One Good Story That Needs To Be Here........
The
Egg
By:
Andy Weir
You
were on your way home when you died.
It
was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You
left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save
you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off,
trust me.
And
that’s when you met me.
“What…
what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You
died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There
was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,”
I said.
“I…
I died?”
“Yup.
But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You
looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?”
You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More
or less,” I said.
“Are
you god?” You asked.
“Yup,”
I replied. “I’m God.”
“My
kids… my wife,” you said.
“What
about them?”
“Will
they be all right?”
“That’s
what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your
family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You
looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked
like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of
a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t
worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in
every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry
on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was
falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling
relieved.”
“Oh,”
you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,”
I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,”
you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All
religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You
followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere
in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So
what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank
slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life
won’t matter.”
“Not
so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your
past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I
stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent,
beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only
contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a
glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into
the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences
it had.
“You’ve
been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and
felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long
enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that
between each life.”
“How
many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh
lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time
around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait,
what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well,
I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things
are different where I come from.”
“Where
you come from?” You said.
“Oh
sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others
like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you
wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,”
you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places
in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure.
Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you
don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So
what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?”
I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a
little stereotypical?”
“Well
it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I
looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole
universe, is for you to mature.”
“You
mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No,
just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and
mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just
me? What about everyone else?”
“There
is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You
stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All
you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait.
I’m everyone!?”
“Now
you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m
every human being who ever lived?”
“Or
who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m
Abraham Lincoln?”
“And
you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m
Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And
you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m
Jesus?”
“And
you’re everyone who followed him.”
You
fell silent.
“Every
time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act
of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment
ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You
thought for a long time.
“Why?”
You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because
someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my
kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,”
you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No.
Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human
life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So
the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An
egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And
I sent you on your way.
