Older Gods 4
What needs a God with our forgiveness if we are but the consequence of his long fevered thoughts? Should I beg understanding from my hand burned in the fire?
Yet in the brutal conductivity of brine there was the tang and bitter stinging of regret. Our substance spread and incorporeal was soaked in the welling tears of the lone God’s long held shame.
“Go.” He said, with all the force of one whose words could bring whole worlds into existence, and in that moment we were recreated. The gravity of our souls, our dispersed essence, dragged the cells of you, me, I, us in two spinning crucibles, the crushing weight that tore our limbs apart now forced them back together. Something screamed. You, me, I us; something that gloried in our utter coalescence, the joining and the permanence, tore from the cloud and formed into solidity. “No.”
But there was no strength that we could muster, the shredded last dregs of our belief turned back upon us in a rage, as if all the universe was now remade, and we who sought so long for acceptance of our unity, and found it more completely in this world ending darkness. We were separate once again.
The God was not ungenerous to the pilgrims at his gate. We were not as we once were. Unconstrained by birth and parenthood, our bodies formed themselves more perfectly. Almost androgyne avatars, sexless as the sunset touching on the evening tide, yet every inch of skin now capable of coupling. We who had so fleetingly ascended, transcended now the base clay of massed humanity. That fine honed sense that told me when you walked into a room, the desire that burned within the air that we both breathed, was inconsequential now. Thoughts that flickered in your reconfigured mind, completed in mine. Sensations on my tongue stirred in your senses. We were apart, we were still one.
Sentient, angelic, imbued with the mad God’s sole instruction, and the knowledge we should seek out the freezing wastes we rose from the lightless kingdom, back into the starless sky.
Across the surface of the sea, that echoed like a drum, the lone God murmured his laden plaint:
I have been waiting centuries, at long last you have come.
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