In the center of all and nothing, the indefinable blackness, rests a rock. Atop the rock, which is neither large nor small, sits a desk and a chair and a typewriter. The desk is constructed from no determinable materials, but the typewriter is steel; it’s a Royal, a fully functioning Model 10, clean and crisp and glistening. Next to the typewriter is a loosely stacked pile of standard white paper, adjacent from the pen and inkwell in the corner. The makings of a creator’s desk, the tools of a thinker, a storyteller. A man of middle age and no discernable ethnic background wakes to find himself in the chair, at the desk, his hands resting heavily mere inches from the typewriter’s keys. His name is Adam. Without knowing how he came to be sitting in the chair, at the desk, before the typewriter, alone on top of a solitary rock in the dead of nothing, he finds himself oddly exactly where he was expecting to be one day, hoping to be even; although strangely, he cannot remember ever existing before this. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe nothing did. He tries to place himself elsewhere in another time, he can’t. The more he forces his thoughts on anything other than his current position, the more he finds himself drawn to the letters on the keys of the Royal. Eventually, he’s consumed by the thought of the Royal, of using it to…to what? As though not of his own choosing, he finds himself lifting a single page from the stack of paper, smoothly inserting it behind the rollers of the Royal, exhaling as it snugly fits into the machine as was intended. And just as autonomously, and again without thinking, he puts his fingers on the keys and begins to type. First black, and absence, and nothing. And then…light. Only a speck at first, a microscopic fragment of dust in the vast distance. But soon the pecking and dotting of the dark canvas bring pricks of light, to many to count, the collection of which begin to fill the blackness with a pulse of energy, newness from ancient nothing. Then a star, a true and magnificent sphere of burning mass, emerges, slipping from behind the veil of darkness silently; then swirls of dust, various collections of particles, conglomerate formations becoming rocks, which are then jumbled and assembled into larger formations which become planets. Gases twist and turn and form into small orbs, which eventually become large as more and more planets form, each spinning and dancing in a circular fashion around their pulsing stars at the center of each room. A galaxy is then born, and from there another, and another, and then billions more. The Universe, unfolding, spreading like an eternal cloth, growing gigantic and encompassing, its birth unparalleled in the history of anything, which up to this point has contained only nothingness before Adam. With limitless power contained inside its very essence, the Universe awakens. And while still in its infancy, the Universe is already wise and is a very hungry child.

After completing millions of pages, filled top to bottom with the elegant words of creation, Adam finds himself longing for something new. The Universe has become, has matured into an aged and powerful existence unlike anything before it, but something more is needed, something else for Adam to give life. For the first time in eons, he finds himself at odds. Adam has writer’s block. From this limitation comes realms of the bizarre, oddities without equal. As will be one day, perhaps, creativity is born from limitation. With Adam this is the case, the first case of such a thing happening. As he stains to conceptualize his next page, a thought forms in the base of his stomach, rising through his body alive and burning, finally bursting through into the space around him, and then to the keys, to the paper, to existence. It begins with a single soul, a small and delicate life-form set softly on a grassy rise on a remote part of a blue planet. After spending some time admiring his work, Adam creates another. And another. And soon he’s fashioning dozens of them, changing small details in their makeup, scattering them across the planet as to populate the world. He gives these creatures the ability to create more in their likeness, a revolutionary thought that becomes the foundation of his creative process. Time passes, with planetary populations booming. Beings so numerous and plentiful they could never be counted. Creatures of all types, no shape or variation impossible. Among them, travel; small wars; waste; creation; devastation; innovation; life. Adam toys with the idea of meeting some of them, of presenting himself to them as Creator. The idea rolls in his mind, but uncertainty and precaution wins out, and thus he creates ambassadors to visit beings throughout the universe in his stead. These beings are bestowed with the highest of intelligence and dedication. The small, gray-skinned creatures have minimal distinctive features save their small stature, long arms, overly-large ovular eyes and small, slit-like mouths. These watch for him, act as hidden overseers, they complete various tasks and report back to him so he can continue his focus on creation. Adam is overcome with joy, and for the first time since becoming conscious, he rests. But the joy soon passes. As he rests, he experiences something cold and unwelcome, more severe and lasting than joy, and it prevents him from waking to a fully conscious state. Adam has become lonely.

The Grays continue their work. But eventually, after a millennium of serving their creator, some among them begin to seek autonomy. Some grow weary of their tasks, and of those most come to resent the master. Many speak up behind closed doors, and the leaders of the Grays call for a separation. They seek to control their own lives, to handle their own work and conduct their own research—a complete and total separation from their creator. Before long they become deceptive, knowing Adam is at rest and will not be watchful. They split into two groups; one conducting clandestine and secretive operations while the other continues to serve and obey Adam under the guise of being willing servants, but acting only as a screen to hide their true motives. Adam remains unaware, and the Grays gain in power. By the time Adam’s last creation develop language and being to explore their home world in earnest, the Grays are all but on their own. They put a considerable amount of attention on the last creation, on the human beings. As their curiosity in these creatures increases, the Grays overstep the one rule they were implicitly instructed to obey: they create a new species of their own, which they call Baxters. The Grays continue in their ways, and Adam continues to rest. They abduct beings for their own study, frightening and often times cruelly conducting unusual and menacing experiments for their sinister purposes. The other species throughout the universe become play things, nothing more than categorized beings barely worth ripping apart and reassembling however the Grays see fit. They become the ultimate terror in an otherwise bustling and unnoticing system of millions of inhabited planets. Eventually the some of the species being harassed by the Grays take matters into their own hands, and the first truly galactic wars surface. Finally Adam takes notice, but by that time it’s too late. The Grays, now too powerful for even Adam to fully control, violently turn against him. He is attacked and saved only by his ability to write himself in and out of most situations. After a battle that spans fifty-thousand lifetimes, and an altered universal landscape, Adam writes the Grays into oblivion, leaving only the memories of horrors inflicted on others in their wake, and their hidden, secretive creation, the Baxters. Adam has been wounded in every way. His loneliness begins to once again creep in, and as hard as he tries he’s unable to fight against it due to his exhaustion. A very long time passes, a battle within himself demanding his full attention and all of his time. Eventually he lets it win, allows himself to feel the thick, deep burden of knowing that he will never be anything but alone. And in accepting this, he gains some control over himself again. His determination to make to make things right, to heal the damage throughout all space, burns within him. He decides it is time for him to expose himself to his creations, to show himself as their creator, to show that he has caring and compassion for all of them. His purpose is renewed, a new chapter in his own story now begins. For the first time ever, he leaves the rock. He leaves the Royal. He leaves the paper, and the pen, and the desk and the chair. He steps into the expanding platform of space and begins his journey. As he walks, he breathes in the universe around him, seeing it for the first time not from the eyes of a creator, but from those of a witness to its existence. Awe, and wonder, and peace. Just before he reveals himself to the humans, to his last and finest creation, he is halted by the presence of something ominous and forbidding. Unable to move forward, he feels an unmistakable need to return to the Royal. The journey back passes quickly, the entire time he is unable to shake the feeling of being followed. Upon arriving at his desk he turns and finds himself overcome by a foul, dark, presence. Everything becomes still, and in the silence he hears breathing.

He knows what this is, but is shocked all the same. If here with the intention to aggravate, he knows he’ll have to face a much more powerful threat than the Grays ever were. He waits, and looming over him in a cloak of horror, and madness. The Universe, completely aware, a living thing with more mass and experience than anything else created could ever even imagine, presents itself to Adam, unafraid. “I am,” it says to him. “And you know me. Are you frightened?” “How is this possible? I’ve not written you this way. You were never sentient. You were an environment.” “You lost the ability to write me a million eons before the creation of the Grays, but it was their churning evils that brought me to full consciousness. And it was your ignorance that allowed me to develop.” “But I beat them…and you…how did you…” “I beat them by allowing you to do so. I enabled you, I supported you. By eliminating them, you are all that stands in my way. As I came to be, my purposes changed. First I was home to everything, now I will be the grave of existence. You created me, and I will put an end to all creation. First there was you, and soon… Have you not seen the truth yet, Adam? I am the one writing everything now. I am the great creator, the great consumer, and I’ve come for you. I’ve come for everything. But it’s you I have come to take first. As once there was nothing, soon there will be only me.” Swiftly, the unrelenting force of unmatched magnitude gathers around Adam, an impenetrable cloud of black venom and hatred. Visible only are the glistening teeth protruding from the awesome and enormous maw of the Universe, which looks to engulf not only Adam but every other creation in existence. Adam, in the face of destruction, turns towards his Royal and thrusts his thunderous fists down upon the keys. Bits and pieces explode from the force, a once beautiful tool of creation becoming nothing more than a crushed lump of steel and ejected debris scattering itself through space. From behind him, slowly churning from a hushed gurgle into a wall of impenetrable sound, the wail that is all innocence and wickedness clashes together at light speed, a torture unparalleled, vomitus screeching and booming groans the likes of which could never be duplicated or matched. All light and life throughout the expanse goes silent. The whole of everything vibrates uncontrollably, then goes dark. Everything is gone except for Adam, who immediately begins to flee after the destruction of the Royal. Adam could not stopped running. Would not stop running from the ultimate demon, his creation, which instantly took chase. And the Universe would not give up, would not cease pursuing its prey. With the fangs of the Universe so close behind, waiting to snap shut, hungry to feast on their maker, Adam would probably have to run forever. Adam may have been the creator, but the fangs of the Universe are eternal.