is a complex network of connections. Every second of every day as long as they are alive, approximately 70 to 90 millivolts of electricity passes through these connections. These electric impulses are data that turns into information.
Information that determines where they go, what they do, what they feel and what they believe in. Most of these information are useful to their survival. This information get them through the day. For a long time, they live like this.
Then one day, one mobile tinier being’s wrinkled mass of mush starts to deviate from its normal process. Information about simple walking starts to “feel” different. The tinier being starts to have a restless sensation on the top of his head. He looks down and see two feet racing ahead. The action seems weird. It starts to feel unnatural. Awareness occurs. A question forms inside his head. The purpose of walking forgotten. A sense of dread starts to dawn.
He asks the other tinier beings. Everyone answered according to what they know: that is just how things are. He is not satisfied. He wanders around and around searching for answers. Until one day, something click. Looking up, he saw THE tiny dots, us, and a thought formed inside him. Someone, or something must have caused our and his creation.
For many years he tried to talk to us but never, never did we answer any of his queries. The thought grew heavier and bigger. Until it was all that he can think about. His increasing perturbation created a being bigger than his own. And so, he pinned every question he has in this being. His dread disappeared.
The creation inside our chosen tinier being’s head become bigger than anything else, bigger than the tiny blue dot, bigger than the tiny dots combined. The tinier being shared his creation to anyone who listens and soon those that once felt dread and restlessness started to believe him. The creation took a life of its own, a life outside his creator.
IT became the creator and IT’S creator became the creation. And IT became the beginning, middle and end. Without lifting a finger, IT cured the sick and killed lives, formed groups and destroyed factions, raised and answered questions at the same time. Soon, the being, IT, became the most powerful of them all.
One day, someone started to question this being. Without knowing it, this someone started a war.
Chaos everywhere. What was whole was crushed into million pieces—land formations, bodies and faith.
The tiny blue dot is still spinning in its orbit. Pieces of metal invented by the tinier beings adorned the tiny blue dot’s immediate space. The fireball is still burning.
The tiny blue dot is unrecognizable in this distance. They all look the same.
The tiny blue dot is just one of the other million tiny dots in a never-ending silent black canvass.
MARIEL DANICA T. ABARETA