by Zwei ap Owen » Wed Apr 29, 2009 8:55 pm
The story you’re about to read never happened. God, in his infinite wisdom, did not see fit to create the character Donald Antranig, did not feel it would be entirely appropriate to do so, at least not insofar as it concerns the thick stuff of the reality which you and I inhabit. Quantum physicists and armchair philosophers alike might argue, however, that having been conceived Donald Antranig must in fact exist somewhere out there in the swirling mess of the multiverse. For his part, and for the peace of my own mind, I sincerely hope this isn’t so. Donald’s life was a mess, and I’d hate to have inflicted on anyone such a miserable and uncertain existence as his.
If it is true, though, and I have inadvertently transformed myself into some sort of sadist, I can at least defend myself in part by saying that I gave him a relatively quiet and painless end. I was kind enough to quickly and mercifully euthanize him when things went beyond bearing. In this I feel I have shown a sort of clemency not normally exhibited by the Almighty. This is because God, as is so often the case, does not share my concerns or policies vis-à-vis the creative process. So it goes.
This story begins, as all good poetry ought, in media res with the birth of our un-protagonist. Some might argue that this does not in fact adhere to the demanding standards or purposes of this hallowed literary convention. To these I would simply point out that the world into which Donald was never actually born had existed for many thousands of years before his birth, just as it will continue to spin dumbly for many more after I write him out of existence. Billions of years alone had been devoted to the necessary but random collision of molecules and matter, making planets and galaxies out of what might as well have been farts on cosmic winds. Here on our own beloved planet it took millions of years to bake life out of dirty water, our primordial pea soup, and longer yet for that life to grow tired of seaweed sandwiches and so lap itself upon hard shores. Even if you skip ahead to the triumphant advent of homo sapiens, there was still a couple of thousand years for them to wreak up the place before Donald Antranig showed up. They did this in a variety of ways, such as
His Grace Sir Zwei ap Owen Liberator Domus Wyndhavinis
Arch Episcopus Venedotiae Dei Gratia
Dominus Meridiani Marchium
Miles Ordinis S. Mycaelis et S. Gorgii
Viking Illigetimus
Camhalta Fiannae
Lepidissimus Vir