by Mark Twain (1909)
The Creator sat upon the throne, thinking.
Behind him stretched the illimitable continent of heaven, steeped in a glory of
light and color; before him rose the black night of Space, like a wall. His
mighty bulk towered rugged and mountain- like into the zenith, and His
divine head blazed there like a distant sun. At His feet stood three colossal
figures, diminished to extinction, almost, by contrast -- archangels -- their
heads level with His ankle- bone.
When the Creator had finished thinking, He said, "I have thought. Behold!"
He lifted His hand, and from it burst a fountain- spray of fire, a
million stupendous suns, which clove the blackness and soared, away and away and
away, diminishing in magnitude and intensity as they pierced the far frontiers
of Space, until at last they were but as diamond nailheads sparkling under the
domed vast roof of the universe.
At the end of an hour the Grand Council was dismissed.
They left the Pr...