Sometimes I wonder if anyone believes in me anymore. I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t. Plenty of better gods around to believe in, if you ask me. I could introduce you, if you want. I know a few of them, even if half of them don’t talk to me anymore.
It’s so quiet out here. There’s so much space. Too much space. You never see anyone if they don’t bother to come looking. I can time travel all I want, but it never changes how empty space is. I even saw the Big Bang once. Not sure I ever want to do that again though. These things are never how you imagine them to be. I used to be human. Seeing that sort of thing just - changes you forever.
Maybe that’s why they don’t like me so much. I got baggage. Too many ties and loose ends. Can’t blame me for it though. They’re the ones who made me like this. They gave me these powers and made me live forever. It’s the worst curse in the world. I know I keep saying that, but it’s true. Maybe it’s different if you were never human.
I’ve spent time walking the Earth again, visiting anywhere and everywhere. I’d walk streets and paths and suburbs, trying to feel connected again. I’ve been to every continent on the planet. I’ve met some people around the traps when I’ve tried to reach out to them. To feel anything, to feel that you are still alive.
I don’t ... I didn’t seek them out. Not really. I just. Sometimes I’m sat by a river or a harbour or in a park or somewhere nice, and sometimes, people see me, and sometimes they’re nice enough to sit down beside me and say hello. Most of the time, I never see them again. Sometimes, they want to keep in touch. I write ‘em letters. They like that.
I’ve been back in time to see how things used to be. Part nostalgia, part curiosity, part cynicism. Perhaps it was also boredom. I’ve walked past the houses of old friends, watched them sitting in their front rooms, laughing and crying. Sometimes, I saw them glance through the window, as if they’ve seen something in the corner of their eye, but it was like I was invisible to them. I mean, I can become invisible if I want to, but when I’m not doing that and they still don’t see me? Yeah, it hurts.
That’s why I did it, y’know. I was lonely. It’s so cold and empty in space. I needed company. So I made a little sanctuary, a little universe all of my own to play in, and made it into whatever I liked. Made it look like home, gave it trees and birds and flowers and people and the right sort of buildings. I even put a few canals in and a nice train line, just because I could. Then I filled it with my friends, and anyone else who wanted to come that I’d befriended along the way, and for a while, things were okay. I had my friends back, we laughed and made music together like we always did, and I forgot for a while that I’m on me own.
I suppose I should’ve known it wouldn’t last. Because eventually some people did leave. They remembered they had family and friends of their own and couldn’t leave Earth for good. So I let them go and wished they’d come back to me one day. It hurt to say goodbye to friends, but I wasn’t going to stop them going if they really wanted to go back.
After a while, I tampered with their memories, trying to get them to stay as long as possible so they’d forget about Earth and what they’d left behind. I wasn’t trying to hurt them, I just - it was the way the magic worked, or so the fairies said. I wanted them to stay with me, not go home and leave me behind. I knew it was a bad idea, messing with their heads like that; they weren’t really my friends anymore, but it did stop the aching loneliness in my heart, just for a while.
But it all went wrong and now I’m writing this from a prison ship. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. They don’t give out those sort of sentences because time doesn’t really exist for us. We’re eternal beings. Some arbitrary time alone is not a good punishment. No, what they do is lock you in a prison ship until they decide you’ve paid your dues. Eternal guilt is a bitch of a punishment anyway.
But the time alone isn’t a problem. I wouldn’t mind that so much. But the prison ship has these shields around it that stops me using me powers. I’m cut off from everyone, left on me own until they decide to free me. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve sat in me cell, just crying. Actually, not even crying. I jus’ can’t feel anything anymore. I think they’re trying to drive me mad. I never thought it was possible to feel so excruciatingly alone as I do now. I guess I got what I wanted.
I don’t know why I started writing this all down. It’s not like anyone will read it. I’ve never been much of a writer either. I’d rather make music, but I’m not allowed a guitar, cos it’s got strings. What should it matter to beings who can’t die I’ll never know. I learnt a long time ago not to bother trying to argue logically with them; it’s not something they understand.
Maybe it’s all that loneliness. Maybe it’s because I don’t even know if anyone still believes in me. I don’t want to die. Gods die when people stop believing in them. They get weak and disappear. But then they still never really die, they just hang around waiting for someone to remember they’re there. I’m not even asking to be universally loved. I just want to tell my story before I’m too weak to tell it. Otherwise, they’ll bury me within the depths of history and no one will even remember my name anymore.
I’m not trying to absolve myself. Well, maybe a little. But I did screw up, and people got hurt. But I’d do it all again if it meant I could hear the music ring out again.