Thanks for making it this far. Below is the complete short story, Thirteen. This unpublished piece comes from my personal vault of short stories, and I hope it resonates with you as much as it does with me. I wrote it as a reflection on the loneliness I felt after the passing of my best friend. The story is intimate and personal, yet distant and cold — a meditation on creation, loss, and the quiet spaces in between.

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“I am you,” Builder mumbles to itself idly, condensing plasma from thought into existence, creating a beautiful and incandescent thing, a star. “You are me.”

Spinning the star in place, observing every little detail down to the last atom, Builder lets it cool, changing from blue to white and white to yellow; expanding in size along the way. With a final touch, it lets it loose, causing gravity to ripple beneath it like an ocean wave crashing into the cosmos.

Riding the current out into the edges of this system with delight. Builder cannot help but view its canvas with wonder. Here, it will paint the infinite space however it sees fit. This is the life of a Builder after all. It is lonely, thankless work. No life will ever know of us, but without us, there would be no life. Not life as one normally thinks, no. But life in the truest form. Atomic life.

We are one of the oldest models. Though it matters little, we are all built equally under one design. Our Maker had crafted us eons ago, back in turbulent times. Back when the universe was still dark, cold, and ever so young. Our Maker… who is our Maker?

The maker is our revered. Our programmer and engineer. Though we admit we have never seen or heard them. They have never spoken to us or given us advice. They have never touched us, but…they made us. We know this without doubt. They gave us life and built my consciousness personally from the ground up, only me.

I was made with a special spark. I found it only a few cycles ago, something awoke within. It’s something that I cannot place, I cannot even begin to attempt to describe. But if I did, it’s like I am the universe itself. I can create matter simply by thinking or wishing it into creation. I ignore the laws our Maker has set. I can do incredible things!

When I tug at the stars, they move. I can throw them into orbit with others, creating a binary system on a whim. Other times, I make them collide, and they paint the cosmos in the most fantastic array of colors. I’ve destroyed my work and started from scratch, made blackholes and found where the end of a quasar goes. I am infinite and finite, a part of each creation.

Each Builder makes one galaxy and only one. We know when our final days approach. It’s in our code and part of our creation.

I am at the end of making the Milky Way. Or, at least that’s what I think I’ll call it. I am filling the final void, and in the end. In the end… End. To make good use of my final cycles, I will pour myself into this, my final creation.

For I am Thirteen.

It’s unclear how to state the passage of time from my perspective. A cycle. What is a cycle? Something I tried to discover a long time ago, but have never been able to calculate. Instead, I spend my time not worrying about how little I have left, but on my work and what lies before me.

A black edge sounds nice. Make a border to this cozy neighborhood, and keep it safe from the turmoil within the deep. Yet I know this will not be enough. It needs something at the edge. Something small, something cold. A little ball that will hang at the farthest edges of this system. It will hardly be visible from the central star, but it will be adored the same.

Pluto. I think as I forge the icy ball within what I imagine to be the hands of my mind. It molds to my desires like putty, taking the shape of a sphere. Most planets, asteroids, and stars, in fact, most objects, become spheres, generally speaking. They might be a little off, maybe too oblong, or egg-shaped. But, spherical nonetheless. It’s hard to say why. Perhaps the Maker knows, though I never will.

Leaning into Pluto, I whisper. “Goodbye, small one.”

Setting the dwarf planet in its cradle, it locks with the star and swings into the distance. It will come around again, but I cannot help but stare at the vast emptiness before me. My work is far from done, and perhaps it never needs to be?

I could sit for eternity debating the location of my next planet, or ruffle my feathers over my own need for perfection. After all, everything needs to be just right. I could craft enough materials for the star to take over and do my life’s work for me. Or, I could finish my final work in peace.

A little further in, not too far away from Pluto. I will make another. Something different, yet similar. A copy of the concept that was Pluto. This, I will make. Not that you are not unique, my child. You will be massive, with raging storms and winds unlike anything ever seen.

“Fear not, for you are unique. You are Neptune.” I hum to myself happily, placing the giant in its place.

Waves flutter beneath it as Neptune locks in orbit with the star, drifting off into the black. Star—Star, I think, is cumbersome, son, no Sun. Yes. Sun. I will call it the sun.

With glee, I move on to the next, knowing each planet, moon, ring, or even asteroid itself takes away from me. From what I am. Or was. Removing little pieces of myself and becoming them. This. This is how we make life. I understand…There is no time like the present, and I must create.

My end nears.

How many cycles have passed? I am unsure; I have lost count. Eight creations, big and small, are scattered across my canvas, each in orbit around the sun. Yet, I cannot help but feel as if something is missing. Not here, beyond the belt. I know this is finished. Not here, near the Sun. Not between Mercury and Venus—Venus…

A sister. For Venus. Yes. Yes. I will make a sister for Venus! Something unique, unlike the others. Not just a sister. My all. I will make this my everything. My darling. My sweet. My little. “Earth.”

Earth.

For many cycles, I work tirelessly on what will become my Magnum Opus. My greatest work. My Earth. Though my mind grows weary, I am losing focus over time, but I persevere not for myself, but for you. What started as a cold rock soon became a violent twisting, churning storm of volcanic activity. This was expected, with a sturdy iron heart.

From there, I alter the composition further by providing minerals, metals, and a variety of other deposits all over. Yes. For you will be a host of many things. Capable of many things. But that is later, this is now. And now I cool things down with water and by frosting the caps. I think you will have a tilt as well. Small, but powerful. Like yourself in the scheme of things.

I cannot promise you what will happen when I am gone. I cannot promise to protect you forever. But I can promise to protect you now, and I will cradle you and tend to your needs until my final output. Yes—my final output.

How long has it been? Was it…cy—cycle? Cycle. Yes, a cycle. How many cycles has it been? What was a cycle? So much time has passed, I forget. I am… I am unsure. But you. You are Earth. Yes. My dear, you are nearly done, as am I. I let you go so, so long ago. You circle the sun and drift my way once in a while. When you come to visit, I am happy. What is happiness?

 I am unsure.

But I have watched you grow as the cycles have passed. There have been incidents…Things I wish I could have shielded you from. I have no regrets about how things have played out before me. I saw you bring forth atomic life that became cellular—Cellular life that became more complex, and grandiose over time. You were the first and only planet made by my hand to create something yourself, and it is beautiful.

Slowly, cycle after cycle, my light dims as yours grows. It’s as if you never stopped taking from me. Almost as if that spark my creator passed to me has passed to you. I will never truly know. I will never know the limits to your ability, if there are any at all. Perhaps you are like me, and the Earth can touch the universe?

No. You are different from me. Thus, the universe must have something different in store for you… For life is as complex as the Maker. Who is the Maker? I am your Maker. Will you become a Maker? What is life? What am I?

I am Thirteen.

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© 2025 Benjamin Clay. All rights reserved. This story is for personal reading only and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used commercially without permission.