In the midst of Creation stands a tree, tall and towering. Its roots deeply and firmly embedded in whatever it is creation is standing on, its leaves rustling in the neverending breezy aftermath of the Big Bang.
See the Tree?
Good.
Because all things start somewhere in or on the Tree.

Each branch of the tree carries different fruits. And if you look closely, you will find that each fruit carries within itself a pocket sized universe. Pocket sized if you have pockets like the ones on gods red velvet bathrobe, that is, but still pocket sized by any other definition.
That plum over there, the one with the bruises and the soft mouldy spot near the top? That's our own universe. Somewhere in or on that plum is own Earth, and we ourselves as well. How it is possible for you to be simultaneously on the plum and watching it dangle from its branch in the Tree is one of god's little tricks I suppose. God loves inconsistencies like these.

On an entirely different branch you will find cherries. You'll find other branches still, carrying apples and bananas and peaches and pommegranates and melons, even though the latter don't normally grow on trees.
You'll even find a lone branch with pumpkins and squash and brussels sprouts, but like I say, god loves inconsistencies.

Climbing back up from the pumpkins through the bananas all the way to the cherries, you'll find one particular cherry. It's particular because, unlike most other cherries, it is not accompanied by another cherry. Cherries being prone to appear in pairs, this one is an oddity. Perhaps Ratatosk, the squirrel who runs up and down the Tree all day to exchange insults between the other local fauna, perhaps he likes cherries and ate our cherry's roommate. Or perhaps, after eating its mate, Ratatosk decided maybe he'd leave our cherry alone and have a good long squat to relieve his sore tummy. Who knows. Ratatosk only ever speaks insults, so he's not telling.

Anyway, back to our cherry. See how the light of the Tree is mirrored on its waxy skin? If you look close enough, you can see the countless stars within, endlessly spinning, doing their cosmic version of Swan Lake. Stretching out your hand, you touch the skin of the cherry.

With a soundless bang, the pocket sized universe within the cherry explodes, unfolds and expands. It's like instant soup or freeze-dried shrimp, only without the hot water. One second it's a cherry, the next it's a fully grown universe, and you are standing right in the middle of it, looking down on a tiny planet, featureless and smooth like a cueball.

Oh wait, there is something down there, a tiny speck of dust...

It's a tiny little creature. Cartoony, like those plasticine clay figures. Saussage-shaped arms and legs, ball-shaped head, large and bewildered eyes. We'll call it, for want of a better name, a Mogie.

Mogie: Holy shit what was that? Where'd my cherry go? Where the blazes am I?
Yawheh Himself, sporting a stylish red velvet bathrobe with bulging pockets: Yow Mogie! This is your Creator and Lord Almight speaking. In my Infinite Wisdom and the Mysterious Ways which are so typical of me, I have created you and all you see before you. Enjoy! Ta-ta, must skedazzle. **poof goes Yahweh and the Mogie is alone again**
Mogie: Huh? What the...? Yow! God dude! What am I supposed to do here? There's nothing to do? You put me on a  friggin' cueball ferchrissakes!
**poof goes Yahweh again**
Yahweh: Oh sorry, clean forgot about that. You are part of an experiment. A test to see if life can be created with only words.
Mogie: I thought you already pulled that one off before?
Yahweh: Shut up, nobody likes a smartass. Anyway, kindly don't use the name of my son in vain, he's already suffered enough for your sins.
Mogie: Not for mine he didn't. I just got here, and besides, isn't he in some other universe?
Yahweh, after some beard-scratching: Errrmm..shut up, smartass. Anyhoo, see that guy there behind his keyboard typing away like something crazy? He'll be in charge from now on. His Word is Law, and I have seen that it is Good. Ta-ta! **poof goes Yahweh again**
Mogie: Ermm...o-kay? This is odd. Errmm...writer-guy? Hello?
Uncle Brazzie: Shush. You're not supposed to talk to me. Fourth wall and all. Just...you know, do stuff. Go along.
Mogie: Do stuff? What kind of writer are you anyway? What am I supposed to do here, there's nothing around! There's not even enough of anything here to bore me!
Uncle Brazzie: Point. Tell ya what, I'll see if I can convince some people to suggest things for you to do. You know, bring you stuff to play with and things like that. See ya soon, take care. **poof goes Uncle Brazzie, never one to let Yahweh steal the show**
Mogie: Oy! Writer dude! You didn't even give me a name or anything!
**poof goes Uncle Brazzie**
Uncle Brazzie: Right-o. A name. Let's see...something with lots of X-es to make it sound like real fantasy...No, wait I got one...by the powers vested in me, I dub thee...Mud.
Mud the Mogie: Mud?
Uncle Brazzie: Ayup.
Mud the Mogie: My name is Mud?
Uncle Brazzie: You got it buddy. See ya! **poof goes Uncle Brazzie yet again, leaving an even more bewildered Mud on his empty and featureless cueball, pondering the meaning of existence and the cruel injustice of omnipotence**


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