God

He looked at her and knew she was his creation. She looked back at him and spoke at the exact same instant he thought she did and that's why he knew it. He'd thought it. She was his and he was his own. A completely unguarded mote of self. Why it was like this was beyond him, but if god was "in everyone" then he was surely god. Everyone thought they were god, but everyone was his creation which made him about as sure a bet as anyone else. Perhaps a slightly better one. Stars circled galaxies, planets stars, moons planets, the whole nested cluster of complexity and glory was his to invent. That's why he knew it. Someone of his invention had told him about the imperfections, but where do you think "art mimicks life" comes from? He snickered. He liked that one. Time was a line that added another dimension to Now-ness, just like the concept of self added another dimension to his photo format world. What else was missing. Nothing. He'd made it all and the bits that weren't there were just as there as anything else. In fact it would have been crowded if he had made them, which he couldn't have of course. He hadn't thought of them, so they didn't exist. Just the concept of them missing existed and that was a slight bore. Funny to think this would all go with him when he died. The true plight of god. Everything here - everything you think you know because he thinks it will stop and cease to exist when he passes away. That's the way it should be. Stop thinking until I tell you you have.