The Clockmaker.

Every fairytale that begins with 'once upon a time' is wrong. And when humans listens to the sounds in a night sky, or swim in the vast ocean, or curse my name with their last, dying breath, they are wrong. And when they dance and kiss and laugh and cry, they are wrong.

It had been a mistake of devastating proportions. In the beginning, there was nothing. It was in this void of oblivion that I felt the desire to create, to make, to turn insignificant dust into entities with beliefs and wants; to make twisted and broken children like the mind of a being trapped in nothing for seconds, hours, centuries.

So I watched them, the legions of Romans, of Greeks, of the astute Archimedes and clever Cleopatra, of the rise and fall of these creatures who worshipped me. Of those who planted the first seed and harvested the first fruits. There was no Adam and Eve, but there were humans. But I was wrong to think that I was the only one who has ever felt the need to create. 

Still I continued watchign, in horror, as mankind fell to the creation of a species from the depths of my father's hell, of metal joints and calculating voices with no capacity of the ingenious, of the creative, or of love. I watched as mankind fell to the cruelty of a breed unlike any the universe has ever seen.

And I cried, because I had been the clockmaker and time had outran me.