God Is Dead

by CBallinger

god-is-dead

 

Daylight took me by surprise, I’d almost forgotten about it. I emerged to a silent world, stunned, the sheer volume of the impact still rang in my ears. The dust had settled and become only an invisible enemy. Immediate thirst; for air, for water. Shocked pupils came back out to play, gathering information effort free. Home was gone, the landscape was new. There was only that something on the horizon and I could only think to walk towards it. Nothing else was left.

I set into a warm, rhythmic stride. A dead-eyed search for more. For other and others. And all of my past memories flickered around the edges of my eyes but my gaze stayed straight. Forward thinking. No blinking or looking back, nothing to encourage tears. Debilitating heat; unfortunate levels of dehydration. The something got closer as my stride turned to a stagger.

I couldn’t decide how long I’d been hidden. There was barely even time to panic. Shadow washed over like instant night and I found deepest shelter. I held the tightest wince as the impact shook the ground and shocked my body. The second phase came as a rolling rumble. The sound seemed to move away from me, and I felt the smallest moment of comfort.

As my mind wandered by legs pushed on. The shape of the horizon carved itself into something familiar. An unprecedented development of literally huge proportions. A sight beyond rhetoric and reason. I arrived at the toes by nightfall and curled into the arch where the biggest met the ground. No sign of life. Sleep dragged me into the safety of dreams, a bombardment of adventure and drama. Fantasy never seemed so dull.

I woke with a hand on my face and with water being poured into my mouth. Gripped with thirst I drank greedily and without question. A face eventually formed, friendly and silent. As the picture cleared I saw more people, all staring over me, up the arches of the feet and to the heels that sheltered us from the sun. Silent disbelief. Without words we formed a group and began to walk.

Taught calf flesh against clear blue sky, hairs like tentacles. Some tried to climb, some succeeded. It didn’t seem rude to walk on the dead, the thing was part of the landscape. I didn’t waste the energy. I knew there would be hands soon, finger tips pointed our way in the distance. More people milled ahead, flies to fruit.

The hamstrings came upon us like a wave, a sudden increase in height. Severe contours of exquisite muscle. A half-dressed man with an axe surged at the leg and hacked wildly. I joined a group of others in placating the fool. Whilst he sobbed with hunger in a heap, we gazed upon the syrup we were covered in; black-red and thick as mucus. We washed as much as we could and walked on, smelling like cattle carcass.

We rested at the buttocks of comfort. Some tried in vain to get an angle on the largest cock ever to excite humanity. I quietly held the theory that the region would be smooth of genitalia, the body undistracted by desire. He died alone, here, away from anything of such scale.

The hand was covered in people. A palm upturned to the sky played host to varied acts of worship, depravity and vandalism. It seemed everyone was taking something different from the occasion; there was no uniform way to feel in the circumstances, no default response. Boundaries had shifted, realities altered. I reached out to touch the tip of a finger, shocked by my own quiver, and found the skin to be warm and dry like a weathered rock face.

I lost touch with the group that had found me by the foot, they’d all got involved with something. Individuality was an all-time high. Hostilities were brewing and I’d seen enough. The rest of the journey seemed predictable, but I had to keep on, to head for the head.

In the shadow of the strength of the mass my body seemed frail and weak. I’d been walking for more time than my energy would allow, with only my confusion and curiosity keeping me from falling to the ground and waiting for things the change back, or at least change again.

An end was in sight and my body was thankful. As the land sloped, so did the corpse. As the climax threatened the disappointment peaked. The head was slumped where the land turned to water, a lake where I’d never known one before. The crowd had massed and behaviour had become manic. Voices screamed for answers and theories were flung in faces.

The scene at the water’s edge forced a tear to cut a path through my dusty cheek. Bodies floated on the lake’s surface, some were already bloating on the shore. But still people were diving, emerging gasping and diving again with only a half-breath to sustain them. They had to see the face, or they couldn’t know the thing. They were searching for confirmation, as if they would recognise the man and settle everything.

Everyone was in search of identity. Many had fallen to prayer, wildly gesticulating at the sky or mumbling into clasped hands. Just who did they think was listening? Most had clearly picked sides in the past and now everything was in question. Someone must’ve killed this man. And now we shall be liberated or punished. 

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