The year has no meaning, for there is no time. Not yet anyway-

  At the edge of meaning, there is a bar. This bar has always been there, where it came from is where it will end up.

  Two gods walk into the bar. The goddess of the soul and the god of the material. They sit at the bar and ask the bartender for drinks. They want to celebrate, of course.

  The bartender is a being made of concepts, a longing feeling, nostalgia and grief. It wipes down a volcanic glass for eons until it is eroded away into nothing. It then grabs another glass and continues wiping. It doesn’t need to get their drinks because their shots have already been poured.

  The goddess of the soul grabs a shot of pure light, and the god of the material grabs a shot of beauty. The god blinks before turning to the goddess. “Wait, aren’t our drinks swapped?”

  The goddess laughs, “Weren’t you the one that wanted to get drunk?”

  He grins, and in defiance to his own being, he yells out, “I don’t remember!”

  And they take the first shot-

  They slam the shot glasses upside down onto the bar top and the whole of reality shakes from the event. Given that all of reality is a bar at the edge of meaning, the feat is not that impressive.

  The goddess looks to the god, with her head in a halfway tilt. “What do you think will happen when time finally starts?”

  He nods thoughtfully, “That everything will go according to plan.”

  “Now we both know that’s not going to happen.”

  The god of the material frowns at the goddess. He was not expecting that answer. “Well, what was all that planning for then? If the universe is simply going to devolve into chaos, what were we doing for the past infinity?”

  “I was messing with you-”

  He furrows his brows. “About making the plan or about saying things weren’t going to go to plan?”

  She smiles at her god. “Figure it out.”

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  The god sighs, she is always like this, he thinks.

  The god and goddess looked up at the TV playing a game that never happened.

  Are they having fun? The goddess thinks. Are they following the rules? The god thinks.

  The game is a simple one. Two players stand across from each other, and a ref flips a coin between them. When the coin is mid air, one of the players has to call out what side of the coin will face up when it lands. If that player is right, they win. If that player is wrong, the other player wins.

  The god of the material comments on the game. “The game is that of skill. They simply need to perceive what the coin is going to land on before the other does, and that’s how you win.”

  The goddess of the soul frowns at her partner. “I don’t think that’s right. It is presumed that knowing what the coin will land on, is against the spirit of the game.”

  The god retorts. “Then the game is meaningless. If the only factor is luck, then what does this game tell us?”

  “You’re seeing this game as far more shallow than it is. For example, which is better? To be the player to call what the coin will land on, or to be the player that didn’t call.”

  He strokes his chin, “If the game is that of complete luck, then one who calls is irrelevant. Meaningless even.”

  She smiles, “To us, perhaps, but what to the players. Do you want to be the one handed the victory or the one who earned it?”

  The god pauses, “Huh… I- I didn’t consider that.”

  The gods sit next to each other in silence as the game continues. The one who won the game didn’t matter, but the one who called did.

  The god of the material sighs, “There is a third option to this game I didn’t mention.”

  The goddess of the soul raises her eyebrow at her companion, “And that is?”

  “They can both not call…”

  The goddess frowns before turning back to the TV. “It clearly states that one of them has to call.”

  “You know better than anyone, that the rules, will not stop the players.”

  To the surprise of the god, the goddess refuses. “No, I would not let them not call. For no one to call would be my death.”

  The god of the material tilts his head. “When did we start talking about life?”

  “We’re alive, we can only talk about life.”

  The god squints at his friend, “That’s technically correct.”

  She smiles, “The best kind of correct.”

  He scoffs and she laughs.

  And the endless night continues-