"When God was bored,he created man...or was it when man was bored,he created god?"
The Mad Prophet laughed softly in the dirt where he'd landed face-first.
He wiped mud from his eyes and looked up,not at the sky, not at the other confused souls staggering to their feet.
He looked at nothing.
At you.
"Both, probably," he muttered. "But the real question is: when the audience gets bored, who gets erased?
Spoiler: it's never the one holding the book."
Suddenly someone appeared from the sky
He did not arrive in fire or storm.
He simply just existed
The god came down the way a tired theater director walks onto an empty stage after the audience has left.Slow, shoulders slumped, already regretting the encore.
He looked almost disappointingly mortal: tall, thin, pale as old bone, dressed in robes the shade of storm clouds that never quite decided to rain. Hair colorless and stringy, falling past shoulders that carried the invisible burden of infinite reruns.
His eyes were the worst part:Too large, too dark, pupils swallowing the irises until only violet rims remained, like bruises on a corpse that refused to decay. When he blinked it was slow, deliberate, the motion of someone turning the page of a book he's read a thousand times and still finds mildly irritating.
He dropped to a seat on the new peak's edge, legs dangling over the drop like a bored teenager on a rooftop. Fingers drummed once—tap-tap-tap-tap—then stilled.
The voice arrived inside their skulls, dry and intimate:
"Round… what is it now? Two hundred? Three? I've lost count."
A small, mirthless chuckle.
"Entertain me. Or don't. Either way, I'll reset the board. Again."
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring down at the scrambling souls.
"But if you're going to bore me… at least make it quick. My patience is the only finite thing I have left."
Nobody said a word.
"They didn't have to," the Mad Prophet said, louder this time, as if the narrator had personally offended him. "You heard him. The show's on. And you're still here, aren't you? Still reading. Still watching."
He grinned,wide, unhinged and pointed one filthy finger straight ahead. Straight at you.
The god's chuckle lingered in every mind like smoke.
"I created this stage. The least you can do is fill it with something worth seeing.
Try.
Or don't.
But know this: when the boredom returns... the reset doesn't ask for volunteers."
He dissolved into nothing.
The Mad Prophet lowered his hand.
Looked around at the stunned faces.
Then back at you.
"Well?" he asked quietly. "You gonna turn the page, or leave us hanging?"