Hi! This is an excerpt of a sci-fi short-story/novella I began working on today. Criticism would be very much appreciated :)
I remember the death of the final human, an event so colossal to me yet so insignificant to the universe that the ground did not even quiver around him as he slumped sideways on his bed. And in turn I remember the death of the final Urwayhen (or I should say second last. I’m not sure where my timeline ends and where it ever began), a cousin of mine, who deployed himself from his aircraft, in the middle of space, as two worlds collapsed behind him.
I remember man’s first journey beyond the Milkyway, and the first Urway revolution (when my species had only developed but meagre parts of their brains and the secrets of the galaxy were a gleaming mystery on the far horizon) but I do not remember my release. It’s a strange thing, that. I have never interacted with another version of myself. I’m sure a human scientist could explain it, but I have no evidence against the theory that I have been present since the beginning of time. I have witnessed everything, the Beginning and the End and, by the laws of interchronial migration, a portion of my being remains in every era and every corner of the galaxy that has struck up the fancy of my superiors. And in that respect, I guess I am a sort of god. A god in chains. But I know that around three million years from present time, my cell does not exist, so I assume that is when I died. Or will die? It is confusing stuff. My knowledge is outdated, my brain too gutless to understand such complicated concepts. I could build a thousand of these blasted time machines without a single strain of intellectual exertion (I remember the mechanism, after all), but I could never understand how they work. I suppose I never will, either. I am a stupid creature.