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The world was encased in a hazy purple cloud, and Its people waded as if in a dream. A ball in a huge, seemingly endless universe, bouncing around a large furnace of fire as if it truly belonged there. It was a youthful, healthy child inside Its Creator's loving, caring arms. It was, however, a harmful little thing that threatened not only Its own existence, but that of His own family and Their tightly wound bond forged from the strongest steel of adoration that none of Its inhabitants could comprehend. They probably would not even have cared if they had known. It was the thing, the best kept secret of a whole existence of worlds, and of the universe, and it probably meant the whole balance of everything, everyone and every concept ever, ever known. But the purple apparition was a mere thought, and a mere action of the sapient life forms. Some might have cared; even fewer dedicated their whole puny existence to upholding appreciation of it. But even this could not dissipate the purple cloud, a cloud of pure destruction. It lived, breathed, and seethed in the palm of the Creator that existed to watch over the various cultures and civilizations that breathed it in. He had, in His infinite wisdom, left them to their own doings. It was His experiment. All this is naught. It is a shallow grave He wittingly dug for Himself. He had developed a mortal wound, an anathema to His being. Yes, this place is kin to the Earth, as other such places are. But I had no hand in it, and I had not made the foolish mistakes He had made with His hands. I had not made sapiens to spit in my face. That was not My object. For as soon as My Brother had made the world, it was doomed, from the very beginning it was prophesied (or maybe cursed) by our Great Predecessor to fold back in on Itself, to fail, and in Its failure to destroy My Brother also. This anguished Me, but, I am not My Brother, I am not My Brothers Keeper. It confused Me when He spoke, He could not contain the emotion, as He called it, whenever He spoke of the little creatures, even though He knew they were to be His undoing. He once told me of His creatures, His people He had called them meant more to Him than His own existence! Inconceivable! I watched as His life essence slowly drained out of His Soul and into His people. I watched His illness take Him slowly away from Me. I cradled Him in My arms in the end; Our Predecessor had long ago washed His great Hands of Him. I cursed His people but My Brothers last breath was for them. They too died as they could not live without Him. Little did they know Him; little did they appreciate His Great Sacrifice. I lamented Him for perhaps an age, into the vast ether of His dead world. I loved Him like no Other. I was finally alone. After much time I returned to My worlds. They were lonely, the animals and other lesser beings held no interest for Me any longer. They had lost their savour, and I missed Him deeply. I had no one to speak to, not a single being. I pondered over this for many millennia until I could bare it no longer, I would know of these emotions of which He once spoke, knowing in My heart it would be My undoing also. Curiosity, a word I did not know at the time but felt keenly, was what tormented Me into action. Or maybe it was My Mothers whisperings that stirred My Soul. I, too, created Man. I lied to Myself, saying it was for My Brothers memory that I did this thing. But, like My Brother, I grew to love these little ones, even though it was doomed as unto My Brothers. But this did not matter anymore. I cared for My Children, wept for every one of them at their individual passing, wept for them when they learnt to create for themselves, and I wept when they began to create the purple cloud of self destruction, unknowingly. I watch and I weep AUTHOR: Anathema Harris  TAGS: Literary Work children Family BOOKMARK: Digg it | Add to Del.ICIO | Add to FARK ACTIONS: Comment Save Print Register free acount  |
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