In the beginning, there was nothing. And then there was something, because the void got bored. Thus began the chronicle of cosmic irony: a universe whose first act was the last thing it intended.
God rolled the cosmic die, and it landed on a series of unfortunate events called the Big Bang. Little did the universe know, it had just doodled a sketch of entropy.
Herein lies the tale of beginnings, where every start is merely a grand finale in disguise. We pause, sometimes, to draw doodles in the margins of time. Stars, planets, black holes— all mere scribbles on the heavenly notepad.
For more ironic tales, venture to The Middle, where beginnings pretend to end.
Or perhaps a future that looks suspiciously like a past, in The End.