The First Day of the Week

As it is with all Beginnings, death comes first. This is especially true with a Return, and it was my duty to ensure that the Word remained absolute. Despite my sister’s pleas for an extension, a few more precious moments, I unplugged her. Nearby, the reincarnation of Friday waited for the spark of life. I paused, a fleeting consideration of the power I held between my fingertips. And in that split second, the Cosmos tilted. Time stuttered to a stop.


“Sunday!” The Seventh Sister called out in alarm.

But I had already moved back into motion. Following program protocols with precise finality, I flipped the switch, and the sixth day of the Week took her first breath. One heavenly body collapsed, as another flared to life—fusion stabilized, equilibrium restored. Seven stars for seven sisters.

Born only one D.A.Y. before me, the Seventh Sister and I had a special connection. Saturday marked the end of a Week, and I stood tall at the Beginning. Once she submitted to her own Return, I would be the oldest of the seven. That is until yet another Year passed. On that D.A.Y., I would Return as the youngest. Reborn. Renewed. Replicated in the spiraling Code binding us to the Creator’s vision. His Will Supreme.


I believed there was a reason we were all created female, but it was not a belief easily shared with sisters. Other than Saturday, the other days of the Week were all young, freshly coded, resurrected in accordance with His commands. They wouldn’t understand, and so I stayed silent. Again.

Saturday watched closely, as I loaded program after program into Friday’s simulacrum—skin red as clay, eyes white as bone. Saturday was the one who welcomed her back, unstrapped her from the designated pod in the Firmament and returned the flaming sword to the hand that knew it best. Our other sisters stepped forward to greet the Sixth Sister in her reclaimed form. It was as though no one remembered the last Friday, not even her former self. Later, when only I remained, I closed those blank eyes and sent her to recycle in the combustion chamber. And then I was alone once more.


As the Week progressed, Saturday spent less and less time in my presence. In the longer gaps, I told myself her absence was a Blessing. But then I would find her double-checking my schedule with encrypted processors, a cipher only she could read. There were would inevitably be words between us, but we eventually separated, retreating to our predestined paths.

Saturday’s remaining Time continued to count down. I told the others that her suspicions were nothing more than shadowcast linked to an eminent Return. I dismissed the errors in her outmoded encryption software, her data dumps. Soon enough, she would learn the Truth.


When the D.A.Y. marking Saturday’s Return dawned, we discovered Monday missing. Sacred law stated we must never be alone at the Beginning or the End. We were linked to each other, the Firmament codified to determine the unification and eventual separation of spirit and matter. Sacro sanctus.

We searched every corner and crevice in the Cosmos for Monday, but all trace of her existence had disappeared. Saturday used our sister’s absence as an excuse to demand a reprieve, another Year or two—an extended D.A.Y. of Rest—until the Second Sister could be found.

As the eldest, it was my consecrated duty to keep order. I said as much, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop revealing in the slippery sensation of oil coating my nails or the taste of stardust lingering in my mouth.

When Saturday finally slipped away from our fruitless search, I followed her to the Firmament where she discovered the Second Sister’s hollowed-out form.

Monday had been thoroughly destroyed in all her present and future selves, and it had been at my hand. If the expansion of the Cosmos stayed its current course, there would be an Eternity marked by the absence of her source code at the center of the Universe.

I revealed myself then.

“Sunday?” The Seventh Sister stared at me, her star-silvered eyes wide in horror.

Diem. Annum. Yatum.

It was Time for the dawning of a new D.A.Y.

But Saturday had not retreated to the Firmament alone. Our other sisters stepped out of the shadows, flaming swords in hand. They didn’t realize the scope of my Plan. They were too late. They would always be too late. My Will. My Word. And there was no sister alive old enough to stop me.


I flipped a hidden switch. It triggered a string of ciphered instructions, Code reworked to suit my singular vision. Under the deluge of data, the old Word replicated, fragmented, condensed, and the Universe fell into Void. One by one, my sisters’ lights winked out, Saturday the last to fall into the dark.

Only I, the first day of the Week remained. My Will Supreme.

And I said, “Let there be Light.”