Let There Be Light: Sc.07


                                            >Creatures surround you on all sides.

                                            >Dragons, minotaurs, some sort of humanoid birds and cats, and half a dozen varieties of minuscule horse.

                                            >All of them looking at you.

                                            >A rumble in the distance.

                                            >Thunder?

                                            >Blue, cloudless skies, all around.

                                            >And all around, the eyes of a hundred beings.

                                            >Watching.

                                            >Waiting.

                                            >For what?

                                            >Say something, Anon.

                                            >Give them the gift of your tongue.

                                            >Your paltry thirdhand ‘wisdom’.

                                            >If you don’t speak, they’ll never be able to.

                                            >You open your mouth.

                                            >Only that distant rumble sounds.

                                            >Why you?

                                            >Why only you?

                                            >Why are you all alone?

                                            >Nothing near you but grass.

                                            >’Noire?’ You try to croak.

                                            >Again, only a distant thunder.

                                            >Eyes only on you.

                                            >They’d never looked at her.

                                            >Not once, even though she was the one who made them.

                                            >They only saw you, and then left.

                                            >So here you’re pinned, and Noire’s gone.

                                            >Almost like this isn’t you.

                                            >Just their expectation of you.

                                            >And what do they know about you?

                                            >Even less than yourself, and you know nothing, not even your name.

                                            >They had the briefest contact with you when life first sparked.

                                            >You gave each a phrase and they departed.

                                            >What would their image of you even be?

                                            >Their expectation of her, of course, is totally absent.

                                            >They’d never acknowledged her in the first place.

                                            >Say something.

                                            >Anything.

                                            >Give them the barest hint of recognizance, that which they denied Noire.

                                            >Let them enter the world on something other than the harsh reality you’d left.

                                            >But what could you say to them that doesn’t drive a shard of that reality into them, like a knife into their soul?

                                            >It’s all you know.

                                            >Speak.

                                            >Speak, demands the distant thunder.

                                            >Some of them hear it now, heads turning.

                                            >The storm will take them away from you.

                                            >You wither under their stares but what would you be once they leave?

                                            >Inflict your signature wound on them, so they’ll forever be scarred with the hard-won wisdom of your home, wrought by blood.

                                            >Speak, damn you.

                                            >Speak; damn them.

                                            >It should be Noire here, under their baleful watch.

                                            >Noire, the god, cosmos incarnate, perfection.

                                            >Their true creator.

                                            >The thunder is loud enough to discern as such clearly, now.

                                            >A few creatures in the back peel off from the group, wandering into the woods, dark despite the daylight.

                                            >You can’t tell if this hurts more than their stares.

                                            >You gave them your shitty words, but they gave you meaning.

                                            >They’re the only reason you’re here.

                                            >Another rumble of thunder.

                                            >More creatures breaking away.

                                            >You’re not even fully surrounded, now; there’s a gap in front of you.

                                            >A chance to escape.

                                            >But you’re rooted in place.

                                            >Fixed by the piercing eyes of those remaining.

                                            >Eventually they’ll all leave.

                                            >And you’ll be alone.

                                            >No escape, then.

                                            >You’ll simply cease being.

                                            >A bolt of lighting flashes close enough to totally blind you.

                                            >A world of nothing but light.


                                            * * *


                                            >BANG!

                                            >The blast of thunder – from a strike close enough to shake the house – startles you awake, driving you upright on the couch you’d been napping on.

                                            >Your motion startles Noire, also on the couch beside you, body facing you but watching the fireplace.

                                            >She often sits here and meditates. Checking the rest of the world, she says.

                                            >You hope you didn’t just screw something up.

                                            >She looks over you, worry clear in her eyes, as the thunder fades and leaves only the crackling fire in the hearth on the north-facing wall, it’s smoky smell mingling with hers.

                                            >”Are you alright?”

                                            “Yeah, just-”

                                            >You rub your face with your hands, then shake your head.

                                            “Just a bad dream.”

                                            >She considers you silently, long enough to draw your attention to her. “I would not know.”

                                            “Do you sleep?”

                                            >”I could, if I chose to.”

                                            “Kinda hard to talk about dreams with someone who has not experienced them.”

                                            >”Knowledge against experience,” she mumbles as she looks away. Then, returning her attention to you, “Tell me about yours. What troubles you?”

                                            >Your turn to look away, with a wave of your hand.

                                            “I don’t know. Some anxiety about what I’m doing here, I guess.”

                                            >The details are already fading from your mind, it’s hard to fix them.

                                            >One sticks with you though.

                                            >You were, basically, alone.

                                            >She wasn’t there.

                                            “I was isolated, in a way. I was surrounded by, I can’t remember. Things. But I was alone, something about me was different than them in an important way and I couldn’t do anything.”

                                            >You look over to her when she doesn’t respond.

                                            “You, uh, you weren’t there. And that was one of the scariest parts.”

                                            >Your fidgeting hands become a much more enticing target for your eyes.

                                            “In a lot of ways, I’m only okay because you’re here, I think”

                                            >The ensuing silence stretches long enough for thunder to intrude again, not as near as that which woke you.

                                            >”Anon, may I-”

                                            >You look back to her.

                                            >”May I confide in you something?”

                                            “Yeah, of course.”

                                            >”You have asked before what I think of the limitations you requested I place on myself.”

                                            “I don’t know how you’re handling it, honestly. If it’s a burden or not. I don-”

                                            >”It’s hard!”

                                            >Her interruption shocks you almost as bad as the thunder that brought you back here. It has as much force behind it.

                                            >She looks almost as shocked as you felt.

                                            >”Sorry.”

                                            >Calm her down.

                                            >You give her a weak smile, and extend a hand to stroke one of her shoulders.

                                            >She flinches away from it, but doesn’t react further when you insist.

                                            “I want to hear it.”

                                            >”I also feel surrounded, yet alone. I am surrounded by myself.”

                                            “What do you mean?”

                                            >”This existence, as I am now, is not… me. Not all of me. I was not subject to time and space before you arrived. I emulated those limitations for your sake. Then I chained myself to them at your request.”

                                            “And I thank you. But, uh, I don’t want you to suffer for me, Noire.”

                                            >”It is not torture. But I am alienated, as you felt. I am alienated from myself.”

                                            >She looks to the ceiling, as if trying to pierce through it and the sky to look into some cosmological mirror.

                                            >”Here and now my greater self still exists, because that self is everywhere and everywhen. Everything I experience is also experienced by that greater self. But nothing comes from it to me. I am cut off from myself.”

                                            >Your hand has stopped its gentle strokes as you can only stare at her.

                                            “I had no idea.”

                                            >You shake your head.

                                            “I don’t want you to go through that just for me.”

                                            >”Anon, it is not torture because I have you.”

                                            >You freeze.

                                            >Part of you wants to scoop her up with that hand touching her, right now.

                                            >”You are more than my muse. You are my guide. You are comfortable with this mode of existence, it is all you know. Yet you live with confidence despite it. I must learn this quality, because I-”

                                            >Confusion dominates her face. “Because-”

                                            >Give in.

                                            >You reach over with your other arm now, so you can gather her up with both and pull her towards you.

                                            >She doesn’t resist, even as you haul her forelegs over your lap.

                                            >In fact, with her size, it can only be as easy as you find it because she, in some minor way, helps you.

                                            >Even still, she doesn’t meet your eyes.

                                            >You wrap one arm around her back, and stroke the side of her neck with your other hand.

                                            >Her mane drifts over your shoulder, carrying those smoky notes to you.

                                            >Her halo, you can tell now, isn’t actually where you see it always behind her head from your perspective. It has a real position over her back, because it warms your arm where they intersect.

                                            “Hey. I said you could confide in me. Anything.”

                                            >”When we were first talking about free will, when you had me Forget…”

                                            “Yeah?”

                                            >”I mentioned that it was opaque to me. And that I leave this world when it becomes rooted enough, so it may direct itself without my interference.”

                                            >She shakes her head.

                                            >“That means it spreads. Eventually I cannot see large areas of this world. And eventually I cannot see anything at all.”

                                            ”Because it takes over?”

                                            >”How can I know? I am not an entity that should be confronted with such mystery. Yet there is this void, past which my awareness simply ends. I must learn now to face that. I need to learn how to be unafraid of the unknown.”

                                            >She finally looks at you.

                                            >”I need to be brave. Like you.”

                                            >At that moment, in her eyes, you are witness to such innocent vulnerability that you realize you are not looking at a god at all.

                                            >You are looking at fragile creature paralyzed by fear.

                                            >Just as you were, in your dream.

                                            >This reflection of yourself in alien eyes is too much for you to bear.

                                            >You look up and pull her head to you, cupping her cheek, pressing hers into your collarbones.

                                            >Your chin over her forehead, her horn against your temple.

                                            >You’re immersed in her mane’s scent now, realizing its full complexity, the smell of warm wet grass and a roaring campfire through a crisp summer’s night breeze, surrounding you with enough power that for a brief moment you feel transported to some scene from your childhood.

                                            >And you can feel her breathing, shallower and faster than it ought to be.

                                            “I can’t teach you that. I don’t know how.”

                                            >A hitch in her breath.

                                            ”But if you need a guide, that I can do.”

                                            >You can feel her smile as she sighs with relief.

                                            >”Thank you.”

                                            “You should rest. Take your mind off this world, for a time. You said you could sleep if you wanted. Let yourself.”

                                            >”Now?”

                                            “I’ll be right here with you.”

                                            >She nods in your arms.

                                            >”Maybe I will even dream.”

                                            >You let the arm around her neck fall to her back.

                                            >Slip it between her side and her wing.

                                            >The dim waves of orange light that slide down her darker feathers had become bright and agitated, whirling chaotically across her primaries.

                                            >You keep her head against you and gently stroke her side, watching them.

                                            >First they calm, falling back into orderly waves rippling out from under her coverts.

                                            >Then they dim, resuming their usual barely-perceptible glow.

                                            >Then, finally, as with her breathing, they slow.

                                            >She heaves one last sigh beneath your arms, then her breath falls into a slow and steady rhythm.

                                            >”Maybe…”

                                            >The quietest murmur.

                                            >”…of you.”

                                            >Her wings droop, one wedging itself between the cushions of the seat and the back of the couch, the other lowering to the floor and covering your leg.

                                            >The warmth of her body is almost intoxicating.

                                            >Loosening you.

                                            >Something about this display makes you want to cry.

                                            >You’d always seen her as a being of such magnificent power.

                                            >While, this whole time, she was struggling with something you take for granted every moment of your life.

                                            >Maybe that’s why you were sent here, by whatever you were wherever you were from.

                                            >Not to be her muse.

                                            >To be her guide.

                                            >No, stop, you can’t let that impulse get the best of you.

                                            >That’ll fuck with your breathing and you’ll wake her up, with her cheek against your heart like this.

                                            >You peer through her wispy smoke-like mane to the fireplace, still snapping and popping away.

                                            >Thunder sounds again, but far-off.

                                            >A threat receding.

                                            >Everything here is arranged according to your comfort.

                                            >This house, this furniture, these meals, the fire.

                                            >Now you know, this is the only place she can relax.

                                            >Enveloped within your design.

                                            >Laying by your side.

                                            >The only way you know how to lead is by example.

                                            >But all that requires is your presence.

                                            >As long as you stay here, with her, until she can understand, perhaps that is your true purpose.

                                            >She leaves this world, she goes back to being her greater self, she says.

                                            >You are no god, you cannot follow her, even if you are still here by then. It might be centuries, millennia, from now.

                                            >Not like she gave you a schedule.

                                            >But if it took your entire life to show her how to let go of her fear of simply BEING.

                                            >That’ll make all this worth it.

                                            >Bring the nightmares, the baleful stares of the creatures you helped create.

                                            >You give them a piece of yourself, but they’re not the ones who need it most.

                                            >Of all the living creatures that now walk this world, only one truly illuminates your purpose.

                                            >And tonight you proved her initial assessment of herself wrong.

                                            >She called you the first living thing here.

                                            >But this is the burden that all living share.

                                            >She truly is alive.