Gods and Mortals.
------It was a bitter summer day. The already brown grass was baking to a nice charcoal color. Inside the little white church, dozens of fans waved in dozens of hands but did little more than circulate the air in what was essentially an oven. The clapping of the choir made a dull smack as sweaty palms came together to glorify the deaths of gods. Every Sunday was the same in this never ending summer. Robed bodies swayed back and forth in time to a rusty organ, a swirl of color perfectly matched with the waving lines of air boiling off the dusty wooden floor. Hard benches creaked when a body shifted, squealed when one turned and resonated as children did their best to keep their bare thighs from melting to the poor peeling finish. In a world where cooking was big on meat and grease, there was far too much fat to be crammed into this one-roomed building. Sundresses were fixed in young boys minds as small squares of fabric wrapped far too tightly around sausage-like limbs and young Caleb Core was not yet old enough to notice those same dresses on the young, lithe bodies of the girls his own age. Even if those girls were starting to notice him.
------A shift in the sun made him turn, looking at the massive windows lining the walls, acting like magnifying glasses as the sun pouring in became super-charged and intent on destroying every molecule of skin he had left.
------But there amidst the sun was a smile. And as the light shifted he saw the gentle face of his father as the man moved into the beam directly on Caleb’s head. Slowly the glare in Caleb's eyes faded away.
------But a soft blow on the back of his head sent his senses reeling again. His father chuckled softly to himself as Caleb's mother caught the young boy not paying attention. Caleb scowled but his father just shrugged his shoulders as if to say “you’re the one who got caught.”
------Caleb turned his attention back to the preacher, even though he had never been paying attention in the first place.
------The man was an older, younger fellow. He was little more than thirty but seemed convinced that all matters of spirituality rested solely on his withered shoulders and it gave him graying hair and sunken features as he worried about nothing but the lost souls of his sheep.
------His voice wavered, echoing in tones between pity for people who didn’t believe and anger at people who would dare to ignore. A deep baritone that squeaked a few tenors and rumbled a few bass notes in words that he placed the most emphasis on, as he raged about the destructive course the human soul could follow and never seemed to settle on hell-and-brimstone or benevolent wise man.
------“History teaches us the error of our ways. History, proven history, tells us that to believe in a power higher than ourselves is a mistake. We must trust ourselves, trust humanity in order to see us through. ‘But why?’ you ask. Why can we not believe that creatures with powers greater than our own are here to help us? Because the past tells us they are not. Just as humans can be selfish, so can gods. Power corrupts. It is a truth of our world. And the more power you have, the more you can be corrupted. Zeus, a being of thunder and lightning, patriarch of his family, took pleasure in violating women and impregnating them with his children. Is this a being we want to worship? Is this a being we want to follow? To place our faith in? I tell you no. This is a creature whose destruction we must seek. This is a creature that we must point our fingers at and curse. We have driven these false gods from our world. No longer do they touch the grass or feel the warmth of the sunlight. They have been banned from our gentle earth but now we must remember to ban them from our hearts.”
------His voice carried on with words that Caleb no longer cared to hear. Every sermon seemed the same. The gods ruled the world. Families of them, through all different cultures, manipulating humans to make their own pleasures. Binding mankind to their will to build a world prevalent to their own glory and smothering humanity’s potential in order to keep themselves elevated above it all.
------Then the climax of the story comes, as it always does. Mankind rose up against their oppressors. A realm was created by warping the gods own magic against them, locking them away for the rest of time.
------Men were again subject to their own destinies and free to choose the life they chose.
------Then, like the beginning, like the climax, came the epilogue of the sermon. The part that humanity’s descendents played.
------Belief in higher beings cannot be avoided because all know they exist. The gods must not be forgotten or Man will be more vulnerable then ever to them. But all must not have faith in them. Do not curse them, call on them, question them, ask of them, replicate their images, worship, idolize, or give them credit for anything done to or against the world or its children. For all are actions which will give them power. Their names are invoked only to teach against. Their story told only because it is humanity’s story too.
------But Caleb was like most children his age. He didn’t care. Maybe he believed, but he never really thought about it too much. His concerns were other concerns, things only less important if you asked his mother, things like finding a better place to hide when she called and a better way to get rid of vegetables that didn’t involve eating them.
------So while speeches and preachers were fine for adults, Caleb’s mind was soon to wander. Again.
------The light flashed over his eyes a second time, his father shifting his weight against the sun.
------A massive man, his red hair glowed scarlet with the light streaming through. His arms crossed against his chest, he cast an imposing shadow that Caleb sometimes felt he would never escape.
------As he stared at the man he worshipped, the world slipped and faded away around him. Blue eyes twisted and turned, glimmering impossibly from their deep-set positions. The church was swallowed, the preacher’s voice twisting in a dying echo.
------It was just Caleb, alone on the aging wooden bench. The shade of his father moved, sitting on the end of the pew. He was next to Caleb but remained bitterly far away. One hand rested on the back as the memory turned toward him.
------In a voice that rang with truth and lies, he spoke two words that shook and carried through the wood itself.
------“Remember me.”
------Caleb sat up with a start and blinked, bleary eyed; papers floated lazily, caught suddenly, in the space between his desk and his head.
---------------------------------------------------------
Leave me some feedback?
I don't know, I like this storyline, but I really don't get around to working on it as much as I should. Maybe I'll start writing it here, leaving regular updates.
We'll see.
Lata.
------A shift in the sun made him turn, looking at the massive windows lining the walls, acting like magnifying glasses as the sun pouring in became super-charged and intent on destroying every molecule of skin he had left.
------But there amidst the sun was a smile. And as the light shifted he saw the gentle face of his father as the man moved into the beam directly on Caleb’s head. Slowly the glare in Caleb's eyes faded away.
------But a soft blow on the back of his head sent his senses reeling again. His father chuckled softly to himself as Caleb's mother caught the young boy not paying attention. Caleb scowled but his father just shrugged his shoulders as if to say “you’re the one who got caught.”
------Caleb turned his attention back to the preacher, even though he had never been paying attention in the first place.
------The man was an older, younger fellow. He was little more than thirty but seemed convinced that all matters of spirituality rested solely on his withered shoulders and it gave him graying hair and sunken features as he worried about nothing but the lost souls of his sheep.
------His voice wavered, echoing in tones between pity for people who didn’t believe and anger at people who would dare to ignore. A deep baritone that squeaked a few tenors and rumbled a few bass notes in words that he placed the most emphasis on, as he raged about the destructive course the human soul could follow and never seemed to settle on hell-and-brimstone or benevolent wise man.
------“History teaches us the error of our ways. History, proven history, tells us that to believe in a power higher than ourselves is a mistake. We must trust ourselves, trust humanity in order to see us through. ‘But why?’ you ask. Why can we not believe that creatures with powers greater than our own are here to help us? Because the past tells us they are not. Just as humans can be selfish, so can gods. Power corrupts. It is a truth of our world. And the more power you have, the more you can be corrupted. Zeus, a being of thunder and lightning, patriarch of his family, took pleasure in violating women and impregnating them with his children. Is this a being we want to worship? Is this a being we want to follow? To place our faith in? I tell you no. This is a creature whose destruction we must seek. This is a creature that we must point our fingers at and curse. We have driven these false gods from our world. No longer do they touch the grass or feel the warmth of the sunlight. They have been banned from our gentle earth but now we must remember to ban them from our hearts.”
------His voice carried on with words that Caleb no longer cared to hear. Every sermon seemed the same. The gods ruled the world. Families of them, through all different cultures, manipulating humans to make their own pleasures. Binding mankind to their will to build a world prevalent to their own glory and smothering humanity’s potential in order to keep themselves elevated above it all.
------Then the climax of the story comes, as it always does. Mankind rose up against their oppressors. A realm was created by warping the gods own magic against them, locking them away for the rest of time.
------Men were again subject to their own destinies and free to choose the life they chose.
------Then, like the beginning, like the climax, came the epilogue of the sermon. The part that humanity’s descendents played.
------Belief in higher beings cannot be avoided because all know they exist. The gods must not be forgotten or Man will be more vulnerable then ever to them. But all must not have faith in them. Do not curse them, call on them, question them, ask of them, replicate their images, worship, idolize, or give them credit for anything done to or against the world or its children. For all are actions which will give them power. Their names are invoked only to teach against. Their story told only because it is humanity’s story too.
------But Caleb was like most children his age. He didn’t care. Maybe he believed, but he never really thought about it too much. His concerns were other concerns, things only less important if you asked his mother, things like finding a better place to hide when she called and a better way to get rid of vegetables that didn’t involve eating them.
------So while speeches and preachers were fine for adults, Caleb’s mind was soon to wander. Again.
------The light flashed over his eyes a second time, his father shifting his weight against the sun.
------A massive man, his red hair glowed scarlet with the light streaming through. His arms crossed against his chest, he cast an imposing shadow that Caleb sometimes felt he would never escape.
------As he stared at the man he worshipped, the world slipped and faded away around him. Blue eyes twisted and turned, glimmering impossibly from their deep-set positions. The church was swallowed, the preacher’s voice twisting in a dying echo.
------It was just Caleb, alone on the aging wooden bench. The shade of his father moved, sitting on the end of the pew. He was next to Caleb but remained bitterly far away. One hand rested on the back as the memory turned toward him.
------In a voice that rang with truth and lies, he spoke two words that shook and carried through the wood itself.
------“Remember me.”
------Caleb sat up with a start and blinked, bleary eyed; papers floated lazily, caught suddenly, in the space between his desk and his head.
---------------------------------------------------------
Leave me some feedback?
I don't know, I like this storyline, but I really don't get around to working on it as much as I should. Maybe I'll start writing it here, leaving regular updates.
We'll see.
Lata.
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