At one time you were shapers of existence, the hands of God in the world. Your breath gave life and the world shaped with your hands. Mountains formed, oceans spread. The wind blew only because your kind made it so. Music existed only to spread your messages. Such was the way of the world in the beginning.
Now, though, you find yourself in the world not as its shaper but simply a person. Your body is mortal and some memories are not your own. You don’t remember much, do you? What you do, is blurry and hazy and sprinkled with horrors that you try to keep at bay. Who are you? What are you now?
Surely, you are not the light anymore. Indeed, you remember a darkness that tore at your very being. Do you have a soul? That’s a good question.
You don’t really have that much time to deal with these thoughts, though. You have things to do. Ever since you returned to the world, you’ve found yourself mistaken for a person whose memories linger like the last rays of light in a deep sunset. You know that’s not who you are but how much do you really remember of yourself?
Still, you have to play the game, at least for a little bit. Your mortal self just graduated from college and your supposed to go to this thing called a “high school reunion.” You’re not sure if you’ll recognize anyone but you can pretend, can’t you? Besides, maybe you should go. You can make connections and maybe there’ll be some faith to find.
You need faith. You need that touch, that spark of life that drew you to this world. Humanity is not as faithful as it once was and, deep down, you know that each spark is fought over. Is it a war? Maybe.
There’s something out there. You feel it. But what is it?