THE SHEPHERD'S LOGBOOK

  CHAPTER ONE — VERSE ONE

  In the beginning, there was nothing.

  But in that nothing, there was God.

  And then there was.

  And God saw that it was… lonely.

  …

  On the second day, he reached into the earth and moulded a sculpture from the clay.

  God relocated it to a garden so beautiful that it threatened to take his divine breath away, and so incomprehensibly vast that its canopy threatened to consume the sky.

  But it didn’t. For the garden knew that the sky was its creators favorite view.

  He lay his head upon the grass, tightly packed wisps of cotton floating overhead in the unfinished expanse.

  And waited patiently.

  And waited patiently...

  And waited patiently.

  But the clay thing stood motionless in the garden of God’s making. Still as the nothing before the earth were made.

  He soon realized the object never had life to begin with. And that it cared little for the beauty of its own creation.

  "It remains still because it lacks desire, master, " The garden said. "How can it express its feelings without feelings to express? We should destroy it and begin anew."

  The creator agreed with the words of his creation. He’d put little more into the sculpture than into the mountains from whence they came. Perhaps there was more to existence than physicality, after all.

  He raised his hand over the sculpture, preparing to send it back to oblivion.

  However, in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it.

  For he’d grown somewhat attached to the boring thing. And couldn’t bear the thought of being apart.

  On the third day, a fire was made in the sky.

  He took inspiration from its burning and instilled passion into an otherwise perfectly unremarkable plant.

  The flower instantly bloomed to life, greeting him with fervent gratefulness for the gift of existence.

  However, his relationship with this flower quickly became one sided.

  After hours of probing conversation, both he and the garden came to the same conclusion: this thing was quite the chatterbox!

  It never truly listened to what he had to say, always agreeing long before he thought came to his mind.

  It was almost as bad as his first creation.

  Like a version of himself that had too much to say: “And I love the sun. And I love the earth. And I love the grass. And I love the dirt. And I love the sky. And I love the air. And I don’t-”

  “Master!" Interrupted the garden, which had earlier expressed its liking toward the self-proposed name 'the Eden'. "You and I both hold your creation in highest regard, but I don’t want to hear another word from this foolish flower!” wailed the garden. “We should destroy it and begin anew!”

  God smiled at the Eden’s outburst.

  He opened his palm, preparing to send it back to oblivion.

  However, though discontent with the result of today’s attempt, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the chatterbox. He also didn’t want to risk hurting its feelings.

  For he’d grown quite attached to its annoying voice. And couldn’t bear the thought of being apart.

  Instead, he willed a barrier to surround the flower and willed the earthy platform to ascend into the sky. That way, he could still see the thing from time to time, and knew it had the best view in the world.

  God lay on the ground for a while, watching the clouds go by in sequence—feeling like nothing again for the very first time.

  It seemed physicality and emotion were not enough to differentiate his creations from the void.

  In fact, watching the clouds like this had become quite boring: the same fluffy shapes went across the sky in the the exact order he planned.

  Still, he watched and watched in silence.

  Until the garden spoke again. “This world was made in your image, after all. Us included. If you want something different, you must give us control over our own thoughts.”

  And so on the fourth day, God created a companion capable of thought.

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  He planted a tree in the center of the garden and separated it from the rest of the vegetation.

  The tree was by no means large—a runt by very definition—shadowed by all the other trees in the garden.

  But from the sparsity of its leaves, and the random crookedness of its branches, there was a certain air of wisdom compared to the lush, perfection of the rest of the garden.

  This must have been it!

  The object was gifted physicality, so that they could bask together in the sunlight.

  It was given emotion, so it could feel content when another creation was born.

  And finally, it was given freedom of thought to say something that the lonely creator had never heard before. It was everything he ever wanted.

  “I’ve seen enough.”

  But it wasn’t happy.

  “I’ve seen enough.”

  God spent the entire day by the creature’s side.

  He brought it to every inch of the earth in an attempt to console the aching thing:

  To the highest mountains where white powder fell from the sky.

  To the under-stone, where luminous rocks hummed in the otherwise lightless depths.

  To the forests and the seas… and the valleys and the beaches… it was all so empty. Wasn’t it?

  “I’ve seen enough.”

  By the time they returned, the words of the tree had remained the same.

  It was clear to both him and the garden that this was not the companion God was looking for. And yet, the creator had never felt so close to anything in his eternal existence.

  “I’ve seen enough…”

  “You gave it wisdom,” spoke the garden, again.

  God nodded.

  “But the breadth of your knowledge is far too vast for anyone else to bear.”

  While reaching out to the tree, the thought of nothing came to mind once more. Like this garden, he created the world to be vast and full of wonder.

  Instead of destroying everything, how great would it be to simply start anew? To frolic in those fields with wild abandon.

  “I’ve seen enough… cease me.”

  “Perhaps we should-”

  “No.” His soft voice went across the garden like a warm breeze.

  There was far too much beauty in its existence to let it come to an end.

  For he’d grown quite attached to its hopeless outlook. And could no longer bear the thought of being alone.

  Furthermore, God had already decided what to do next.

  However, he was so deep in thought that he ignored the fact that the garden had grown slightly bigger.

  At the end of the fifth, the garden was teeming with life.

  Creatures with physicality, emotion, and the free will to change the world as they saw fit. But this time, they were ignorant. They were unlikely to enact much change because none of the myriad creatures had the ability to process the world beyond a simple cycle of food and slumber.

  Knowing that their ignorance would prove a danger to themselves and each other, he reached into the earth once more and selected four aspects of creation.

  With them, he created a being made of fire to reign over the volcanoes.

  A being made of water to rule the ocean depths.

  A being made of earth to rule the solid ground.

  And finally, one made of wind to rule the skies.

  These creatures were more intelligent, and possessed spectacular abilities with which to protect their brothers and sisters.

  So, after informing them of their duty, God released them into the world to give his creation some meaning.

  However, he ached to watch these creatures go. Forgetting their master behind, as the wind greeted them gently so.

  For he’d grown quite attached to their simplicity. And couldn't bear the thought of being apart.

  But in the back of his mind was something more—On the sixth day, he was sure to succeed; he’d learned a great deal through creating so much life.

  It was on the seventh day that God succeeded.

  But the garden was quiet as a mouse.