There were trillions, once. Trillions of tiny little figures, dancing around inside of me, jumping from planet to planet, tearing their way up my arms and down my legs. I could have never predicted it, for when I made the first, a combination of stars and meteors and my own will, I thought she would die, like the rest of the two legged things I had crafted before then. One fleshy, unprotected little animal, on a terribly small planet, in a galaxy that was like dust under my fingernail. I never expected her to survive. Imagine how astonished I was when she did. For something like me, that was a very rare emotion, and so I loved it. It was wonderful, having my expectations shattered, and I felt she deserved a reward of some kind, for being so small, so insignificant, and yet still being able to surprise the universe. So, I created a partner. A handsome creature, made of the same stardust she was. She loved him, and called him man. 

I'll admit, it was fascinating, for a while, to watch the two of them. They were very similar to the other little projects I placed on Earth, but at the same time, they were infinitely stranger, in every possible way. But two beings as minuscule as they were could not hold my interest for long, and my consciousness turned to different matters, different planets, different parts of myself.
As the years passed, I forgot the creatures that called themselves humans. My attention was drawn instead to the two things I loved doing most. Creating, and destroying. Black holes swallowed nebulas, stars the size of a billion Earths exploded, and new planets were born. But then, one day, there was a tingle beneath my fingernail. So I looked.
Imagine my surprise to see this tiny planet I had forgotten long ago now brimming with seven billion humans, each one unique, each one impossibly different from the other. There were so many variations of the creatures I'd made two million years earlier that it was almost overwhelming to see them all.
They'd nearly destroyed Earth. Of course they had. They blamed themselves, but the fault was mine. I had never intended so many to live. So I offered them a new planet, one the size of their sun, one that would hold them all for a million years. And then I looked away again.
A million years passed, and, then I felt a tingle in my arm. I looked. And I saw that they were taking more and more. More planets, more homes for themselves. They were traveling up my arm, to my hip, across my torso. They were spanning the universe. They were, in short, becoming a problem. So, with a snap of my fingers, I destroyed them. Every last human, until there were none left. Or so I thought. For when I looked again, there were two little creatures, made of stardust and meteors and hope, living on the ruined planet called Earth. Imagine my surprise.