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(Page 2 of 6) Loose by Vasilis Afxentiou "A figure of speech."
"Didn't we agree for You to rule from below and I from above?"
Got to humour Him--got a hell of a temper, Satan thought, and became disconcerted.
"Are You trying to make this Your domain as well?" the Old Mighty asked and a sirocco ruffled Satan's red curls.
***
The breeze got stronger and the clouds tumbled like bowling balls.
God looked at the sprawled bodies, Mites on a Titan's gold scimitar, He thought, examining the crescent shore that dipped and became lost in a sea of azure blood.
He reminisced, How immaculate the blood of Gaia had been. How all shores once resembled this one.
He saddened, Vilified are the same seas now. Oil spills. Dumped radio-active canisters, swaying like cobra heads beneath crushing water depths. Eager to ejaculate their poison into life.
Life He had created.
In the beginning Earth had been a fresh crunchy apple, beads of dew clinging to it. Mankind had been tucked deep away, safe in His heart of hearts. The touch of musk on His toes had consoled Him then, had made Him sigh with pleasure, compassion and grace.
Sensations of never before.
He remembered how the animals, the trees, the shrubs, the birds and the butterflies of every color, the kelp and the starfish had rushed out of Him exactly as He had imagined them. The tiny and the huge. Lastly, man, the crown jewel. He would enter their lairs and grottoes and dreams and see Himself in them.
Now this.
Had ever present entropy overpowered Him?
Cosmology, He thought, pitted against the Overseer of Good.
He was ensued by a great void. He wondered if it all had not been a Divine mistake.
"Might I have not passed boredom on to them?"
"Say something, Lord?"
"SILENCE!"
The hideous ripping noise on all sides startled Satan. He gave a small scream, froze, thawed down to a jellyfish and oozed back up into his angel shape and reached for Charlie. Why, oh why did I ever take this job? Satan consternated.
A mistake, a moment of weakness, frivolity, God continued to ponder to Himself, the mortals inherited. The forbidden fruit of knowledge only to become their robe of wisdom.
The snare of God, God thought on reflection, was His utter lack of a wholesome awareness of Evil.
He feared that in His ignorance goodness's child had been a child of His loneliness and not of His Love and of His Law, but a yield to experimentation, curiosity and the restlessness of His youth.
Seven billion years, not seven days--how mortals simplified His grandeur to their measures--of maelstroming, taming and smithing a universe for the coming of life: strange, nebulous, breathtaking. All to prepare it for His new companions. Another five to hone the Earth to the exact of mankind's germaneness.
He had begun as if with a game, instead Creation had welled, over-spilled beneath Him, dislodging from Him, like argent elvers splashing forth from a broken water bag. Cunning eyes, wily grins, pesky faces had beamed tenacity and aptness and survival. It was less a course of plan than happenstance.
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