I stood on the earth, my feet spread across two continents, my head chilled by the cold void of space. For thousands of years, I had lived as a god with the others who had escaped the pathetic fragility of the "human condition" and reclaimed our true preternatural form.
But now we were reminded that we were merely gods: on this day, the light of a Higher Power appeared in the sky.
We had not believed this day would ever come, that it ever needed to come. We had learned the secrets of the universe, had made the necessary adjustments to prevent it from ever being snuffed out. We had rebuilt it to our own design, perfected its flaws, created heaven on earth. What need was there for... for this: this "Rapture," this "Second Coming," this "Last Judgement," whatever it was supposed to be called?
I looked down at the earth: wherever the Divine light fell, I saw little hillocks of earth bulging upwards, pulsing, pushed outward by those making their way up from below. What right had they to join us, we who had achieved godhood through our own efforts and devices? These who had chosen a life of slavery and fatalistic servitude, begging for eternal life while we risked all to seize it ourselves: why should they share in our glory?
I moved my foot to block the light, and the earth settled into stillness once again. There would be no Resurrection on this day.
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Notes:
I think the message this dream is trying to tell me is "I am a horrible person." I won't bore you with all the esoteric mystical mumbo jumbo or quasi-philosphical sci-fi claptrap going on. Oops, sorry, just did.
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