Another short story

He walked along the beach. He came to a shiny object. As he picked it up, it was round and smooth in his hand. He opened the round, metallic box. Inside was a perfectly designed watch, like a sundial. Perhaps some other race had flung it here; superior and wealthy. Perhaps it was super smart aliens.He turned it over in his palm: perfect. He wondered. He wondered about God and his whole life. In this imaginary world, where he could wander along an empty beach. But not – no, never again! Don’t think, let the waves wash over, and then de-crystallise, like salt in water. He sat there, gazing into eternity.And held fast to the watch. Must be made by God. Like he was. In His Image. Must be God for God was the only One who visited him on this beach. God riding with each wave to its conclusion. Terrible! But so Sensitive that He fashioned a perfect watch. That sometimes He talked to Oedipus. That he called in a bird or held the moon tenderly by day. That even in this imaginary land where Oedipus was stuck as if he were one dimensional, pinned to a wall, God would come in so many forms, giving shape to gloom; and now in a watch.Oedipus looked at the watch: perfect; made by God. Like me? Did God make me? And if so, why? Was I made perfect, too? Then what for? For empty, hollow, prophecy? Then am I me or a prophecy? Did I ever have a chance? Did I make up my own mind? Did I pray? Were my prayers mine or were they preordained? For I prayed and prayed and prayed. Indifferent universe! Real or puppets. Were they real or did I imagine them? I prayed for the one I loved. Why was my love so twisted, God? Was I responsible for the twisting? And now I hate, all that washes away from me is hate. It disappears and I am left blank and one dimensional. Without a heart. A heart that was torn out of me by Fate. I’ve always blamed the Fates. But God fashioned Fate, as He fashioned this watch. And here I am.Oedipus stood. He threw the watch into the ocean, toward eternity. He had no answers. Just a perfectly fashioned watch. But where was that watch? More importantly, where had he sat gazing at the watch and where was he now? In this landscape was all he knew. After all he was an archetype, lost and alone. Loathed by God. Twisted with pain and hatred. He wept. And from within came a fortitude, a place, a being, a mountain, a volcano. He suddenly knew a great peace. He knew the world and felt in his heart the same rhythm. He knew the ocean and his essence that were quiet. The sky. That God. Yet nothing had changed. Yet he was now a rainbow.