There are many stories that tell of how the world came to be, some of them begin with nothing, some with almost nothing, some with tiny bits of nothing exploding into something. There are very few of these stories that begin with Welston, this is one of those stories.
Welston was a god of sorts, but not the kind that received the prayers of men, in part because he had no ears, but mostly because there were no men. Welston had existed for at least as long as he could remember, which wasn’t very long at all, but that wasn’t the slightest bit relevent because there was no time. Welston just was… and then he sneezed.
The mucous of existence ejected from Welston’s sad earless face with a force so explosive that, all the things which aren’t Welston came to be. On a gush of finely sprayed sputum, the processes and reactions stumbled into line, into matter, into energy and light, into suns and stars, into our little blue bulb.
And of Welston? With nothing firm beneath his feet, Welston was sent, with all the energy of the universe, tumbling away from it, away from the only something that Welston ever knew.
Us and Welston diverging for eternity never again to meet.