In the beginning, God complained. 

“Mom, I’m bored.” 

His voice echoed through the infinite void, a whine as eternal as time itself. 

“Go play outside,” she said, her soothing tone rippling through the vast nothingness. 

”But I have no friends. They all suck. And where’s Dad?” He crossed his arms, a cosmic pout forming. “He‘s always too busy.”  “He’s in the garage, dear,” she said. “He’ll be here soon.” 

Ever since Dad had started his obsessive winemaking hobby—a vintage for every millennium!—God Jr. had been left adrift, grappling with a loneliness that could rival the vastness of space. 

“Garage? Again? Washing wine tanks? I never get to play with him anymore!” He stomped his foot, and somewhere, a comet was born out of sheer frustration.  

“Junior,” Mom said, her voice taking on that patient but firm edge only a mother could muster, “grab an old bottle, throw some dirt in it, and use your imagination. Make something! You’ll feel better.”

“Life sucks,” he muttered, dragging his feet toward the doorway, but Mom’s next suggestion stopped him. 

“Why not play with the new kid next door?” she called out. 

This new idea pinged in his mind. A sly grin crept across his face. Why not make my own friends? Real friends. Cooler ones. Ones that don’t suck. 

Determined, God Jr. grabbed a bottle from Dad’s dusty rack, an antique labeled Merlot: Pre-Big Bang Reserve. He dumped the wine—what a waste, but desperate times—and filled the bottle with soil, water, and a few secret ingredients he’d seen Dad use during one of his infamous Star-Baking Saturdays. 

His excitement grew. He could feel the energy tingling in his fingertips as he mixed. This wasn’t some amateur divine tinkering; this was art. This was science. This was creation. 

As he worked, the bottle began to glow, radiating with a golden light that illuminated the void. A swirling mass of organic matter formed, then separated into oceans, land, and skies. Clouds puffed into existence, rivers carved valleys, and trees stretched their leafy arms to the heavens. 

It was breathtaking. But it wasn’t enough. 

I need someone to share this with, he thought. And just then, a knock came at the door.

I opened it to find him, a bottle in one hand and a mischievous grin on his face.

“Wanna play?” he asked.

“Sure! What are we doing?”

“We’re making a world.”

Together, we stood over the forming planet. He added yeast to the soil mixture, and the bottle let out a faint hiss of fermentation. “This’ll be the fun part,” he said, his hands steady as he poured.

“What’s that smell?” I asked, scrunching my nose.

“Life,” he replied.

“It stinks.”

Excerpt From
The Eternal Loop
J. F. Barão
This material is protected by copyright.