In the most eloquent words of humanity, I had found my answer. “Fuck. This. Job.” Five billion years, not a single raise and don’t even get me started on my benefits package. It was time for a change of scenery. Gazing down at the rotating sphere of molecules that had been my responsibility for so long, I didn't feel the pride and attachment I should have. I only felt a mild disgust; a learned reaction to the source of all my woes. I had crafted this planet and the solar system around it, specifically to create a being that could one day become like me. If, in the process, Corporate profited from the magic of sentient faith, who cared? Certainly not the humans. They didn’t truly seem to care about anything real or concrete. Some two hundred thousand earth years ago, I had planted the seeds of my existence and name with the early humans. They built small shrines; great accomplishments considering their means. They crafted songs and tales of my triumph, rituals to please me. But it didn’t last. Like nothing lasts. Carla and I didn’t last, and now I was here, stuck with a shitty job with shitty, unappreciative customers. The humans worshipped, but they didn’t worship me. As years passed and they skewered my image and my name; as the idea of me split into multiple beings, evolving and diverging, I could do nothing. Some, though a very small portion, had even begun to believe I didn’t exist at all. When I had requested an intervention Corporate had told me, “You can’t interfere directly now. We are in the business of keeping the consumer happy, and providing the best possible service. Your interruption would only cause ache for your customers, and we highly recommend you reflect upon our core values as a business before contacting us on such a matter again.” Bullshit. They were just worried about a disruption in flow of revenue. If I had tried to correct humanity, it would have taken time, and in that time, faith might be lost or stalled for a period. Corporate couldn’t have that. So I persevered; watching as my creation progressed towards its natural goal. This progress did not come without obstacles, and honestly, at this point I wasn’t sure if my progeny would succeed. They fought amongst themselves constantly, far more than any society I had ever seen. I had reasoned this away to a lack of a natural foe; no other species on this earth neared their intelligence. Even so, this need to express their own aggression didn’t bode well for an eventual ascension. Fuck it. It didn’t matter, I would absolve myself of this horrifying machine and go somewhere where I could relax, and find my own truths. Corporate wouldn’t even realize I was gone; they had only voluntarily corresponded with me once, following a sharp dip in production. I couldn’t have cared less about their production levels. A different scene would do me good, and it was something I needed. With a sigh, I had pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and put down my magazine. I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the humans. I had given them everything, and yet they had forgotten me with the speed of someone who was determined to forget. I would never get the recognition I deserved, and it hurt. But who cares? Not me. I was moving on. The console that had been set before me glowed with an ambient blue light. On the right of my desk, a small microphone silently judged my internal justifications; adding to my musings with its own chorus of jeering static. If I was quitting, I really didn’t have to worry about corporate repercussions. Maybe this was my chance to get that recognition, even if I wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. I drummed my fingers over the dusty desktop, mulling it over. It really couldn’t hurt much at this point. I may as well indulge myself, right? Jamming my finger on the button, the receiver crackled to life. I cleared my throat, and peered down at my people. They couldn’t see me, but they would hear me, and that was enough. “Excuse me,” I said. Simultaneously, every head on earth swiveled upward, toward the apparent source of the voice. It didn’t matter where they were, his people would understand him. His language was built in to them, even if they had forgotten it. “I need to tell you something. My name is Guy. I don’t know how you got Allah or Yaweh from that, but I am your God.” Immediately, uproar peeled forth from the planet. Many people had fainted, and those who hadn’t were completely arrested by the great voice booming down from the sky. General disbelief seemed to be the greatest of responses. “You need to understand something. You are my greatest disappointment, my ultimate failure. You have done nothing good in my name, and more evil than all else for other names. You are being abandoned. From this moment forth, you have no God. Hate me, disregard me, do whatever you will. You are alone.” With that, I took my hand off the mic, and I left. I didn’t stay to revel in the human’s chaos; I didn’t call to let my supervisor know I quit. I just left, and I moved on. Or so I thought. It had felt like mere moments before a nagging thought began to burrow it’s way into my being. What had I wrought with my proclamation? The serene stellar scenery that I had surrounded myself with was not having its intended effect, and I kept circling back to this particular notion. I didn’t believe that I had cared, but in my earth’s absence I felt even more hollow than I had before. I wondered if this was something akin to the love a human mother had for its child. It was a great longing and love, no matter what the circumstances. Surely, it wasn’t the same thing. I had to go back. I had to see them, see what I had done. So I went, and it is something I will always regret. It had been nearly two thousand earth years when I returned, and it was a vastly different planet. There was almost no war, no fighting. The hatred had left the planet and with it progress had soared. This was a people nearing ascension, and it was both baffling and warming to see. With all the positive progress, there was one festering sore the on the beautiful façade of the planet. Following my proclamation, the planet had been shut into chaos for a short time before it reemerged under a nearly unanimous dogma. God was real, God had abandoned us, and we will go on. An evil god who would abandon his people did not deserve their time. As the years progressed, only one group chose to remain apart from them. Those who still worshipped me as benevolent. They had preached for generations that this era of godlessness was naught but a test; I would return, announce myself and provide a clear path. How wrong these men and women were, when I didn’t even know my own path well enough to stick with a decision. Regardless, their faith and love was a comfort that I couldn’t remember having for such a long time. After all of my vitriol had spilled, I had finally gotten the recognition for my role. Truly, the universe was fickle and cruel, but what was I to expect? The revelation of my final recognition was cut short by a deep buzzing reaching my ears. I looked at the communicator before me with a strange anticipation; I almost needed to be reprimanded for what I had done. I stared at the communicator on my desk and the earth slowly rotating in view beyond it. This would be a quick conversation, I was sure. “Damn if that wasn’t a risk, Guy. Damn if it didn’t look bad, but that is the absolute quickest I have ever seen a society turn around and reach toward ascension. You’re finally there! You telling the humans you wouldn’t interfere, that you were leaving them- it was pure genius. Congratulations. You’re going to get a promotion for this, I promise you that!” The voice of my boss, congratulating me on my triumph, left me without words. “Now, I’m sure you’d like to celebrate, but there is one last thing we need you to take care of. There is a final, negligible minority that needs to be eradicated by natural means, in order to ensure ascension. Do us a favor and take care of it, then come back to headquarters and we’ll discuss that promotion. Details will bee in your missive. Congrats again, Guy.” I put the communicator down. I was hoping, with everything I had, that I wasn’t being asked to do what I thought. As I read the missive moments later, those hopes were dashed desperately aside. I had to kill my accomplishments, kill the recognition I had so dearly sought. There was no possible way I would let this happen. The only option was to leave again, and hope for the best. It was the only choice that felt right, as how could I kill the only light my sorry soul had found in so long? This time, I was leaving the corporate world for good. Eons later, I sat immobile in a room, looking out amongst a young universe. This place was new, untainted, and beautiful. It was a marvel, and some time ago I would never have had the chance to see it in such a way. None of this did anything to fulfill me. There was a gentle knock on the door, and a slight being with a meek presence poked his head in to address me. “Sir, the construction manager wants to know when her teams can start. Everyone is getting anxious.” “Tell them to start when ever, it doesn’t matter. We will milk the magic from this place like any other. Now go.” The attendant left with out a noise and left me to my thoughts. It was times like this when I always recounted my first planet, and those humans thay I so dearly sought recognition from. They really did have the right of things, with their words. Fuck. This. Job.