The Favorite Child

Once upon a time there was a sun. This was a while back, mind you, before we knew how to refer to our Mother that way. And there were moons, our Fathers, and then there was Mother’s favorite child, too, who got everything in the galaxy that she wanted.

It started with our births. Some of our sisters had no Fathers, and some had over fifty Fathers. I had two Fathers. But one was all that was needed, apparently, as it was the only one with a single Father that became the favorite child. And none of us ever got what she had, not even the smallest things, like vegetation, or microorganisms.

Eventually the Favorite Child spawned organisms that could think and talk for themselves. Except I suspect their thinking and talking was quite different from ours. They communicated with each other using chords in the backs of their throats. They were violent. Sometimes they ate each other. But, according to Favorite Child, it was not without reason. It was how they got their substance to exist.

We were all enamored with these creations, as if they were our own.

I hated being like that. I wanted my own creations that were not stationary, smaller pieces of us. I asked Favorite Child how she got these beings.

“I am not sure,” she said. “I think it’s just the way it worked out. I just got lucky with Mother and my Father.” She was embarrassed.

I was unsatisfied with this answer. Favorite Child’s explanation made it sound like it would be impossible for us to have our own creatures. I couldn’t help having two Fathers and being farther away from Mother!

The Favorite Child took care of these conscious creatures for a while. Some of our sisters grew bored, and I pretended to be. But really, I cared about them almost as much as Favorite Child did. I wanted them to remain around until Mother went through all of her phases, and when even we could no longer exist. And it seemed like maybe they would. Until, one day, a large piece of a far-away cousin broke off.

The Favorite Child’s creations had made her soft. Or, perhaps, it was the creations themselves that were soft. We were used to getting hit with falling body parts all the time. But a whole bunch of The Favorite Child’s creations weren’t accustomed to that. They quickly burned to bits.

She cried, and we comforted her. But secretly I wished, deep down, that it would be my turn next. That I could have something to take care of, something that needed substance to thrive. It didn’t even need to communicate with others. Everything about myself was so boring, just dirt and rocks and nothing else. I thought of approaching Mother about this, but it was too soon, I decided. Favorite Child was still reeling from her loss.

A whiff of time passed, and there still remained conscious beings on Favorite Child. Her creations were stronger than we thought. We were impressed. And we were jealous. When would it be my turn? No matter how much time went by, it always seemed too soon to ask Mother for my own creatures.

It wasn’t always so easy for the Favorite Child’s creations. She had icy areas, like our two farthest sisters. They cracked and crumbled under our Mother’s beams. It was just part of life for these creatures, Mother explained. Life. An unfamiliar word. It’s how Mother explained Favorite Child’s beings. They are conscious. They are alive. They are life.

While far-away relatives went through their entire existence, Favorite Child’s alive beings changed just as slowly as our family did. We watched with awe as the creations became more and more aware of themselves. Favorite Child nurtured them, slowly weaving comforts into their makeups, advantages to help them live easier. We saw the love Favorite Child had for these beings. Some of our sisters lost their jealousy. Our closest sister thought Favorite Child was foolish. “They won’t ever give anything back,” she said. “You give them so much and they don’t give you anything.”

Favorite Child protested. “That’s not true,” she said, and I agreed with her. Our closest sister was wrong. Maybe she was bitter. It’s unlikely that she’d ever be able to support some sort of organic being. She’d never have something as meaningful as Favorite Child did. Those creatures gave everything to Favorite Child. They gave her a reason to “live.”

At some point, Favorite Child’s most interesting creations emerged. They became more aware of themselves and their surroundings. Quite resourceful, too. Before Favorite Child could build them to be stronger, they made cloths to cover themselves and conserve heat when it was too cold for them. They displayed a remarkable ability to grasp the basics of our makeup, even if just in the smallest parts. Referring to themselves as “human beings,” they formed entire civilizations.

The humans gave us names, after their deities. “Mercury” and “Venus” were the names given to our closest sisters. The ones farthest were called “Uranus,” “Neptune,” “Saturn,” and “Jupiter,” and then for me they chose “Mars.” They named Favorite Child “Earth,” which we all found rather ugly. But she loved it, of course. And, though I hesitate to admit it now, I loved being named by them. I loved being acknowledged by them. It was almost like having my own creatures. Almost. But not enough.

They grew extremely hostile to each other. Even more than the life before them. And it was strange, because so often they weren’t hostile for survival. It simply seemed like it was a part of their nature. But Favorite Child disputed this. It was just a part of their intelligence, she said. Besides, they had a kind nature as well. I believed her. Earth.

But “Mercury” and “Venus” continued to doubt her. They were strangely resistant to these creatures, despite the fact that the creatures themselves were so fascinated with them. Some of them could just glance up to view them with their eyes. “Uranus” and “Neptune” were too far from Mother to care. No one on Favorite Child could see them without some sort of tool. At least, most nights that was true. Every once in a while, if they squinted, the humans could see Uranus.

It was “Jupiter,” “Saturn,” and I who were closest to Favorite Child, not in location but in feeling. These creatures were kind. They couldn’t have survived this long if they weren’t.

They advanced faster than the other beings. They played around with the particles in their universe. It was amusing. They used them to create all types of things. Some were for a benefit, although some we couldn’t seem to figure out the purpose for. The beings grew curious about us, even going so far as to venture off Favorite Child and onto her Father. We hadn’t even heard of any creation doing that. They poked us all with their machines. Something called a “rover” was sent over to me. It felt like a gift. Maybe it was, or maybe it’s foolish of me to believe that. I received a few “rovers.” These “rovers” were the most precious things I owned, the closest to life.

These creations were perfect.

Except when they were violent. Which was frequently. And when they split atoms to their smallest bits to incite violence against each other. We gave them this gift; why did they use it for pain?

And then they used Favorite Child for resources. They created tools to cut down into Favorite Child, to dissect her and pick her apart and see how they could benefit from her insides. We watched in horror. Favorite Child insisted it wasn’t bothering her, but I could see it was. It made her hazy, and it made her smoky. Some of us were adept at existing at high temperatures, but not Favorite Child. And certainly not Favorite Child’s creations.

These creatures got way too comfortable playing around with atoms. They never made anything quite like what we had, of course they didn’t, but that didn’t stop the damage. Millions of years, which was a long time for them, had gone into creating a silky sheet to protect them from Mother’s beams. They were so lucky to have that. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, they manipulated a way to rip that sheet wide open. It made Favorite Child uncomfortably hot all the time.

I was concerned. Eventually, I approached her and asked, “Why do you keep letting them do this?”

“Because I love them,” she replied.

“But do they love you back?” It was a harsh question, and I knew it.

“Of course they do. I’m their favorite child.” I was surprised at her acknowledgement of our nickname for her. I wonder if she knew.

“But you’re their only child.”