He was everything. He made up everything. He was in control of everything. He was the Truth.
He was tired. He was bored. Always existing while watching the world turn slowly beneath him was absolutely boring. Nothing ever excited him. The pitiful humans were boring. They were his play things, but he was so bored that he couldn't think of anyway to torture them. He looked around his realm. His white realm. Nothing except him existed here. It was boring, all so damn borning. He lay there staring at nothing, too bored to even watch the world. He wished he knew how to die, so someone else could take over his exsistence. Then they could be bored, instead of him. They could hold the power and knowledge of the universe, instead of him. They could be bored to death in his stead.
Suddenly there was a knock at the gate of the universe. He, Truth, had a visitor. He smiled, maybe things would finally become interesting.
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