Chapter 4: God's Own Sitcom Showbiz

In the epicenter of all realities, Seymour's soul stood dumbstruck in front of a stunning goddess, her radiant beauty shimmering through the vastness. He had just discovered that he had been intentionally killed off, however, the twist that awaited him was enough to make his head spin.

"I am God's actor." She boasted, and the entire domain seemed to pulsate under her words.

But as the news sunk in, Seymour's rage began to boil within him. "So, let me get this straight," he sputtered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If I heard correctly, God has turned this whole existence into some kind of sitcom showbiz? Is he auditioning for a prime-time slot or something?"

"Whahaha!!!"

To his utter surprise, the goddess before him burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. Her chuckles echoed through the cosmos, causing the stars to twinkle with mirth, and her ample bosom bounced to the rhythm of her laughter, sending ripples through the threads of infinite realities she wove.

After what seemed like an eternity of hysterical laughter, she paused, wiping away a tear of amusement. She then composed herself and replied, "Oh, Seymour, you have no idea. The prime universe is, indeed, a sitcom show. God has actors playing each of his boundless attributes. Hilarity is a factor that abounds in every dimension."

"Jeez! What a sick joke, this is!" Seymour thought as his jaw dropped and eyes widening in disbelief. "So, you're in fact, telling me that our entire existence is just one big comedy show, and humans are nothing more than pawns in God's cosmic farce?"

"Right, my dear Seymour," the goddess heaved a sigh with her eyes twinkling mischievously. "We, actors and pawns alike, are but mere players in a grand cosmic punchline. The audience up there," she gestured skyward, "just can't get enough of our hopeless antics."

Seymour's mind whirred with the implications that came with this crazy revelation. All this time, acting like he had control over all what happened in his life, he was just a character in some absurd comedy, a puppet manipulated by an invisible laugh track.

For some reason, it always felt like life had a knack for playing the Darwinian game of birth, suffering, death and repeat. However, little did he know the reason was such a half-baked one.

"But why then, was I killed off before my time?" Seymour demanded, his voice tinged with pent-up frustration.

The goddess paused for a moment, her gaze penetrating his soul, as though searching for the right words. "You see, Seymour, I weave the laws of infinite realities in the prime universe. It's all part of my job as God's actor. But you see, something went awry, a tiny twig in one of these realities. If left unchecked, it could cause a continuum of monumental problems. So, I had no choice than to intervene. But, of course, I couldn't just meddle haphazardly. No, I needed someone, someone with your unique blend of characteristics, to fix that mess for me."

Seymour stared at the goddess with disdainful disbelief, his eyes wide as saucers. This was outrageous, absurd, preposterous, utterly nonsensical!

"What do you mean by one with my characteristics? Wasn't I created a pawn like everyone else?" He asked angrily.

"Well, you see, even pawns were given free will to do whatever that pleased them." She said, her eyes looking past Seymour, into a tiny crack in the fractal wall. "I don't weave your personalities from the onset, I weave reality and circumstances to beat it into you. Your approach to it, is what defines you."

That didn't take much to comprehend, but what Seymour couldn't cope with was the thought of being snuffed out because some pompous beings didn't know how to do their jobs, much less wipe their own mess. A situation not far off from dying to run a cosmic janitorial service.

Yet, there was curiosity in Seymour's eyes. "So, you expect me to believe that I, a mere mortal, have to fix the mess created by a cosmic sitcom malfunction?" He questioned.

The goddess smiled, her laughter echoing through the enclosure. "Absolutely, Seymour! Embrace the absurdity, play along with the cosmic joke. After all, what's life without a little laughter?" She asked with the same mischievous look she pulled previously.

"Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to bring balance back to the realm of comedy. Will you be the hero that saves the punchline?"

There was a slight pause, Seymour's eyes darting around as though measuring the odds, counting his benefits. "A finer detail of your mess would help, please."

The goddess stared back at him. "That piece of information will be woven into your path in due time."

Seymour's shoulders slumped in defeat, a grin slowly creeping across his face. "Alright then, goddess, I shall accept this ridiculous quest. I shall bring order to the chaos, one punchline at a time. Just whoosh me back to life... somehow, anyhow?"

"But of course, what good are you to me if you remain dead?" She asked, lifting her slender hand. A colorful spectrum of ethereal strings appeared, which she twiddled around into a body.

"Hmm, a bit lacking in the looks department, but what a beafbus! I see you put an ample lot of work in crafting the crotch area." Seymour teased with a large, mischievous grin, as he scrutinized the creation of the goddess. He peered at her perfectly shaped melons. "I suppose even the creator has a knack for big tits... what a bonafide tit-man he is."

The goddess blushed with a faint rosy hue on her cheeks, adding a touch of vulnerability to her ethereal countenance. Seymour's soul was instantly wrapped in strings before he knew it, and without warning, he was yanked into the body she just created.

"Moby!!" She called out. His camouflaged form instantly wore off, as he approached, bowing before her.

"You must transport him to the Arcanum. Watch over him until he reaches adulthood, and then you may return." She commanded, and Moby nodded obediently, ready to carry out his task.

His head expanded tenfold its normal size, with a mouth revealing fifteen rows of large, menacing, and sharply pointed teeth that jutted out in all direction. His resilient jawbone, laced with connective tissues bizarrely twisted together. Even fork tines were putting it lightly.

He effortlessly scooped up the unconscious Seymour and gobbled him down the bottomless abyss of his belly.

"Go now." She ordered, and Moby disintegrated into a cloud of threads.

"Hopefully, I haven't meddled too much..." She sighed, her cheeks still adorned with a rosy blush.

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