Deity

I sit, still, waiting for that unknown culmination that is somehow approaching.

Heavy reverberations travel through the wood as the sound of footsteps comes nearer through the walls. Words are now distinct.

"...just got to take a leak."

With a click, blinding brilliance fills the world. Instinct is too strong: legs propel the body backwards, upwards, and then contract. From within the safe crack in the wood, the sink and mirror are visible.

A man looks into the mirror. He is the other man. The back of his head is a forest of black, shaggy hair and the one eye visible in the mirror beyond is brown, bloodshot, capped by the caterpillar-ruff of an eyebrow. He stares into the mirror and then turns away, out of view. His elimination is a waterfall; the heavy taste-smell of urine bites through the other floating chemicals that form a sense-picture of this human: sweat, musk, something sticky and sweet. He groans.

Echoing, torrential, I feel-hear the toilet flush and then the man returns to the mirror. Two hands comb the wilderness on his head and then he turns slightly and smiles at his reflection and his unseen audience. A wink of one dark eye indicates his approval and hints at slyness or conspiracy. I can taste his excitement in the air. These senses discern more than the mask he wears, a mask that would be opaque to a human. Like a double image, the thin, outer shell covers seething darkness and rot that is at once powerful and empty.

The smile fades and once again there is just that one dark eye in the mirror, staring into its unseen twin behind the hair, expressionless.

This body recognizes violence in the air, smells danger, and tenses at the heavy threat.

Then the man whirls and darkness descends once more. I move slowly, cajoling instinct-frozen muscles to action, and emerge from the crack. The hum of voices is once again beneath and around the music, sound and pressure, overlaid now, somehow, with dread and expectation.

I am yet powerless.

I am excited and fearful.

I tingle.

#

Concussions of force pound through the structure of the house as a loud crash ends the music. The woman’s scream is piercing and sweet, soaring above deep masculine curses and flesh striking flesh. Running, their feet drum a frantic beat of primal music and the bathroom door is the finale, a crescendo as it rebounds from the wall with the force of their arrival. His harsh, massive breathing provides dark contrast to her high, mewling sobs, a sublime duet.

The moist, earthy blood is heavy in the air, absorbed through these alien senses and savored by my being, past and present. Their shadowy forms twist and writhe on the floor in a sensuous struggle. Captivated, I watch and remember ecstatic triumphs of plague and war, a time before this small, insignificant form.

The woman is quiet now, motionless. I can still taste the terror and frenzy, the flavor of destruction, the aroma of evil.

The man’s breathing whispers like a gentle wind that follows the raging storm.

From his skin ooze chemicals that were once exciting but now smell-taste stale and spent. These senses read blankness from his being, as though all of his passion and force were expelled in that single explosion of violence.

A perfect vehicle. A vessel.

I wait.

He breathes quietly, still, leaning over the woman’s body.

When he stands and turns on the light I subdue instinct and remain on the open ledge. His fingers leave red, enigmatic exclamations on the wall and light switch. In the mirror: the single dark, expressionless eye. The eye shifts and focuses on this small body. Motionless, calm, he stares from the mirror, as though in recognition. When he turns, there is a puzzled frown on his face.

He reaches out with one bloodstained finger, but whether to obliterate or caress is uncertain. Does he, my door and my conduit, know me? He will, and his education will be my justice and my return.

When he hesitates, his finger trembling before me, I am ready to reclaim what I was.

And the world will tremble at my coming.

The End