In my dream, I am floating. Not flying, but not falling either, for there is no gravity and no ground. All around me, nothing consumed everything in an all-pervading cosmic black. Were I to name something, it would break the absolute silence. However, I find that I prefer this calming quiet to the endless cacophony of being. To name something is to care for it, to give it a life its own, so whenever I name someone into being I am irresistibly compelled to care for them. I always visit occasionally, just to see how they're doing and to solve any problems they may have encountered in my absence. Having served as their surrogate father, I feel it is my duty to look after them. In my dreams though, I do not have that pressure. While I am God in my waking hours, in the sanctity of my mind I can just be me. I find that I prefer being myself to being God.

Moreover I am alone in my mind, and my thoughts are absolute. In the outer world, I cannot know what is true and what is false. In my dreams though, I am certain of everything, nothing is hidden, or misleading, or confusing. These things limit my imagination while I roam the world awake. My mind is the only place where I can truly express myself as an individual, not some all-powerful entity forever bound to others' desires. So while I prefer the silence of nothing, I always find myself filling it in with noise because it is my noise. It oftentimes irritates me, disturbs me, and makes me wish the noise wasn't there, but I would have it no other way. If I can know anything in a dream, I can certainly know myself. Often, I force myself to dream because I know no other way to express myself as Maxwell, not a planetary caretaker.

The substance of what fills my dream varies, but curiously it frequently takes the form of what I did not create. My sister, my family, my friends, all of them lay stake to the world in my head. I had no part in their creation, and that makes them special to me. They see me not as God, but as Maxwell; they see me as a friend, or a brother, or a son, but never God. As such, they only ask me for aid when they would of any of my other siblings. They treat me as if I were normal. That is my dream, the tragic, ironic dream of a God: to be normal.

Author's Note:

I'm not sure why this idea came to me, but I figured it was worth writing down. Also don't worry, I'm still writing Reaper Hunter.