Les Mouches Fantastiques (amateur journal)/March 1920/God Amuses Himself

In a vast shadowy place pierced by sharp stabs of sunlight an old man sits. His face droops low over his withered hands, and the long end of his dusky garment winds interminably through space. It trails across a world, and on it gleam innumerable eyes, as stars. And as He sits, wrapped in silence, His ministers, ​whose names are Pleasure and Pain and Love and Suffering and Despair catch in a huge net myriad birds, and lay them fluttering before Him. And He, with His slender fingers, that seem like claws, so long have the nails grown, slowly, feather by feather, plucks the struggling things, and strews the feathers about Him riotously. When they are nude and dumb with agony, He flings them along the length of His garment, to become a star, perhaps. I have been told that they become stars.