For preface, such a timeline is allegorical and in a mildly serious (though increasingly didactic) sort of manner. I haven't a clue what much the lot of the words are, and neither will you. It is a strange story, nevertheless it seems so otherwise normal that it becomes even stranger in its telling.
Beyond the theatres full of peoples dressed in façade, beyond the stadiums full of peoples beckoning for victory, beyond the several crevasses permeating the sidewalks' length and even yonder past South America, there lies a bench by a grove by a park by the river by the border with Pennsylvania [presumably Camden]. Casually dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, a New Jerseyite hurried along the winding paths for a meeting of fates. He passed many shrubs and many ferns; he took a glance at one of the ferns. Specs of water punctuated its viridescent colouration in the newborn light of the newborn day, light and water that would feed it for many years to come. "Look at that," he said to himself, "an irrelevant fern." The fern didn't mind, for it is indeed an irrelevant fern.
The man finally saw a glimpse of everything that mattered to him; everything that is and was and ever will be of meaning to him [or anyone else]. Through the fog, a thick, translucent haze silver was sprinkled with iridescent particles shimmering—a celestial fog distinctly alive from the morning's fog.
The fellow sat down with the cosmos on a nearby bench, and they talked for a while. They already had met each other several times before, and so the conversation accrued words rather bloody quite well right [indeed it did]. Finally, he decided to make his move.
“Universe,” he asked with a sigh.
“What is it, Edgar?”
“I would like to do a favour for you,”
“What type of favour?”
“Well...anything.”
The stars stood still
"You are to bring me a quantity of flowers," it said.
"How many, my dear?" the naïve bloke asked [might I remind you again] everything.
"That of a potentially infinite quantity," it answered, "or of finiteness, perhaps."
The man was offset by the cryptic phrasing it used. Still, all of the universe glittered with the stars of a thousand thousand million parsecs, or something like that, and the man could not help but to have passions for literally everything.
"You mean like?" he said.
"Well," the nebula said, "whatever you think I am worth."
He looked deeply into a cluster of stars he imagined were the cloud's eyes. With reluctance: "Then I shall."
A flurry of helium blushed through the cosmos, which he assumed was it showing happiness.
The chap considered as to where he could go for a potentially impossible task. The magnitude of what he could possibly do was restrained in possibility by the finiteness of his being. Tired of philosophical quarrel, he thought of all of the things that people gave as a sign of care. Diamonds? No. Gold? He could not afford even the slightest. What he did see, however, was a rose randomly growing out of the sidewalk. He picked up the fern, admired this urban gem in an otherwise dirty city, and frowned. Despite his most frivolously magnificent dreams, he knew he was broke and could do no more than give that petty plant. He knew, whatever path he took, he had to be pragmatic about it; and what could be more sensibly logical than going to a sorcerer.
Edgar slowly creeped into a cryptic-looking shoppe, filled with all sorts of oddities and strange signs. He saw a man with a silly purple wizard hat, and assumed (like any sensible person does) that he was the wizard.
"You…” Edgar stuttered a tad, “you are?”
"I am Veneficius," the sage one replied.
"Just how sage?"
“Sage enough,” the wizard shot back aggressively, “now what do you need?”
“They say you do magic.”
“Well yeah, mate, that’s kinda the definition of a wizard.”
“Can you do something for me?”
“I suppose I could, what?”
“Could you perhaps take this flower, and do something infinitely amazing with it?”
How strange a question it was, and yet Veneficius took the question seriously.
“I suppose,” the wizard mumbled, “I suppose I could make it infinite for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I shall replicate it an undefined multitude of times, and then you shall have an infinite quantity of flowers.”
Edgar smiled, and Veneficius took the rose from his hand. He dropped it into a cauldron of alchemic delight, and within a couple seconds the flower had been multiplied into a dozen; a whole bundle. The wizard took the flowers out, wrapped them up, and said to Edgar:
“I shall continue replicating this flower until you have as much as you need...for a price, of course.”
While walking back, he saw that irrelevant fern. He was bugged by the fern now. Holding the vanguard of flowers in his hand, he came to reckon that the fern shouldn’t breath anymore air, consume anymore sunlight, drink another drink. He came upon the fern, treading upon it and beating it with his heel. The viciousness of his attitudes manifested themselves into a physical berating of the plant. How dreadful and hateful was his action, but as he thought, luck did not apply to the negligible of existence such that can describe the fern.
He saw the cosmic coagulation of dust sitting by the same bence by the river. He rushed to it in delight.
“Universe, I have a great surprise!”
“What is that? A bunch of flowers?”
“Not just that,” he looked back at the suburb where the wizard was, “but I have got an infinite surge of flowers just for you.”
The orb of cosmic dust was elated, and in joy said “please, let me come see!”
The man and the universe started to move out of the park, all until the cosmos discovered the fern; burden of Edgar’s frustration, recipient of the cruelty of mankind. The universe shivered, its arms recoiling in a wisp of horror at what it saw. Trampled and mangled was a fern by the path he had been walking by.
"Don't you remember this fern?" the cosmos asked him.
"What of it?" he replied.
"Look at how irrelevant it is."
"Hey, I thought so too."
The cloud of galaxies sighed in disappointment and frustration: so it had been him.
"But so much more trifling, I find, everything you have brought."
Wordless was the man. "What do you mean?" he finally shuddered.
"You've shown so much respect and fidelity for the flower, but naught have you provided for the poor fern. How sordid."
A minute passed without reply from either party, and neither spoke the narrator for a line or two...........................
“I shall leave you,” the universe said terse and blunt.
“How can you,” Edgar asked, “if you are everything”
“I might be everything, but I am not the infinite.” It began to hover higher and higher above the ground, with its galaxies swirling faster than he could track. “But I’ll leave you with the infinite swarming host of flowers...and its pollen.”
The universe disappeared into the sky, the aether from which it came. Edgar heard screaming behind him; he turned around to see a huge mass of green-yellow dust toxically inebriating the birds and flinging the people into a terror. Edgar hurried back to the wizard’s store, only that a huge cloud of pollen swelled around the building. Fighting through the strong botanical dust, he broke through the door, only to find the wizard dead, having suffocated because of the infinite flower pollen that he could not control. A cloud of pollen came to submerge the world and before long, everything. Edgar still existed, I suppose.