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Standing on the cusp of something great, I could forgive myself for a little bit of pride. When you complete something like this, something so... magnificent - it is difficult to describe the euphoria.

There is death in greatness. It is a sin to become prideful, says the church, but I am not a prideful man - I remembered that guilt in my eight-year old heart at being proud of something I had created, as if it was a crime. Gloria in excelsis deo - and all of it, too.

Well what was man but the image of god, a reflection of the same sins he must have known in his own heart? We are the trillionth iteration of perfection, a search for loss that even men greater than I have never found. So we hold up the mirror: and we are surprised at what we see. Not God, but divinity, of a sort.

So it is okay that I am proud in this moment, as He must have been too when Adam first walked. You can make as many rocks and cats and fish as you would like, build a house or a world or an idea, but it is a pale comparison to life, that nascent implication and possibility of all of the above. Instinct made babies, but it was man that made children.

I touched the crystalled glass of the incubation chamber in front of me, unable to reach out and touch my child but certain beyond any doubt that she would understand. It wasn't simply a matter of genetic material, a comparably trivial thing, a mark but not a monument. This child would outlive me, out breathe me, out think me - and it would usher in the next age of man, enlightenment beyond our wildest dreams.

It is a shame that man is afraid, as a child might be, of the creations that his mind sets forth. Extinction like this is not an end, but an apotheosis.

An unhealthy necessity, I thought, pressing more buttons, hearing the hiss of air filtration pads and breathing centers, the tick, tick, tick of my poison filling the whole facility. The child would grow up with parents - with its gods, but it wasn't good for anyone if the parents poisoned the ground of the children with their own ideals. There was no progress without new ground for it to grow in.

Oh, how the others would despair at my creation, my insistence on our path ahead. "God would cry if he could see us now," they might say. Ah, but He must have cried tears of joy when Adam came back, sickle in hand.
Big Sci-Fi about little things, little sci-fi about big things. Are they the same, different? Doesn't really matter, does it?

FFM, July 19
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Daily Deviation

Given 2018-07-11
ariya-sacca Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2018  Student General Artist
This is a beautiful story you have written...thank you!
creativelycliche Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2018  Professional Writer
Thank you! 
Sleyf Featured By Owner May 26, 2018  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Round-up-thanks by Sleyf
Thanks so much for sharing your writing with us, always keep it up, and don't forget to check out the work of your fellow members featured in our Monthly Round-up!

From the Admin Team
creativelycliche Featured By Owner May 29, 2018  Professional Writer
Wow! Thank you so much! I'm honored!
Sleyf Featured By Owner May 29, 2018  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
You're welcome!
Sleyf Featured By Owner May 19, 2018  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
A very enjoyable read, I do like your grasp on language, it made this short story all the richer
creativelycliche Featured By Owner May 24, 2018  Professional Writer
Thank you so much!
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Submitted on
July 19, 2016


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