Eclectic Voices

Fiction, Monologues, Plays & More

Universal Love

stockvault-starfield138354Part of the February Writing Challenge: Write a love story for the thing you love the most.

by Sean M. Kozma

The Universe was in love with itself. Leaving aside for the moment that there was naught else to love, for It was all there was, the Universe loved Itself wholly and completely. It wanted to be as close to Itself as possible and so It squeezed Itself tighter and tighter, compressing Itself into tiny ball of pure concentrated love, until It could no longer contain Itself. The Universe exploded itself outward in thick, gooey ropes of hot white matter. Unbound, the Universe’s love for Itself sprayed outward in an uncontrolled, unending fountain of sticky, messy affection until, having spread Itself to the far vast corners of nothingness, the Universe lay spent.

That’s when the trouble started.

In Its ecstasy, It had spread Itself too thin. It had become, in essence, discorporate. It lay that way for a long time. Every now and then It tried to rouse and compose Itself, but no part of Itself was particularly close to any other part. Here and there, one particle found another in the vast, lonely ocean of nothing, and once found would cling to each other in fierce desperation. In order to collect Itself, the Universe would need to invent physics. Which it did. This is more complicated than it sounds.

Eventually, larger and larger clumps began to gather together, but these conglomerations in no way resembled the glorious, blinding unity of love the Universe had been at the start. What began as an ejaculation of fiery love had become a slow congealing of cooling matter into lumpy puddles. Physics is a harsh mistress that way.

But the larger those clumps of stuff grew, the more attractive they became to other stuff. Soon, giant masses of matter were clutching each other, trying to reenact the First Squeeze. They hugged each other tight, as the Universe once did, hoping to recapture the blissful oneness of that first impossible embrace. One mass got so big and squeezed so tight that it ignited into a miniature glowing reenactment of that first release.

The Universe had learned its lesson and this release was a slow, constant, tantric pulse — squeeze and release, squeeze and release. Plus it was now restrained by the physical laws It had created to bond Itself. Yes, in the kinky way. Don’t judge. Other masses of mass got in on the act and ignited themselves as well. Soon the Universe, while still mostly discorporate, was aglow with the warming passions of atomic BDSM play.

These glowing furnaces of kink continued to attract other gatherings of matter that swirled and hovered around the periphery of their lovemaking. Too vanilla to get in on the game, these voyeuristic clumps of stuff were content to hold on to each other in a pale shadow of the First Squeeze, sometimes starting an inner glow of their own. These clumps would experience their own occasional, embarrassing spurts and eruptions, although usually of modest and limited release.

After a time, these cold, shriveled clumps began to collect a slimy film on their surface. Within the thin scum, bits of goop began to collect. Some bits of goop split themselves into multiple bits of goop. Other bits of goop clung to each other and expelled more goop onto each other to cause the creation of still more goop. Those bits soon began swimming, gliding, and even loping about on two legs through the envelope of muck.

One day, two of these clumps of goo — oh let’s call one of them John, and the other one Jane – fell in love. At least, they thought it was love. Mostly it was chaotic riot of murky neurochemical reactions, hormonal emissions, family pressures, societal expectations, and gender roles, but they thought it was love, and that was good enough. John and Jane squeezed each other and swapped goo in a sweaty, awkward expression of glandular affection, and created a third gooey clump they named Jack.

Jack grew up to be an astronaut. He too in turn fell in bizarro-chemical-love with a shambling mound of genetic glop named Jill. Jill was attractive, for a mound of fleshy pulp, and had an advanced mathematical degree and an awesome job building spaceships. She was part of the team that flung her beloved Jack from the confines of the murky puddle that covered their ball of rock and into the deadly depths of space.

This too was an expression of love. Quite apart from the ejaculatory symbolism, Jack’s goop-people were continuing the never-ending endeavor of the Universe to reunite with Itself. And placing one’s self in extreme jeopardy of death in order to go someplace that would otherwise normally kill you is an act of love. A weird, counter-intuitive, psychotic act of love.

So too is war, famine, disease, oppression, murder, genocide, and a whole host of other horrible things that fit awkwardly into the metaphor at best. Because the Universe is made of love, and the Universe is all there is. So too are we all made of love. Sticky, goopy love.

“And love is all, and love is everyone.” – The Beatles, or somebody.


Sean M. Kozma is a writer, sound designer, and audio technician living in Los Angeles, and working in professional theatre. He also works behind the camera on independent films as production manager, assistant director, and line producer. Originally hailing from southeast Michigan, he has worked as a dishwasher, a fry cook, a delivery driver, a taxicab driver, a dispatcher, an engraver, and an office drone. He is currently writing a novel, among other projects.

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This entry was posted on February 22, 2015 by in Fiction and tagged , , , , , .
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