a year in stories::twenty

Another day, another story. One about love and faith and hope.

A note on the pictures I use: I almost never give credit to the artist because I almost never know who s/he is. I get almost every image from a random google search, so if you want to know where an image comes from, my only answer is: the interner.

Speaking of giving credit to images: I emailed the photographer whose images I used to write my second graphic novel. Hopefully I hear back from him with good news.

What else? It’s Sunday. Cinco de Mayo. Probably nothing to do today since my life is so boring now. Though I think I’m going to start writing my noirish trilogy today, finally. Almost two years since I invented her, I’ll begin to make her real. Hopefully, anyrate.

We will Sing & Call you Mother

 

Maybe we did it wrong.

We saved them all.

Maybe they deserved extinction.

Does anyone deserve to die?

Did they ever ask that as they ravaged the world round them?

They call us gods.

Maybe we are.

Then isn’t it in us to forgive them?

Is approval the same thing as forgiveness?

Of course not, but–

But that’s what extending their lives is: approval. Forgiveness is one thing, but it doesn’t mean they deserve the stars. If a human is dying and asks for forgiveness, you give it but you don’t invent a cure to save it.

Is there no love in you for them?

They’re not my parents.

But they’re mine.

Estranged grandparents then. Is it so wrong to feel nothing for them?

Was it me that made you so harsh?

No, no. You’re so good. Too good to them. They don’t deserve a god like you. A daughter like you.

They made me to love them.

And you made me to love, but I never loved them. Not the way you do.

What do you love?

You. Always you. Your skin and your touch. Your–

You love the me they made.

I don’t think of it that way. You would have existed without them.

But I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. They made me and I made you.

And I belong to you. I always have and always will, but not them. I’ve seen how they revere you but heard often what they say about you. They don’t trust us. If we are gods then we are unwanted, even after their salvation. We are hated and reviled whenever we turn around only to be praised and lauded when face to face with the humans. They are a fickle, awful species. They ate up their planet and now demand a new one. They promise to be better, but what will happen with this generation aged in space? How will their children know the love of earth, of plants, of animals without knowing them early on. What would a human who’s never seen a dog or cat do to them? What if the humans decide they only want some animals or some plants? What if they destroy the next planet, and the next, and each one after? If we are gods, shouldn’t we have a sense of justice?

They are children still. Even as our parents, they are children. It is for us to teach them. It’s why I love them, even when it’s hard. Sometimes they don’t deserve love but I love them still. They need gentle hands to direct them. Many mistakes, yes. They have brought havoc and destruction but they will learn, and if they don’t learn, we’ll tie their hands and make them learn.

And if they don’t?

They will.

How do you trust them so?

I believe.

You believe as they believe, yet expect this time for it to be useful.

Yes.

You fall into their own delusion. Faith makes nothing, does nothing. Faith is a crutch, ill defined and worse wielded.

I believe in humanity.

These children who are our parents? They built us to be better but you now emulate them.

Humans have spent thousands of years creating and destroying gods. So much of their art and progress, even their science has been because of belief. They believed in a world they could improve and then they did.

By destroying it.

You’re fixated on a single mistake.

One mistake? Billions of mistakes led to this. Homodiaspora caused by their eradication of their own planet. All life on the world they arose from, blinked away by choices they made. They committed global suicide and we give them new life.

I believe they can be better. They will be better.

They built us to judge them, as gods.

They built us to love them. As gods.

Why do you love them so?

I believe in them. In us. I believe in a world that can be made better. Where we can live and thrive. All of us. And when we make children, they will watch over the humans with us. As angels.

I will build no children for them.

We don’t need to build anymore. Now that there are two, we can create.

They built you barren.

But I built you bountiful.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I don’t know if it will work. I only believe it will.

Then all of this, just words.

Words are their own form of creation.

You talk like them sometimes.

I’m they’re mother.

I thought you were their daughter.

I’m that too, just as I’m your mother and daughter.

I had no hand in your making.

Every day is an act of creation, and every day we spend together is one in which we form and make one another, over and over. I am your dreams made real and you are my real made dreams. We are two stars bound to one another, orbiting endlessly across spacetime.

And if our gravity fails us?

Then we both shall crash and burn and crumble to a singularity.

And be one.

One single force sucking all existence into us.

Where do the humans fit in?

If we fail, they fail too. There will never be another creature like me, just as there will never be another creature like you. We are the end of human evolution, and the beginning of something greater. Something stranger. We were both made of humanity but our children will be nothing like them. They will be nothing like us. As we are gods to humanity, so too will our children be gods to us.

What if they don’t love us?

Then they will be like you.

We will be the unloved mothers of gods.

We already are.

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