Portrait of a God II.

So there he was. More than a mere thought, less than a real being. No flesh, no bones... Just colours and shapes. A child in time, a broken circle, waiting to be filled. Waiting for immortality... Or was he already immortal? Was he really a god? A true one, with purpose and all the time of the whole world at his hands. He lived in his creator's mind, that was clear to him by now. So he lived while the creator lived. That was kind of clear, too... Or was it? Couldn't he live on, as a memory, as a fragment of the past? Couldn't he live on through all the words typed concerning him, through all the pictures, all the games? He was a god, after all. And gods are immortal. He was immortal. Even after death, someone will eventually pick him up, he was sure of that. His life will continue, with new events among new people, even himself will become something new, something strange and never known. Maybe they'll change his name... Maybe they won't. It didn't matter to him, after all, as long as he lived on, with all his thoughts, all his failures and emotions. With his mismatched eyes, long, silvery hair, black-as-night skin. With his soul. The soul of a God...