The New God by Christian Camacho

It was a strange feeling floating. I can feel the heat from an unforgiving sun on my back. It radiates down my body and onto my face, all a while I am turned away to watch the world develop beneath me. The same one he has watched his entire existence, not replacing him, but blocking his view so that I can take a turn to see. The sun and I have similar hobbies. Watching this world in all its creation, all its beauty.

I am high above watching its creatures, all insignificant, and all necessary. The further I get from the ground, the more I see. I can see the creation of the world’s art, the perpetuation of life, the order of the world. It is almost calm, serene, but at the same time so full of life, an oxymoron in the utmost poetic sense.

I am watching this world unfold from god’s eye view. I can see it’s beauty colored in it’s greens; it’s browns, it’s blues, and yellows, pigments sit soundly in harmony. I desperately want to reach down and touch a soul, mold it like god would, create life as god would, let my hands become more than just the limbs. In my mind, I am. Because from this heavenly view, I see all.

I have been warned about messing with nature, to avoid the unknown, but to embrace new things at the same time, and this is my dilemma. In my mind, I am god. In my blasphemy, I reach for the first thing willing to play my game. Willing to let me embrace it in its glory and nature.

An animal just as high, above the rest, as I. Is he just waiting, maybe watching as I am? He is harmless. I study this being that floats above the world and I wonder what he is doing here so alone, so high above the rest. Is he an angel of a soul lost below? This ghost of a creature sees the same world I am, but maybe in a different light.

With the rest of the world, where there is beauty, there is destruction. I cannot remember the last time this world was only natural. Was it ever really? Have I been so wrapped up in the beauty of the world that, somewhere along the lines, I decided that the destruction was not there?

I close my eyes and breath, the sound echoes off plastics and metals. My eyes return to the world, the sun is still there. So is the beauty, but I cannot deny that so is the ugly. Metals, plastics, and cloth, are all present and far off from leaving. I look to this creature, this poor, innocent animal. He is harmless, but he was harmed. An angel, a ghost of destruction’s path, I reach for him to hold him in my arms, to tell him that I will take care of him. Then it happens, the little shit jellyfish stings me.


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