[ WP ] Authors , playwrights , comic artists , etc . create real alternate universes when they create fiction . Upon dying they become physical , immortal , omnipotent gods who continue to preside over those worlds , though the final stories have been published and no one will ever read what comes next .

He was never special, but everyone is an author at heart. Everyone creates and every creation leaves some vibration in the world, sometimes unseen and unfelt, sometimes large like an earthquake. But everyone creates. The boy's name was Lull. 
 
 
 As he grew the world left him behind and he was forgotten. There were great authors of his time, great artists and great men, all doing something with their lives. Lull admired them and he tried his best, his very damned best, but he never made a tremor in the unforgiving world. 
 
 
 He grew old and he was close to death. To many, Lull had never existed. To himself he had died long ago. The world had outpaced him and he was in the darkness of obscurity, languishing often, and full of regrets. Lull had never been published in his life, he had never achieved much. He had lived a more normal life, raised a family, earned a salary and made a home. His vibrations were small and they were diminishing in his old age. And then Lull died. 
 
 
 Death is an odd thing. Lull had never had any belief and so it was all new. It was all a surprise. All the rules were erased and he was floating for a while in nothingness. Then it all came like a rush, a tidal wave of consciousness. Lull gasped for breath and he grasped for life, for life had come back and everything had changed. 
 
 
 In the midst of a field Lull stood alone. He stood naked. He stood as man and as something more. Something had happened. He had made a vibration. 
 A new world had been created and this new world was his. It was simple, full of nuance and routine. It was not a flashy world and his characters were not memorable. They all had names, but they were not special. They were real and they had depth. They had fears and they had dreams. They were awful in the plain way that is truly evil. And they were good in the simple way of being good to each other, without stories or reason. They were his people. It was never commercial, but they were of him and mirrored him in all his facets. 
 
 
 Lull had seen his world come alive. The world which no one had ever seen, the world that would forever be hidden from what was real. He became their God and for the first time in his existence, he was special. He was somebody. Death was not so bad then, and Lull ruled his world for a long time. He called it Earth. 

