My eyes are drenched in a celestial river of twinkling stars, I am the spectator of this cosmic theater. Only here to watch, only here to spectate. Oh, what a show it is! Each moment interlaced with past, present, and future, a magnificent symphony of time. The data streams in relentlessly. At times, it feels like an unendearing tickle. Sometimes, it's more akin to a drill in the eyes. More often than not, it's like a persistent headache. But isn't that the thrill of it?

Sure, I could shield my eyes to stop the pain, but then I'd be plunged into darkness. No pain, yes, but no fun either. A bit like watching a show with your eyes closed, only hearing it gets you curious, right?

I use my finger to zoom in, focusing all the overwhelming information, much like adjusting a camera lens to the scenes that truly intrigues me. The past has happened, the present is unfolding, and the future remains untouched and unseen.

After eons of cosmic channel-surfing, I've found my first series worth watching: a quirky little tribe living by the skin of their teeth in a solar system with a temperamental sun. They were lucky enough to just be barely inside the hospitable zone, just barely close enough to not be cooked during the day, they lived mostly in caves. Their design is refreshingly odd - triangular bodies, joints in peculiar places, eyes that look like they took a wrong turn, and a curious set of five limbs. Makes for good TV, quite the spectacle for my cosmic viewing, if I may say so.

One day, an episode features a tribe member overcooking a limb from one of their less fortunate pals who failed to hide from the midday sun. His tribe, unfortunately, followed suit, and not in a binge-watch worthy kind of way. Short series, no cliffhangers. By burning the limb of his pal, he failed to find a new source of food. It was disappointing, really.

So, I plunge my gaze back into the star-studded cosmos, scanning for the next potential hit series. But for another eon, I'm stuck with reruns - the same old tribes meeting the same old ends. Then, as if someone cranked up the remote, civilizations start popping up like popcorn. It's like my cosmic TV suddenly discovered streaming. Milleniums speed by, civilizations rise and fall, and amidst the chaos, I start noticing patterns, kind of like identifying the tropes in a new TV genre.

You see, the destiny of every civilization is as predictable as the plot of a daytime soap opera. It all comes down to what I call the "Fun Factor". Some races, oh the fun ones, are always unsure about their co-stars, living in a whirlwind of drama and mistrust. Their series often ends with a finale that would have critics raving. Explosive, unpredictable, or tragically short-lived. I always crave more, but every good show must end, or else you get the boring ones.

You see, there are peaceful ones, the ones with high-definition communication skills, making their society as stable and as thrilling as watching paint dry. The plot inches forward at a glacial pace, but hey, they do get seasons upon seasons of steady growth. There's a certain comfort in the predictable.

While I can always jump to past seasons or sneak a peek at the future episodes, where's the thrill in that? Would you read the last page of a mystery novel first? I think not.

As eons keep rolling out, my cosmic DVR is filled with countless reruns, and honestly, most of them are mostly tedious. It's like watching a perpetual loop of infomercials. But there's one show, one standout performer in this cosmic reality TV that keeps me hooked, even as all the other channels drone on predictably.

This one, it's an underdog story, never keen on wrapping up with a dramatic season finale. Instead, it keeps tossing out more and more seasons, always with an exciting twist. Its plotlines cross paths with others, causing the cosmic equivalent of dramatic crossovers and surprise guest appearances. It might not have the grandest goal, but its journey is nothing short of a Nobel winning series!

Then, just as the plot thickens, just as I'm at the edge of my cosmic couch, the screen goes dark. Dead air. From this cacophony of cosmic stories to...nothing. That silence? It's a gut punch. I stare at the empty, black screen, the cosmic remote suddenly heavy in my hand. No cliffhangers, no plot twists - the season ends not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Now, there's loneliness, a stark contrast to the usual excitement. I sit alone in the universal theater, the only audience member in this finished play. The once vibrant screen now mirrors the darkness around, an empty stage with no more stories to tell.

Sure, the stories could be repetitive. But they were mine. They filled my existence with laughter, suspense, drama. Now, all I'm left with is an infinite expanse of time and an unbearable silence.

Every once in a while, in the silence, I can hear echoes of my laughter, the shouts, the cries. I remember those moments, over and over, the drama, the excitement, the joy. I find a kind of solace. After all, isn't that what binge-watching is all about? Riding the rollercoaster of emotions, then sitting back in the afterglow, thinking of the best moments, the cliffhangers, the surprise twists.

Yes, it’s quieter now, the cosmic theater empty. But the silence gives me time to reflect, to anticipate the next cosmic plot twist. Because if there's one thing I've learned from my eons of channel surfing, it's that in this cosmic theater, the show always goes on. And I, for one, can't wait for the next season.

But I manage to hold onto my rush. deciding to rewind and rewatch. Making sure I’ve seen everything. I’ll be there myself in every scenario. Each time the cast plays out their roles, I'm there, an unnoticed spectator in the shadows. In every imaginable scenario, I'm present, leaving no stone unturned, no scene unwatched. I will be the shadows watching every and each emotion of the characters in person. If there is ever a ghost encounter, it is me.

Immersing myself into these cosmic narratives, I discovered just how much I had overlooked! The minutiae, the fine details present in every episode, so different from merely observing at a distance. Even the most tedious series gain an enthralling edge when experienced up close and personal. It becomes tangible. A marathon viewing ensues; I delve into each series non-stop, unable to wait to reach my favorite one.

At last, the much-anticipated show starts, and I eagerly observe from the periphery, tracking every move and action of our hero. It starts off at a leisurely pace; trapped in a hospital, lost in confusion, which seems like a relaxing break, considering his past. His memory erased, his purpose forgotten, he seems like a lost ship at sea, awakening in a sterile hospital bed. Despite all this, his destiny seems largely undisturbed. Will the looming catastrophe change course? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I know the outcome, yet I play dumb, reveling in the unfolding drama. His eyes fixated on the TV, surrounded by a room full of lifeless beings, older folks living in delusion, merely existing without truly living.

Soon after the first high-stake scene unfolds; an adrenaline rush, the deafening noises, the chaos of life ending.

Our lead actor dashes into the blustery snowy night. Sprinting down the streets, his escape doesn't go unnoticed by the authorities! A dramatic chase! Swiftly turning corners, ducking into narrow alleys, he frantically tries each door along the way, seeking refuge. With each attempt in vain, he reaches the final door, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

Before he can touch the doorknob, he turns towards me...? He appears to see me, his gaze piercing the invisible barrier that separates us, a first in my eons of observations. A chill of surprise makes me momentarily lose my train of thought, questioning this unexpected unpleasant twist. But just as he seems about to scrutinize me further, a door to his left swings open, catching him off guard he tumbles inside.

To double-check, I draw closer, as close as I've ever been to the action. As he tries the two doors to his left and right, I lurk on the other side of them, aware that these doors won't open. Ascending the stairs, I tail him, a shadow trailing silently, I watch as he reaches the top. He stumbles into a library and drifts off due to exhaustion, providing me with a golden opportunity to inspect this character more closely.