He Himself
Once upon a time a mountain rose as mountains tend to rise: very slowly.
This was a long, long time ago, and the process took a long, long time to finish. But eventually, and on the seventh day, stretching its full length toward the bright lit sky on a sunny morning, the mountain relaxed and let out a loud sigh.
And He Himself said, "What are you sighing for? I did all the work, wanker."
The mountain shuddered in despise for this creature who dared to impose on its long-awaited and well-deserved rest. Massive rocks rolled down the mountain side like inconsequential pebble and crushed not a lot, because there was not a lot to crush.
He Himself insisted, "What you are, you are because I wanted you to be."
The mountain flustered and flexed its ethereal muscles in anger. It rumbled a deep roar of barely withheld contempt. Inconceivably slowly it raised its left knee and peed. Somewhere it rained for a long time. An ocean came to be. Ought to be a hint enough, thought the mountain sedately, and as it grinned rocks and hills reformed violently into new compositions.
But He Himself persisted and refused to step down. "What you do, you do because I let you."
Ruffled, the mountain stood up and stretched is great bulk in agitation. It stamped its feet heavily to shake off its sleepyness. A continent was crushed in the process. Then it trampled purposefully around the world. Many livings things crumbled under its mass as it made its ponderous way, its stony mind set on one task and clouded by the stone-fog of Ulbatha-Ejor, the Mountain God of Carpets.
He Himself could see it all. "I see you come, and I let you come. Why shouldn't I? You are because I am."
The mountains bulky eyebrows wrinkled into metre-deep furrows, trenches of pure anger and spite. It wanted to find whoever this was. Find, and crush, then sleep. He was hiding somewhere - of course he was, the mountain thought, he's probably scared. He knows my power, he knows I will win.
In its search, it tore trees from their soil as easily as smaller creatures picked hair from their noses. It ploughed the soil with his nails, and knocked down and tipped over rocks with the back of its index finger. No stone unturned, no tree ignored, no cloud speared, no cave left untouched.
And He Himself laughed. "You can't find me, because I won't let you. Ungrateful little child."
As the mountain climbed to the top of the last continent and looked out on the beautiful, coloured world, it thought. Thoughts were not coming all that easily to this mighty creature of pure rock. But it thought.
Then the voices took hold, and his mind sprouted in a flurry of alien sounds and demands and laughter and sing-along-songs and cheerful gibberish that penetrated all the way down into its core, which tore, cracked, split, and fell apart.
Rocks the size of moons splattered across the world. Rocks on which, eons later, houses were built and tears were shed. But there was also love, and those were good days.