Older Gods 2
I wept this world into existence, gnawed the firmament to anchor mountains and the sky, spat seeds to plant the mother trees. I bound the whole in my own hands, and from my bleeding blisters I made man.
Such curious things you were, so keen to contemplate the nature of your maker, so cunning in your artifice and your joy of making things, eyes always in search of difference, to catalogue and differentiate, as if you were not born out of the spatters of my blood.
I gloried in the variegation of creation, the purple moors, the white capped mounts, the surf, the sea, the infinite shades of blue and green. You counted up them all; assigned a category; classified and codified; weighed, measured and valued.
What right have you to judge, determining the destiny of any but yourself? I made you articulate and ambulatory to leave you free to move, unshackled by silence. What was it in the ichor of your substance and the air that I bequeathed you that made you seek dominion, to raise other gods than me, and in their name impose your will? What made you so arrogant, so beholden to your “me”?
I wept again in horror, and washed it all away. Thinking I had cleansed the world, heedless I let your pestilence spread out unchecked, until aghast I saw brutal scars upon the surface of the earth, the power vested in your filthy pantheon of envy and desire. I raised my hand to bathe the world in fire, but my potency was gone. Without belief my blood ran thin, my bones clashed and rattled in my skin, I roared but raised no wind, the sound echoed shuddering and died within. They laughed. That brothel kin of childling Gods, the man made masters of the world of want looked upon my pitiful predicament and laughed.
So here I fled. The last miles of the world for which I bled, the deeps where the sun I lit no longer shines, and the creatures of my lone imagining will never find. I fled and I have waited, knowing someone would raise their voice against the world where greed now means the same as need. Someone would strike out in search of me. My blood will out and I will rise again.
I have been waiting centuries, at long last you have come.
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8 thoughts on “Older Gods pt 2”
Note to self: Never anger the old(er) gods, because s/he or it, being timeless, has forever to let his/her/its rage fester and boil over! Despite the darkness of this god’s exile–one wonders what happened to the other god(s); did they meet the same fate?–there are so many ear-candyish, lyrical, beautiful phrasings that belie the mirk: gnawed the firmament (wish I’d thought of that one–superb!), the consonance of filthy pantheon of envy and desire, need and greed intertwined. I really could go on, and don’t even completely disagree with his/her/its condemnation of (presumably) humankind.
I’m also wondering if a comma might be needed here ?? “You counted up them all[,] assigned a category, classified and codifed, weighed, measured and valued” and, if so, whether semicolons might work better in some spots, like so–“counted them all; assigned a category; classified and codified; weighed, measured, and valued.” Regardless, Ali, a great atmospheric piece, very painterly and disturbing, though quietly and simmeringly, somehow. I need to re-read Part I, which I shall this evening.
Thank you Leigh; your suggested edits were spot on. I have a rough plan for about five parts, which may resolve some of your questions although, as with everything I write, I am pretty much making it up as I go along.