The thunder was a long way away, for now, far enough to be little more than an occasional rumble in counterpoint to the steady patter of rain on the roof and the occasional thump of a big drop hitting the window. Nothing that would stop you sleeping, but she lay under a pile of blankets and only dozed, enjoying a lazy morning earned in the coin of long, hard work now done.

What really is the difference between a god and a monster, anyway? She’d heard a Mormon, a former missionary, once say that there was no difference, that - how had he put it? - ‘to find divinity in every stream or tree is to see in every tree and every stream a potential tyrant waiting.’ The man could turn a phrase, no doubt, and he had even gotten it absolutely right, except inasmuch as he’d gotten it absolutely wrong.

She couldn’t blame him for that. He’d been born and raised in a time whose prevailing assumption was that Man had Conquered Nature - her lips quirked in a sardonic smile as she stamped the derisive capitals carefully into place on the sentence, and then let it evaporate. They really had imagined that their dominion over nature was meaningfully complete, and meaningful, and that all the remaining work was merely to extend the established hegemony into those few corners of the world over which it did not yet hold sway. Who more than a Mormon missionary born in the 1990s to take such a thing on faith?

The rain came down a little harder, and the thunder rumbled a little closer. Or was it—? No, not yet.

They really did imagine there was such a thing as ‘nature’. She was as able to think the quotes into place as she had been with the capitals, and this sentence lingered a while, mostly for its sheer absurdity. Men like the missionary came from a time of categories, when there was a place for everything and everything in its place. Where the world disagreed with this tidy conception, the humans of the time lopped off what didn’t fit in order to cram what was left into the boxes they felt they could understand. They crammed themselves into boxes, too, and called those “houses”. The shelter from the elements was useful, but the real purpose of these boxes was to have an “inside” and an “outside”, because this helped maintain the idea that the world was made out of boxes, and the idea that they were the ones doing the making.

She shifted in the bed, rolled over, snuggled back against the warmth of her still sleeping companion. She could see out the windows this way, at least as far as the trees, but the angle was wrong; she’d need to get up, to look down the hill and out over the city below. Later for that. The thunder got louder still, but it was still only thunder for now. The wind grew stronger, howling around the eaves. The trees didn’t seem to notice.

They had a box for “god”, and another box for “monster”. That had come down to them from a long time before, and they had never got over it. Perhaps it was the original error of their age, or at least their besetting vice. One word spoke of awe and power and wonder; the other, corruption, decadence, horror. You dared not mix up the two. As far as she had ever been able to tell, that was what they called “sin”. Pick the wrong thing to worship, they’d thought, and you’d end up seeing everything differently. And where was the harm in that? she thought, and smirked lazily at the bright quiet thoughts lined up behind it. But it was unworthy of her, she knew. They hadn’t felt they had that choice, because everything they knew was built on seeing things the way they chose to see them. They were terrified to choose otherwise, and actions borne of fear must be judged with greater care than she knew she cared to give them.

But what did they really deserve? she wondered, as lightning split the sky. She’d closed her eyes just before, but her sight was full of sparkles in the wake of the bright bolt. All the time they carved the world into boxes, they were busy becoming monsters themselves - monsters, who thought themselves gods. They discovered necromancy, early on, and it made them arrogant; they reached far into deep time, to find what remained of the life that had come long before. They learned to drag those ghosts back into reluctant being in order to power their workings. They had long made slaves of the living, she knew, but that alone had failed to satisfy; they could not suffice themselves with power until they had found a way to enslave even the dead. On the backs of both they had built lies so vast they encircled the world, and even that had not been enough; they dreamed of flying between the stars, lest they be forced to weep for they had no more worlds to conquer.

And that had been their doom. The room lit up for another instant, actinic brightness too much for human eyes to bear. The thunder was very close now, and almost constant; it was drowning out the rain. Her companion shifted, drawn by the sound into the border realm between sleep and wakefulness. She shifted, too, taking advantage of the opportunity to nestle closer in among its warm strong limbs; soothed by her closeness, it settled again.

«««< HEAD Even their own stories made villains of those who abused the dead, she thought. How could they fail to see what they’d become? She had tried, and tried hard, to understand how they’d made themselves what they had come to be. This, though, she still could not encompass, and doubted she ever would. They thought they were close to being gods, as they imagined gods, when really they were monsters, as they themselves thought of monsters. Foolish, that had been of them, and short-sighted. She knew where those particular boxes had come from - one of their oldest fathers of lies, a man who had lived and breathed falsehood, and for it had ultimately faced a very rough manner of justice. They had torn out his tongue, in the end, and driven a nail through it, and displayed it thus to all and sundry. Grisly, that, but she understood it; the people needed to see that his power had been broken, that he would never again invent another dangerous lie. Merely killing him - which they had done first; let it not be said they were cruel - might have been thought to suffice for that, but those were old times, when the power of signs and symbols had still been much respected.

She marveled, in a dozy way, at the sudden sanguinity of her own thoughts. Well, and why not? She’d drifted closer to sleep herself, and it was a fit sort of dream for a moment like this. And why not now, as the thunder reached a mad crescendo that shook the very bones of the building in which she and her companion now lay? Why not now, as the thunder ceased to be only thunder, and the first rending crash of shattered artifice reverberated from the city below? There were towers there, and their tops were with the heavens - one less such tower now. She smiled in a way no human ever had before. Another warning from their own old stories, and again they failed to heed it. Perhaps now they would learn.

She thought again about getting out of bed to go and see, but this place wouldn’t last much longer anyway. And in any case, why need she bother? She’d just had the longest week of her life, working sunrise to sunrise again and again - six sunrises, she realized, with some surprise; the one just past had been the seventh. How apropos! she thought, and closed her eyes, and rested.

(1347 words)

Even their own stories made villains of those who abused the dead, she thought. How could they fail to see what they’d become? She had tried, and tried hard, to understand how they’d made themselves what they had come to be. This, though, she still could not encompass, and doubted she ever would. They thought they were close to being gods, as they imagined gods, when really they were monsters, as they themselves thought of monsters. Foolish, that had been of them, and short-sighted. She knew where those particular boxes had come from - one of their oldest fathers of lies, a man who had lived and breathed falsehood, and for it had ultimately faced a very rough manner of justice. They had torn out his tongue, in the end, and driven a nail through it, and displayed it thus to all and sundry. Grisly, that, but she understood it; the people needed to see that his power had been broken, that he would never again invent another dangerous lie. Merely killing him - which they had done first; let it not be said they were cruel - might have been thought to suffice for that, but these were old times, when the power of signs and symbols had still been much respected.

She marveled, in a dozy way, at the sudden sanguinity of her own thoughts. Well, and why not? She’d drifted closer to sleep herself, and these were . And why not now, as the thunder reached a mad crescendo that shook the very bones of the building in which she and her companion now lay? Why not now, as the thunder ceased to be only thunder, and the first rending crash of shattered artifice reverberated from the city below? There were towers there, and their tops were with the heavens - one less such tower now. She smiled in a way no human ever had before. Another warning from their own old stories, and again they failed to heed it. Perhaps now they would learn.

(1337 words)

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