Chapter Text
Atsushi’s wrist flicked the pen quickly across the paper in strokes that had never changed despite the passage of time. He was supposed to be tackling bias today. But the warmth of the gentle sun beckoned serenely as it shone through his stained-glass window. A mere ten steps to reach the balcony and then he was greeted with the beauty of the scene below. A gorgeous and colorful city. Houses varied in style everywhere, skyscrapers next to townhomes next to castles next to a tree so large its leaves could be used as blankets. All throughout the streets a smile graced every human’s face. There was no rush to be anywhere. Where would they need to go?
For a moment, Atsushi wondered, if he killed one of them, would the others even notice? He laughed. That was a silly question.
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…
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Of course they wouldn’t.
You see, people were unique in many ways. They had hobbies, joys, jobs and vices and faults. They sang and danced and cried and laughed and no two would ever do so the same. That should not have been a debatable fact, but if it was not debatable, then certainly, these were not humans. These thoughtless caricatures of his own design.
Atsushi shut the doors behind him with a sigh as he collapsed back into his leather armchair. He fit it so perfectly, it was hard to even believe it was real. Was it?
He wanted to help the “not-people” on the streets. There had to be a way to make them happy. But he had already told them to be happy, hadn’t he? Why would they want something other than to always be happy? Besides, he’d already tried that before. Making them sometimes sad wasn’t good, because then some “not-people” were sadder than others. Making them all a little bit sad was bad too. Then they were all just… boring.
He had made the sky light in fireworks, he had made the stars themselves perform for the earth. He had changed the grass to purple and the skies to green. But that never worked. The “not-people” would always be smiling, but they’d never really be happy. How does he help people?
The “not-people” had been real people once. A very long time ago. Only Atsushi remembered that now. And not even just because it was a very long time ago. “Not-people” had nothing to fear from old age, like Atsushi, but rather because as far as they were concerned, there had been no before at all. But he remembered. The cities had been skyscraper next to skyscraper. The grass would always be green and the stars would never dance across the sky. The people had been very sad. They had been hungry and poor and broken and hated. But then he fixed all that, but then the people turned into “not-people”. And now they were still not happy. You see, even before the grass was purple and the skies were green, there was magic in the world. Abilities, supernatural manifestations of one’s soul. Atsushi had an ability. It's why he was here. Why the people were “not-people” and he was a god. When his practiced wrist formed a command on paper, the world would respond in turn, it would bend to his will, mold beneath his fingers, brick by empty brick. He had the power to save the people, but it just refused to work. Still, he had to save the people.
There was only one thing left to try.
If changing the rules of the world would not make them happy, if erasing death and hunger and pain would not keep them safe, if this world just refused to be fixed by his power-
Then he would make a new one. A new world. This one had no value anymore. The “not-people” were tired of smiling, and Atsushi was sure they wouldn’t protest. So, he picked up his pen one last time, and he wrote.
As he ended his lettering with his signature flourish, he only glimpsed for a mere moment the beauty of his handiwork.
Because then everything was gone.
And then everything wasn’t.