The Bright-Eyed Sinner's Sanctum

This is the record of my first meeting with the creator-god of my pantheon, Laughing Jack. I have often told myself that if there is a God, they must be a toymaker. As I was doing the dishes one afternoon, my mind wandered far away, and I found myself in a trance state. My body remained far below, doing dishes. In my mind, though, I was standing on the workbench of the toymaker, a Middle Eastern man in a purple shirt and leather apron, with sawdust in his neatly trimmed beard. He waved cheerfully, and we had the following conversation.

F: Hey. Hey, man. I have some questions. Um. Are those planets you’re making?

T: Hm? No. Juggling balls. *demonstrates* Fun, right? You said you wanted to ask me something. Oooh, are you a prophet? I haven’t had a prophet in a few weeks. Have we met?

F: Uh. Not like this, no. I kind of glimpsed your unknowable vastness through the veil once.

T: Yeesh, embarrassing! All noodle limbs and golden light and stuff. Knock first, yeah?

F:… Noted. Um. Are you like. God? Capital G?

T: Not really. Big G’s got a lot of things going on, and toys aren’t really one of them. Honest mistake, though. *holds up calloused carpenter hands* There’s a resemblance, hahaha.

F: Right. So. Did you make the universe? Is there a universe?

T: Well. Today I’ve decided that the universe is infinite turtles standing on each other’s backs, with star maps on their shells. And objective reality is impossible, because every turtle has to make sense of the turtle on his back describing the universe on his shell, while also describing the universe on the shell of the guy below him. None of them can do so accurately because their feet get in the way. Fun, right?

F: I guess. Lots of angry turtles.

T: I know! It’s a hoot! Tomorrow I might do chess-men carved to look like idols and ask the others if they want to play. There’s gonna be sooo many religious wars. *delighted giggle*

F: Wars? Real wars, people dying, cities burning?

T: Yeah, don’t worry, either it won’t happen in your lifetime or it already did.

F: That’s horrifying. Do you have any idea how unfair that is?

T: No, it’s totally fair. That’s the game, my little friend. It’s got rules. You can’t say poker’s unfair just cause you got a shit hand. Can’t say death’s unfair just because it happens to you, or someone you love. Hell, can’t say love’s unfair just because you fell for it. Oldest trick in the book, love.

F: And war? War is never fair!

T: Why? ‘Cause people die? ‘Cause cities burn? ‘Cause the bad guys win?

F: Yes! You’re the creator of the freaking universe, can’t you intervene?

T: Okay, little guy. News flash. I make the rules. I play the games. But that doesn’t mean I always win. Even the best player in existence loses to pure dumb luck or some bullshit strategy now and then. Get me?

F: No. You made the game, can’t you change the rules?

T: No can do, buddy. Look, that– changing stuff– that’s what humans do, okay? That’s what you do. Changing the rules, though? That’s how these guys get where they are. *holds out a handful of chessmen. They’re carved to look like old men in dark suits with puckered expressions. Billionaire caricatures.* You want me to be like them?

F: No. Obviously not.

T: Exactly. You change the rules, you might always win; but there’s no reason to play if you can’t lose, little guy. Do that, and you get a fat paycheck, grow a fat ego, and go home at the end of the day with a fat lip.

F: I see. *pause* At risk of sounding rude… are there any rules for me, specifically? It might be presumptuous. Sorry.

T: Course there’s rules for you. You know what they are? Always be clever, and always be charming, and always walk away knowing more than you did before.

F: Wow. Straightforward. Why?

T: That’s the game you’re playing. Plus: why not? Those are some pretty sweet things to be.

F: I didn’t expect the creator to be so chill. Do you have a name?

T: Sure I do, I just don’t go handing it out much. You only get so many, and they wear down with use. You can call me Jack, though.

F: … okay?

T: Anything else?

F: So, you make toys out of the universe.

T: Yep.

F: Alright. And people?

T: *laughs* You gang are my greatest invention, y’know? A toy that can play of its own accord. No wind-up key or strings. Just a bundle of burning goo and free will. Pretty neat, huh?

F: Pretty neat…

After that, he returned to his work. I descended, unsatisfied but in awe of what had happened. The Toymaker has felt nearby since then, watching what his little clay prophet may do next.