“There’s nothing strange about being strange,” the wisp said, something like love leaking out of its whispers for the first time since Chlnrdrs created her. “We’re at the apex of normalcy. We’re the centerpiece of a banquet. The universe has spots of sameness to hone its craft, but truly—truly—it tends towards variety.”
Chlnrdrs puzzled over the idea of craft. Like the universe, did he have to practice make-believing the same things, over and over?
“Of course,” said the wisp. “How will you know if you can do something, unless you actually do it again?”
Light streamed from his fingers as Chlnrdrs concentrated on an internal point of friction. It grew with the focus, inflated with thoughtstuff, until a gentle brilliance began to emanate. Spark, he thought, searching for that elusive twist which brought something to life. What was it he added last time? Was it a bit of darkness? He folded in a sheaf of shadow and smiled as glimmers turned to flame. Make, he said. Believe.
“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” said the second wisp. “Now we can copulate and create more of ourselves and fill this universe with eternal light.”
Only nothing is eternal, said Chlnrdrs, but you may have this universe. If you need me, I’ll be over in the next one, working away at forever.
And so it was that the two wisps were left alone in the void, a pair of gleaming eyes in the night. “Before we fuck,” said the first, “what shall we call this place?”
“Heaven,” said the second, and they agreed. The rest is hearsay, or make-believe, but it’s there if you think about it.