Copeland

Traumatic Creation

By

Alexander S Copeland

“Ladies and gentlemen. As you all know, our deadline is quickly approaching.

Management has notified us that Mother will only be fertile for another week, so we might

as well get right to it. How to define this new world and everything in it…”

The General stood at the head of the mahogany desk that spanned almost the entirety

of the war room, addressing the think tank assembled before him. Screens displaying neon-

green digital globes of various planets and cosmic bodies stretched across the four walls

around the desk. Lila, the four-year-old girl with pink ribbons in her pigtails and a red plaid

dress on could not keep herself from the joy of spinning vigorously in her swivel chair. She

was seated next to the middle leg of the desk and would gain momentum every so often by

kicking off from it with her tiny sneaker.

“Lila, please. Stop the spinning. Be a good girl and push yourself back to the table.

That’s right.”

The General spoke in a serious yet amicable tone. Surely he did not want to upset the

youngling, as calming her sorrow would take some time. Besides, her input was just as

valued as anyone else’s on the World Defining Committee and The General had learned his

lesson during the last World Structure Meeting when he threatened Lila with banning all the

ice cream in the next world if she did not sit still, which sent her into a half hour fit of

sobbing. At times The General had trouble taking Lila seriously, but he knew that her

usefulness was unquestionable. Her thoughts were those of a person whose mind had been

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unmitigated by the complexities of a mature life rife with such things as philosophy and

morality. The General knew her presence was crucial for the betterment of early childhood

development, or at least, that’s what Management had explained to him.

The General, his commanding presence befitting of his title, surveyed the room,

taking stock of the group of delegates seated before him. There were eight in all and they

represented the most diverse group of ideologies possible. They had been hand selected by

Management for the task of deciding what objects, organisms and thoughts would be present

in the new world and to what degree. Stefon Falconing, a gnarled elderly man whose

presence in a wheelchair was allayed by the dapper suit he wore, would surely bring some

valuable insight to the table with his unwavering devotion to scientific inquiry. Stefon sat

awaiting the debate, perched over the desk with his hands together and his fingers

intertwined on the tabletop. Igor Mendall sat across from him. Ever the naturalist, Igor

possessed a great, bushy, chestnut beard and his cologne smelled distinctly of pinesap. He

wore an olive-green tweed jacket with brown suede elbow patches. Rumor was that Igor had

once been head of the entire Flora-Diversification Department but had been demoted to the

role of Poisonous Mushroom Allocation when his coworkers discovered he was illegally

stockpiling daffodils in a small storage warehouse he had constructed in secret explicitly for

that purpose. Igor was quite fond of the daffodil. Despite this misconduct, he was still the

eminent thinker on plant related matters. He was there to speak on behalf of those that did

not have a voice, all the things with stems and leaves. Timothy Aquarian was there as well,

wearing his standard brown monk robes, looking like a misplaced friar. He was sure to damn

the Committee for all sorts of blasphemy and criticize them for not keeping Management’s

desires in mind. The General was not worried about him getting in the way however, as they

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often saw eye to eye on matters of war and aggression and Timothy had even exhibited more

hawkish tendencies than The General at some of the prior Committee meetings.

Griswold was seated at the end of the table directly opposite The General. Most other

members of the committee, especially Lila, had still not become fully accustomed to her

fearsome appearance. Griswold was a massive mother grizzly bear and she was there to

represent all non-humanoid fauna. She was also a distinguished interspecies-economist most

recently lauded for her analysis paper in which she described the optimal exchange rate of

berries to nuts between raccoons and squirrels. Grace Davintello, the free-spirited artiste was

there, with her green hair that swept the air just above the floor. She would use her colorful

vocabulary to champion the need for “expression of the soul” and defend the sensibilities of

the artistically inclined. And of course, no gathering of the World Defining Committee

would be complete without the presence of Juliette Amore, the protector of emotional

awareness and that great, timeless mystery of the heart: love. She looked like a diamond,

what with her bejeweled white wedding dress and sparkling earrings that dangled like

magnificent prisms, shooting off bits of rainbow on every surface around her. Her golden-

brown hair was done into a simple yet flawless French braid that trailed down her back. The

rest of The Committee, including The General, couldn’t help but admire her beauty and the

elegant smile that she wore on her face, as if she was merely happy to be there with her

fellow members.

The war room in which The Committee convened was the room where The General

spent most of his time presiding over every major feud within the multiple worlds in

existence. Each screened wall pulsated with neon lights and red blips that would pop up

across the various globes gliding over the screens. To the untrained eye these screens held

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nothing more than shiny pictures, the purpose of which were either unknown or

inconsequential to them. To The General, however, these screens were the key to navigating

the pathologies of the various life forms throughout the multiverse. The reason the meeting

was being held in the war room was the result of much deliberation on the part of The

General.

An incident had taken place in the room where the World Structure Meeting was

usually held. The room, dubbed The Common Sphere because of its circular structure, was

closed for maintenance and repainting. A gathering of close to one hundred of the

multiverse’s most intelligent beings had taken place there months before to discuss

purported steadily rising atmospheric temperatures on Earth 1. Despite overwhelming

scientific evidence of the temperature increase, many of the multiverse’s prominent

intellectuals had inexplicably denied the heating of Earth 1 and Management had felt it

necessary to hold an open discussion on the topic. Regardless, The Common Sphere was

heavily damaged when, during the aforementioned meeting, an aqueous mass of light and

time materialized inside the Sphere and imploded, leaving a scintillating holographic film all

over the walls and upholstery of the folding chairs. These things were known to happen

from time to time and, while such incidents were not particularly dangerous, they were quite

the nuisance: an unfortunate byproduct of such a vast collective of consciousness in such a

confined space. After the incident, The General had petitioned Management ceaselessly to

move the next World Structure Meeting to his war room, and his persistence paid off. The

General subscribed to the belief that home-field advantage was just as much a deciding

factor in battles of wit as in battles of war. It did indeed seem that the other members of The

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Committee were out of their respective elements, surrounded by The General’s flashing

lights and imposing sense of grandeur.

“Let us begin with you Juliette,” said The General. “Our missions have always been

opposite one another. I’m curious to see what you think should take precedence in the

creation of Earth 4.”

“Why it’s simple Mr. General,” responded Juliette. “Love is what matters. Love and

its various forms like friendship and kinship, which are usually one and the same. It’s the

reason they blew up the last one, you know. Earth 3. Those people lacked love. I propose

that all people of this new world be governed by ninety percent love of some type or

another.”

“Well that’s preposterous, but go ahead and humor me. What should the other ten

percent be?”

“The remaining ten percent should be devoted to the natural processes for sustaining

life of course, like food gathering and keeping warm.”

Stefon Falconing raised a boney finger down at his side of the table. “While I agree

with Miss Juliette that love should have some presence, in no way should it take precedence

over what she deems ‘the remaining ten percent.’ Love is nothing more than a cocktail of

hormones and chemical stimuli appearing as a derivative of the biological urge to procreate.

The urges to find food, water and shelter should be first and foremost in the minds of the

Earth 4 inhabitants, as the main goal should be preventing death. And occasionally, the only

way for one to have a chance at preventing their own death is to pit it in battle against other

organisms. This is where you come in General.”

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Falconing was trying to concede to The General, probably trying to level with him to

get the second best deal when The General inevitably won out. The General was more

perceptive than that. He would not allow Stefon to massage his ego to his own end.

“Well done Stefon. Admitting that war is essential to sustaining life. How perceptive

of you. Let me tell you about just how essential war really is.”

“Enough!” The General was cut off by Timothy Aquarian’s bloviating shrieks. “We

are not considering what Management had in mind when they first created all of this! They

are the ones who should be governing all of this. They have given us the power to shape the

world as a gift, and we must keep in mind their sensibilities!”

“So what do you propose we do Timothy?” asked The General.

“The new world should be governed by piousness. All of its inhabitants should be

aware of and be subservient to the ultimate creators. Each and..”

“What of the flora, Timothy?” interjected Igor Mendall, repeatedly stroking his beard

with one hand. “What has Management done for the plants since they were first conceived

of? The creatures of these various worlds have trampled over the plants and torn them

asunder for ages. It’s time that they be given more prominence in the order of life.”

A blood-curdling roar pierced the air from the far end of the table. Griswold was on

her hind legs with her snout pointed to the ceiling.

“And yes of course, Griswold has a point” Igor continued. “We mustn’t neglect the

animals as well. Humanoids have dominated all of life for so long. Both the plants and

animals have been subservient to the humanoids in nearly every world in creation. What has

Management done for any of them recently?”

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“You’re a traitor to your own kind Igor,” said The General. “You’re one of the very

humanoids you profess have destroyed the plant life you hold so dear. Why don’t you just

remove yourself from the picture if you think humanoids are the problem.”

“I would gladly let the plants speak for themselves at this table, if Management was

thoughtful enough to give them a mode of speech by which they could communicate with

the rest of life. But alas, they do not have the luxury of being able to easily share their

thoughts with the fauna. And, as you are all perfect examples of, most of life is not

perceptive enough to listen when they do speak.”

At that, a little high-pitch voice perked up and broke through the increasingly

volatile atmosphere. “And we can has puppies?” It was Lila, whose tiny head was barely

visible above the edge of the desk. At this comment, another roar of agreement echoed

throughout the room.

“Yes, yes. Dogs will of course be present,” answered The General. “Although, dogs

are not as useful as other animals in combat scenarios. That’s why I propose a 20% increase

in the horse population for Earth 4.”

This is when Gina Davintello decided to chime in. “Love, plants, piety, dogs…all of

this is meaningless unless we have art to portray and examine it. We need sculptors,

painters, poets, writers, musicians…a world void of art will surely devolve to chaos. As

Juliette pointed out, Earth 3 was lacking love. But they also had a serious shortage of

devoted artists who…”

“Oh hush up Gina,” The General interjected. “Most of your beloved art is nothing

more than depictions of war. Without the great wars of the multiverse, all of which I have

had a hand in administering, art would not exist.”

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At that moment the arguing between the Committee members was interrupted by a

vigorous shaking of the desk. Another one of Griswold’s roars, this time with an inflection

of fear and anger, caused the Committee to turn and look towards the end of the table.

Seated at the far corner of the desk was a human male, completely nude and tattooed up to

his eyeballs in all sorts of tribal symbols that seemed to cut his flesh with their sharp, jutting

angles. His right arm was violently moving up and down beneath the desk, smacking it and

causing it to shake on each upward movement. The General was appalled at the sight of this

man, and he was sure everyone else in the room was as well. How long had he been there?

Surely somebody would have noticed him enter the war room and take a seat at the desk,

make a comment on the bewildering appearance of this man? Griswold, visibly perturbed at

the sight of him, lunged out with a heavy claw and tried to slash the man’s face, but he was

too quick and moved back against the wall in his swivel chair.

He stood up, tugging his genitals with his right hand and grasping a crude, jagged

blade in the other. The man stood with a bit of a hunch but he was still close to six foot tall.

His entire body had a crisscrossing of black tattoos and only parts of his milk-white skin

shown through. Tufts of jet-black hair sprouted from his head like weeds and his nipples

were pierced with silver hoops. As the Committee stood in awe of this person, he hopped up

onto the table and made a beeline for The General, grasping his genitals and the blade all the

while. The man ran the length of the room on the desk and pushed The General against the

back-screened wall. At this point, the room was erupt in a commotion of various yells.

Griswold, too big to get onto the table, struggled to push past the others and seize the

degenerate man. Lila was bawling and the others, all except Juliette who was completely

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calm, screamed at the man to unhand The General whom, while completely shocked,

worked to upkeep his stalwart demeanor.

“I don’t know who or what you are, but I will have your head for this,” spat The

General in the man’s face.

The tattooed man cackled hysterically, holding the helpless General by his throat.

The General could see the man’s tongue jut in and out between his teeth as he laughed, a

tongue which was forked and lent a hissing quality to the man’s laughs.

The man put his mouth up to The General’s ear and whispered a sultry “Thank you.”

He then proceeded to repeatedly thrust the blade into the side of The General while shoving

the forked tongue down his throat. When the man was done he tossed The General to the

side of the room and made a quick survey of the room. Griswold was still struggling past

Stefon whose wheelchair was hindering her progress forward. The General, one hand

clasped to his mouth and the other grasping his side where the life was quickly eking out of

him, was crumpled in the corner. Juliette bolted upright from her chair and said “Be gone

from here and take your wretchedness with you.”

The tattooed man could not help himself. At this, he bounded the short distance over

to where Juliette stood, grasped her by her braid and pulled her head back towards the floor.

He then placed his lips on hers and prepared to violate her with his tongue. Suddenly the

man froze and his cold eyes widened with horror. It was as if time stopped. The Committee

watched as the man staggered backwards and dropped the blade he was holding. Juliette

wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and resumed her gentle smile. A hairline crack

started to travel downwards from the man’s forehead and branch out all over his body like

tendrils. A substance black as ink spouted forth from the cracks in the man’s face and he let

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out a scream more terrible than any of the others. In an instant the man was reduced to

nothing more than an oily puddle on the floor of the war room.

***

The General was going to be okay. He was bound to a hospital bed but the medical

staff estimated that he would make a full recovery. When questioned as to the identity of the

tattooed man, Management had nothing to say other than they should all be on the lookout in

case the man, or someone similar, were to appear again. Because of Mother’s shortening

fertility time, the meeting was continued and completed the day following the attack by the

tattooed man. The agreed upon stipulations for Earth 4 were drafted and sent to World

Processing where a team of humanoids took the data and distilled the proper components

into a gelatinous serum. On the day that the serum was ready for transmission, because of

her work in protecting The Committee on the day of the attack, Juliette was chosen by

Management to perform the honors of injecting Mother. She was given the syringe, a solid

golden instrument with the serum inside. Management led her to a grove where many

beautiful birds fluttered about the lush foliage overhead. By a crystal-clear pond rested a

giant leviathan, as imposing as it was majestic. The thing looked like a combination between

a whale and an iguana and its scales glistened an array of green and blues in the light that

peeked through the leaves. Inside the pond many orbs of organic material floated slowly in

every which way. Juliette, though she was intimidated by the presence of the leviathan,

knew that it was a great honor to be allowed into Mother’s grove. Many others would go

their entire lives only hearing legends of Mother and what she looked like.

Juliette walked over to Mother who was sleeping soundly in the grass. Merely being

in her presence, Juliette was overcome with joy and amazement. She placed one hand on the

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scaled back, and when Mother did not stir, she knew it was safe to continue. She inserted the

syringe into Mother’s side, struggling to burst through the exterior plating, and pushed down

on the plunger. Mother tensed ever so slightly, but then went right back to her relaxed state.

The deed had been done; Mother was inoculated. In a couple more months Mother would

birth out a new orb into the pond and Earth 4 would be present in the multiverse. Juliette

looked back at Mother as she walked away from the grove, the empty syringe still in her

hand. She knew she should be happy for what she had just help to set in motion, yet she

could not help but be consumed by an overwhelming sadness for the creature. She felt as

though she had somehow violated it. Before turning to be escorted away by Management,

she gave one last glance at the leviathan she had known for just a brief moment. She

wondered if it would ever awake.

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