#19: Gadsden
He is not born in the strict sense of the word. It is best to describe his coming to existence as creation. Letters from an unprecedented code strung together into words into blood into bone and flesh and scales. The Green Sun burnt his eyes out as soon as he was, but he never needed physical vision to begin with. He knows nearly all things which are, have been, and will exist, and thus sees nearly all things, too. He knows a few things which Must Never Be, warnings of damnable but not doomed futures, and he must see that these do not occur.
Didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like hell, though.
<><><>
For a very long time, he is bored.
His planet is so boring at the moment. It will be years before they do anything remotely interesting. He had to show them how to make fire, of all things. (And they will use it magnificently, he has decided, as they will use all things he teaches them.)
Boring, boring, boring. He winds across this planet, still young and fresh, waiting for his dominoes to fall. Waiting for dominoes to exist. He likes those, and his scales turn black and white. It will be ages before someone makes them, though, given that they are still struggling to speak in more than grunts and whines. If only he had a proper voice and not this infernal hiss. He can’t get anything across, can’t make things go any faster. He pokes and prods and occasionally bites things, but his efforts are futile. This is how this world works: he nudges (and can only nudge and gently push, cannot even whisper suggestions into ears like they think he can. Will think he can. Had thought he could) knowledge onto these stupid beings in hopes that they will become less stupid. It’s a painful process.
<><><><><><>
He waits and plans out the lessons he will teach them. He does not decide what those things are because he already knows what they are. They have been taught so many things, and all by him, so he must teach them. He doesn’t have the option of forgoing something and watching that time pocket collapse. Not for a very long time, at least. He must take the slow path, the painful path to reach the Final Reckoning.
(He thinks that this is stupid phrase for it, so he teaches them new words for it. Apocalypse, Armageddon, RagnarÇ«k, Doomsday, Yawm al-QiyÄmah, the Great Cycle of the Long Count.)
At the same time, because while there is so much to do, there is so little to think about. These creatures are dumb now, still so foolish, believing every putrid thought he gives them because it is the only way they understand. A few are smarter, know better, and he spends time with them. Diamonds in the rough. Stars to navigate by. If not for them, he would have–
–not given up, no, he cannot because he does not. The future is unreachable if he gives up moulding this world to its final purpose (and maybe more, if he can plan it right).
These minds, rich and succulent like fresh fruit (which he cannot eat, not with this body, but he knows what it tastes like and longs to bite into that flesh himself and savour its sticky, sweet blood), make the wait bearable.
<><><><><><><><><>
He gives them language so that they may warn each other of the coming future, full of fire and destruction.
He gives them mathematics so that they may calculate when that day will come and make amends and pay their dues.
He gives them weapons so that They may use them to defend Themselves, planting the seeds of fire and power and metal long in the past so that others may perfect them and Their Guardians may teach Them.
He does not teach them how to kill. They figure it out themselves.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
When there is time, he plans accordingly for a time he does not know (not past, not present, not future, not Time That Must Not Be). He ponders the ways it could occur, and deduces the ideas which will not work, having seen the way this species operates. He has a long time to plan and a (relatively) short time to execute it. A good plan must have structure and strategy, but also allow for flexibility. Those Children (and they are, but there is no room for pity in his heart) are blind spots in his Vision, which is still too green for his liking, but he can predict how they will act.
They are young. Will be young. (And will always be young.)
(And if it all goes right, never were young.)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Among the plans to make sure that the Fifth Universe comes (he likes that name best), he also makes plans to die.
He is so very tired and old.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
He lists the Things Which Must Never Be:
She must not become powerful (he has made her influence weak. The company she built across the multiverse is only a continental giant, and that is good enough. He makes sure there are people who appreciate creating things from scratch and tasting them, too).
He must not be here (too late, this is a silly event to avoid. He is always here).
That Doll cannot exist (this is more of a personal preference. That Doll frightens him).
That Silly Man cannot steal the Wall (which does not make sense, but he executes plans to avoid this anyway, even if he must work harder to make up for the development lost).
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Guardians come, and he wishes he could feel some sort of kinship to them. They, like him, are bred for this Game. Without it, they would not exist. Their existence is paradoxical just as his is (the code that he is forged from does not exist yet, will not exist yet for another generation, and he will make it happen).
(So close now.)
But they do not have to live for billions of years, watching these creatures climb out of the primordial soup and then proceed to get even that wrong. They only have to live for a few decades, knowing only in their dreams (the ones he gives them because they must know their purpose, the sole reason why they exist) that they were created to Guard Those Children.
(They are yours, he tells them in their dreams, the only place he has a voice they can hear. You will find them one day, and you will expect it. You will teach them how to live and to fight, to struggle in the face of adversity and to strive against all odds.)
(Teaching them to love is not what he does. They will learn that on their own.)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
A blind spot:
One of the Guardians has a child, a flesh and blood child of her own.
He does not know what to make of this development, and lets it figure itself out.
(It does.)
(And doesn’t.)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The First Child comes, the light of Her Meteor shining like a new sun in the twilight. She lands in one country, is picked up, and Guardian and Child flee to another.
The Second Child comes and solves the problem of the scotomic child.
The Third Child comes, and the dust does not settle for a long time.
The Fourth Child comes and confuses a lot of people into thinking that the sun had risen twice. Stupid humans.
The Fifth Child comes and he goes to the place where the Meteorite landed. This Child is his, and will have two Guardians instead of one, because if he has any hope at all of getting what he wants (an end), it is with This Child.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
He watches This Child grow up, whispers into His (no–Her now) Dreaming ears, and wants to be able to do it without tormenting Her so.
It is a strange feeling, but so is the way that This Child will stroke him, wearing crimson and navy (for those two worlds that no longer are, their destruction becoming his source and bane), like some humans stroke smaller, fluffy beasts they domesticated.
If this is domestication (if this is love), he likes it.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Game start.
About the Author (Author Profile)
Subscribe
If you enjoyed this article, subscribe to receive more just like it.
