Tales of the first mortal ...
A time long gone, lived a mortal. The sole mortal, created out of cley by jaded immortals.
Dulled by lethargy and finding themselves idle, the immortals decided to get creative. Engrossed in their art, they created. Each work surpassing the previous.
Time had no meaning in their world. There is no before and after. Every moment mutually exclusive of each other. But I speak as I see. Along the timeline which the immortals have imposed upon me. Thus in their tongue, they only created. The timeline that bound us flowed in the direction they intended, thus making us perceive their creativity growing. Creating the timeline was amongst their greatest creations. They could assign it a direction that suited their whims. Thus we see the world as it is.
But this story is not about the immortals.This story is about the mortal. The first of its kind. Born out of creative opulence. Created with no purpose but to satisfy the needs of activity. Fluid of life lent to it, till its frail body could carry it no longer. Having created a mortal, the immortals now had work to keep them occupied. Work that lifted them out of the monotony of life.
The mortal was created with flaws. It was the immortals' idea of humour. It kept them happy. Watching an imperfect being. And to further the goal, they bound it by the timeline. It was pitiful. It pained me to see the immortals create such a malformed being for the sake of their entertainment. And it pained me that the mortal would itself be so oblivious to it.