[ WP ] A god is lost in a world of his own making .

Not the first, possibly the last. The deity, strictly labelled 19928293-C, struggled; caught like a roach dancing between the dull ribbons of a spider's web quietly cast out on the wooden frames between walls in an undisturbed hallway. Again, it was not the first time. 19928293-C took time on many occasions to make realities where people suffered. 
 
 In those worlds, full of widespread fear and incidents like disease and famine, the people would pray. Day in and day out, they would pray. Prayer fed 19928293-C, like any other deity. There was the problem. Everything was plain, utterly complete. Once 19928293-C set the world into motion, it would progress along one path of reality to completion and follow no other outcome. The stars would coalesce in rivers of magnificent fury, the hollow vacuum would yield to the traffic of their light, small islands of stability might escape chaos, and life would form, in tiny pools. 
 
 And then, in this world, where people were too tired, too busy, to angry, too weak, and too lost; on a small stone rippling through the expanse of a fabricated reality, 19928293-C began starving. 19928293-C turned, to it's side: the glow of a galaxy, churning plasma, like chewing gum, in silence. The force of an object of space could never console 19928293-C. Of course, the passing of time offered no balm either. This was it's reality, one where people did not, could not wonder, and, accordingly, 19928293-C ceased to be, deprived of hope.
