Negative God Complex

by Dave Harris

“There once lived a man—”
“That's not correct, not even close!” yelled the entity.
“Human being?” asked the narrator.
“No, how revolting!” exclaimed the entity.
“There once lived a sentient being?” asked the narrator.
“Continue,” commanded the entity.
          “There once lived a sentient being who lived in an attic. It was hot in the summer, and cold in the winter, but quite pleasant during spring and fall. It had two windows, one facing the street, the other an old concrete driveway. The walls of the small room were covered with pictures of galaxies, stars, and planets.
“Excuse me, what is your name?” asked the narrator.
          “You couldn't pronounce my name, it is impossible. It would take you a year in your space-time continuum to say it, if you could,” said the entity.
“How about Bob? That sounds like a fantastic name,” said the narrator.
“No, no, that will not do at all, get on with it,” said Bob.
          “Bob worked day and night in its attic room through the long, cold winters and hot summers. Bob was creating a universe, with something that functioned as a computer, but wasn't a computer. Bob didn't regard itself as God, had no desire to be God, but that is what it was going to become. Bob didn't care very much what happened in the universe it was creating, but needed more computational power, thus the rationale behind creating a new universe. The old universe’s computational device was way too old. Besides, all of Bob's friends were creating universes for computational purposes, why shouldn't it?
          “Bob finally completed the creation of the universe with a big bang of its hands. It took it a long time to create. Bob didn't create every tree or rock or star, only the basic laws of physics for the universe. Bob was so tired from the act of creation, that it slept, it slept for a very long time.
          “When Bob woke up it was surprised to see how large this new universe grew. There were so many more galaxies, solar systems, stars, and planets than originally planned. Bob slept too long, however, allowing the universe to create its own consciousness. Now all Bob could hear were the screams of the universal consciousness.
          “Bob suddenly realized that he was responsible for all the pain, misery, despair, anguish, distress, agony, and horror of the universe. Joy did not win over in this universe, it was always the horror that would be victorious. Bob looked at the little people, and realized that there was only one thing left to do. Bob must kill itself.”
“I've come to the same conclusion,” said the entity who is Bob.
“Bob took a M1911 Browning .45 caliber hand gun out of its desk drawer.”
“I guess this is goodbye. I can't express to you how much I hate you,” said Bob.
          “Yelling into the face of God, the humble narrator instructs Bob to do it. With tears running down Bob's face, hand shaking, body quivering, it puts the gun to its head and pulls the trigger.”
“God is dead,” said the narrator, to no one at all.