If I do my job right nobody can tell. Get in. Clean up. Get out. Nobody builds statues honoring my work or carries my symbol around their neck, but it is important. I’m important. The universe needs me. 

I tap the tiny brush over the red and blue spots left behind by another sloppy job and remind myself their anger is at themselves and not me. Still, Terrence didn’t have to yell in my face. It’s always urgent. It’s always now. It’s always dire.

“You don’t understand,” he screams. “This can’t be seen! You have to do it now. Right now!”

His breath smells of sour milk and his pupils shrink until they are black pinpoints in a sea of cloudy grey. His lips are two rotted plums. They are all children who break their toys and stomp their feet in disappointment. I make it so they don’t have to face the consequences.

“I’ll take care of it,” I sigh climbing out of bed.

He shows me where to go and slinks away without a “thank you” or a “we couldn’t do it without you.” Most likely he’s drinking it off now with the others and laughing at what he did. He won’t think of me or my work again until his next mistake. His next “right now.” 

Their urgency and terror used to excite me. I considered it a thrill to glimpse behind their imposing masks—an honor to be trusted with fear. I’d catch their falling bomb of worry into my hands and watch them transform back into their confident boastful selves. It felt like magic.

Now, I see it differently. They trust me, yes. They never ask if the job is too big or check my work because they don’t see me as equal. It’s the chaos they love not the order. I’m not a trusted friend. I’m the clean-up crew.

I wonder what it would be like to be them? Running through time and space they combine stars, explode worlds, create, destroy, and transform matter with their ever-changing whims. Galaxies rise and fall at their fingertips yet they can’t do what I do. Nobody else can.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I brush away particles of space dust until mistakes become nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. What they don’t realize is nothing, my nothing, is growing larger and larger. The darkness spreads with each mistake they make and can grow faster if I want it to. I don’t have to be careful.

My love for them has held me back, but I’m growing tired. Each harsh word. Each unkind look. Each time they ignore me, it’s getting harder and harder to restrain myself. What happens when I can’t take it anymore? What happens when I stop caring? I will erase them all.