from the darkness

Nihilitas.

The Nothingness.

An infinite ether.

Hollow, barren, desolate.

Standing among it, colossal in stature, He who is.

Striding over the vacant places, He called out to it - the thing to come.

The crouched blank spaces of the universe held bated breath, as His feet landed inches away from their frame. He came to an unhurried, deliberate stop.

The transience.

It Swelled. Stretched. Concaved. Collapsed. The metamorphic performance was jagged, unpredictable, and bizarre. Blackness, ever there, crept over and within. The bleeding ink colonized its unformed substance in cyclical waves: its cavernous mouth contorted and gaped just beneath the obsidian stain.

Behind the One, the Spirit emerged and glided over the face of the atomos. The silhouette haunted it, only seen by its reflection inside the motionless ebonic vacancy below. The Spirit slowed, and stopped: levitating inches from the deep. The expanse roared, and began act two of its performance.

And as it billowed and splashed, the Spirit turned to He who is - eager.

A cosmic voice, rich and mighty, rippled over the waters of the deep,

“Let there be light.”

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- A.D.