7 Mar

The god looked down
It was an awful long way for him/her/it to look, but the god focussed alright. It was quite important. There was trouble afoot and he/she/it knew he/she/it was to blame.
“I should have been less boastful,” he/she/it (to be “he” from now on, though his gender was indeterminate, possibly because he didn’t have one) said sadly. His goddess looked on and shook her head (it might have been her/his/it’s head, but we won’t confuse matters by going down that road again. Anyway, she had every appearance of femininity, choosing to have long golden tresses and breasts.)
“But, my dearest, being a deity you can do no wrong,” she soothed him, glad that a unisex body still gave him male genitals for her to toy with during times of stress, and as that was their only function she toyed well.
“I did, though,” he grumbled. “It was way back at the beginning…”
“Which beginning, dearest?” she asked, needing to be clear.
“Oh, not the big bang one. There was nobody to boast to back then, though I did enjoy the monumental noise it made.” he replied.
“It gave me a headache,” she interjected. “Sounds like that always give me a headache. It’s the cataclysmic nature of them, the way they echo through the vacuum of nothing until time’s almost ticked away…”
“Time doesn’t tick!” he growled.
“Well, it might, and so don’t be so bloody picky!” she snapped back at him. “After all, it’s you who’s full to overflowing with self-pity!”
“I can’t help having regrets…” he moaned.
“Which beginning are you on about, then?” she asked. “Surely not the Garden of Eden fairy tale that makes you chuckle as you fall to sleep?”
“Of course not!” He glowered at her as only gods can glower. “It’s what I boasted to them…”
“You mean, about creating everything? Well, you did, so what was wrong with that?”
“I mentioned that I might be omnipotent…”
“Well, in their terms you are. So powerful it’s only natural they should want to keep you on-side, so to speak.”
“It’s never been a game of football!”
“I described it the way it was. You know, making light and stuff, creating matter and so on and so forth out of a big bang during which every damned thing ever was forged in the most monumental act of creation since last time.”
“It’s what you did!”
“I know it is, but they were too simple-minded to take it in properly. I told them about ordering light into being with a few words, you know, let there be light and there was light… and they took that as something so great it needed worshipping…”
“What did? The light?” She was getting confused. “How could they do anything but worship it when, suddenly, it was there, light in their darkness…?”
“They didn’t see it, silly! I told them about it. It happened, oh, billions of years before they came along! And I wish they hadn’t, because they’re spoiling everything. But I happened to stop by on the smallest scrap of the place, the Middle East they were to call it when they learned language and directions and stuff, and just happened to mention to the burliest, most primitive hominid you ever did see that it was me that made everything. I even intimated that I made men…”
“Which was a darned lie if ever there was one…”
“An exaggeration, darling, rather than lie. I even gave my first man a name and fed the hominid’s ego by suggesting that if anything went wrong it was down to females. Original sin, they called it – and still do even though they’ve moved on a bit and even invented the Internet. But they do say the old stories are the good ones….”
“And old stories can stick,” she added.
He nodded. “And someone went to the trouble of writing it down…”
“You should have snatched the pen from his hands! It was a him, I presume?”
He nodded again. “I couldn’t do anything about the writing because that was centuries after my little bit of boasting and I was in bed with you at the time. You know how we need to sleep occasionally, and anyway, there are a few little games we like to play together…”
“Less of that! Someone might overhear and jump to … conclusions.”
“There’s nobody else around!”
“Anyway, there’s nothing you’ve said that suggested you did anything wrong. Putting your wonderful big bang into the sort of language the hominids might grasp wasn’t a mistake! It was a generous thing, if anything.”
“I thought the same at the time, darling angel. But the aeons have rolled on and they still read the damned words, but, of course, there’s been a great deal of Chinese whispers going on. Books have been copied, translated, recopied, re-translated, lost, rediscovered, forged by ne’er do wells, manipulated by politicians – and my words are nothing like what they were! They fill entire books in more tongues than you could dream of in the worst nightmare ever! And all I told them was the simple truth, that I said, in the beginning long before they came along, let there be light, and there was light…”
“Don’t go blaming yourself…”
“And now they’re killing each other over it! They’ve bred into endless tribes that are sure they’ve got the story right and that everyone else is wrong, and they’re blasting away at each other… and it’s all my fault!”
She took him by one hand and squeezed his fingers gently.
“You can always put things right…” she whispered. “Or I could do it for you…?”
“It might come to that,” he sniffed. “I might have to create dark. Real, unending, unforeseen, endless dark, like a night trapped forever in Eternity … a new, ending, a concluding big bang…”
She shuddered. “If you do that give me some warning and a really good set of ear-plugs,” she begged him.
© Peter Rogerson 07.03.16


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