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The oily sheen in my freshly brewed, black coffee swirls about and breaks apart, forming numerous swirling spirals and circles, constantly changing. They are the galaxies I have created.
I wonder what planets might exist in my little universe. I blow and poke at the surface of my morning brew, destroying galaxies and civilizations with every stab. Blowing sends the universe into upheaval, entire solar systems crashing into one another. I laugh, applauding myself for being such a wicked deity today.
I take a sip and nearly heave. The brew is bitter and I can almost feel it fighting back. It tastes like anguish. It's not nearly as bad as the universe in my soup last night. Gave me heartburn with all the fires of Hell.
Being God isn't easy, especially when you create life every time you wake up. Watch out, humans. Tomorrow, I might decide to have your doughnut for breakfast.