She was born from the tears of thunderous and clashing clouds. She had no home, but charcoal wings to carry her forth into the formless world. “What is my name?” she asked the raging billows of twilight, to which she received no response. The nebula that was mother and father to her thrashed against one another in an endless feud to dehydration, never acknowledging her presence. “Who am I?” she with silken feathers tried to call out, but whose voice was suffocated by the detonation of her creator’s amorphous tongues. “Why am I here?” she cried lamentably into the void. There was yet again no reply, only the deep rumble of her parent’s inevitable dance to their fatality.
“Then I must go,” she whispered to the wind.
She stretched her expansive wings to cover every bit of the sky, eclipsing the sun, then dove to the genesis below with the force of a thousand Fallen Angels.
Below her relentless wings lied a young Earth. Too young, in fact, to have fully become anything more than islands. Some islands can be reached by row boats if the people dare test their luck on the suicidal waters, and some she can only fly to.
She with wings of immaculate elegancy perched herself onto a single strand. The land was developing upon child Earth as a valley. Every blossomed beauty bowed in her presence, to which she respectfully bowed back.
The Earth’s breath tangled between grass and tickled at her ankles. With two gentle fingers, she held a blade of grass. “Yes. Very well,” she spoke.
Between levitating mountains and field below, there lied a lake.
A lake of fire.
Nearby, a man casted a vast net, three times his size, into the blazes. To the woman’s surprise, the net did not become ash upon contact, but went through as a net through water should. With hands that seemed as if though they could move the very mountains he lived between, the man pulled a fish with scales made from moonlight from the wreckage of fire. The fish, from afar, seemed normal, but as the woman became closer to the man, so the fish grew in size. The lake continued raging as it had, long before she came, and will do so long after she is gone.
“Why is this such?” the woman with wings asked.
“My lady, are you so blind? This lake is fueled by the anger of brokenhearted people,” the man replied, as he hauled a fish now twice his size over one shoulder. “As you can see,” he said.
“Oh, so it is,” the woman said, as she wiped away tears of amber and cinder from her pale cheeks.
“And the fish?” she inquired.
“Ah, the fish. These are the broken hearts themselves. They fill you for weeks but taste of hate and sorrow.”
“You have an abundance of fish, do you not?” she asked.
“Yes, but a man can never have too many, don’t you think?” he replied, to which the beautiful woman scoffed and rejected such an answer.
“I have traveled across eons and have yet to eat a thing,” she said to the man.
“Then my lady, I invite you to dine with me by Hade’s exhalation tonight,” the man said. The very next words to spill from his lips were almost spoken shyly. Almost.
“And maybe after, when we’ve filled your greed, you can repay me.”
From across the wildfire she heard him call her name. No, not her name. But she knew he called, and she understood. With wings like ship sails, she caught wind and released the Earth from beneath her feet as she ascended to the night sky, then descended to him on the opposite shore.
“I am here,” she said, then kissed him gently on the lips. It was a new sensation for her. Much more wet than she expected.
“I know your intentions. You wish to make me yours, much like the fish you claim,” she with bronze eyes whispered.
“And if I refuse you, then you will force me to do as you please,” she continued, “I am no fool, and you are no decent being. For that, I seek retribution.”
Quickly, before the man’s mind could process the very information she had just spoonfed him, she with razorblade talons ripped a wormhole through his chest. She did it so precisely, like a surgeon would use a scalpel, or a conductor would use his wand to orchestrate the orchestra, as if though she had done it her whole life.
Within the man’s Alcatraz of a chest cavity, she pulled from beneath blood encrusted bones a fish crafted from dark matter and anger.
Her mouth, as sweet as the purest nectar, ground the fish between her pearl laced gums. She swallowed every scale it possessed, every flesh it had beneath, and every hollow bone it once was. The fish she consumed tasted like metal and repentance.
She pushed the man’s corpse off the muddy shore into the lake of fire and bid him goodbye. She looked down at her hands in disbelief at what they had done, as if they’ve changed somehow from just this morning.
She gathered the basket of fish the man had stored beside his fire and brought it to the inferno of heartbreak, holding each fish between her hands until they resurrected and swam back to their quiet misery into eternity.
The lady flies for a lifetime. Then another. And again. She lands only when the Earth calls, or when a heart must be broken. Every piece of the lady’s infinite form silhouettes in the sky as she wanders the galaxies like a nomad in search of a place to call home. She is as graceful in flight as a ballerina in performance, but somehow, more so.
With every lifetime she has traveled, every flap of her wings she has created tornadoes with, the Earth has grown. The Earth was in adolescence, forming and stitching together like a beautiful tapestry. “Soon,” she whispered to the destructive waters below. “You will feed the young Earth and help it in its growth to adulthood. You will tie every landmass to one another and hold the Earth tight together.”
And they believed her. They calmed their furious currents and became serene currents.
All the seas, save one.
“I do not believe you, my lady.” said the still violent sea, his eyes glistened like sapphires beneath the sun. He proudly wore a malevolent smile that left the lady perplexed beyond imagining; a smile that rejuvenated butterflies she once thought to be extinct within the deepest parts of her body, but also a smile that made her somewhat bitter.
“The point of a sea is to toss and rage until we die. What is a sea that does not live its life thrashing and destroying?” the water asked. “Is it not merely just a raindrop?”
“You are nothing more than just a trillion billion raindrops, are you not?” the lady asked.
“This is correct, but are you nothing more than a multitude of feathers and beauty? I expect not. I believe you to be more than just what the mere eyes can observe. Just as I am so. Though a collection of raindrops, I am more, I am a tidal wave. I am to create and destroy and create again. Such is how it must be, to calm a sea is to kill it.”
“You do not seem rageful, sea. You smile, you jest. You speak with desire from your heart and with charm and flirtation. I’ve seen it a dozen worlds over,” she said.
“I speak with an angry joy,” the water said.
“Angry joy? Is such a thing possible, sir?” she asked.
“My dear, it is what creates us. It is that which powers the currents and causes the seas to dance and sing. Angry joy is what keeps the sun chasing the moon and keeps the moon running.”
“Ha, the moon does not run, nor is your destruction a song,” she said.
“That it is, my lady.” the Tsunami said. “And a song never lies.”
“Unlike you, I see,” the lady replied, just before a wind caught her wings and she took flight across the world, feather by feather, straight into the horizon.
The Tsunami sang a quiet song beneath the current’s splash and conjured a powerful storm only the most experienced fishermen could sense, as if it were a part of him. The wicked storm tore across the ocean in the woman’s direction in hopes of dragging her to her death. The destructive deity had succumb to depletion before it could rustle a feather on her body, for it was not meant to harm her. She flew on to the next world in peace.
She returned, older, wiser, and more powerful. The world was older as well, though not much more wise than she last could recall.
“So, you continue to erupt?” the lady asked.
“And you’re still breaking hearts, I see,” the Tsunami said, atop a chariot of Leviathan bones being pulled by a thousand deceased sea creatures.
“You have become an operative for war,” she said. During her leave of absence from this world the lady learned much about the animosity that a Tsunami can carry with them, therefore kept her distance from him.
“Oh my dear lady, I have become a General,” he said. From beneath the surface of the ocean, armies rose and engulfed cities and civilizations across the Earth, leaving only chaotic horror and death behind them.
“You’ve not fallen to the chorus like all the rest yet,” the woman said.
“I have not, my love. Nor will I ever. There is no life in being a common current.” With those words, he raised his whip, a long flaming chain crafted from stolen innocence, and whipped every sea monster ahead of him, releasing a soul clenching screech from their decrepit mouths, trampling and destroying the Earth beneath their hooves.
The Tsunami and his army continued the massacre like flowing molten lava on a helpless land. They buried monumental structures beneath their feet and left them to decay beneath the surface.
The lady flew against the sky for some time, observing the Tsunami’s every majestic wave. There were no words that passed between either force, just miserly thoughts of the other’s demise. Thoughts that, with some time, will inevitably drive them to madness.
“I will forgive you,” she said, “if you feel the need to be forgiven.”
“I will not ask, my dearest,” said the Tsunami.
“And why will you not?” the lady asked.
“I do not seek it, nor do I recognize your authority to freely distribute it,” said the Tsunami, his eyes bright and glowing in her direction, taking in every particle of sunlight that gleamed off of her beautifully tamed feathers. “I won’t ever ask for it.”
In defiance to the feeling she had, she with feathers of midnight swooped down in front of the Tsunami and his advancing army. They have encountered another in their path, and, up close, it was unclear as to whom was fighting for who. It was just an unceasing cyclone of butchery and blood spatter against a serene canvas of Earth.
She sweeps back up to the heavens and around again, circling the rageful currents one last time.
“My lady, before you go, please do me the favor of bestowing upon me the title in which you are called,” the Tsunami said, “so I may call you by the appropriate name during our next encounter.”
“I will not see you again.”
“If you insist, my lady,” the Tsunami replied, “But I will inform you of mine.” His jaw unhinged from its proper anatomical place and he released a roar of pain and loneliness from it. The Earth beneath his feet turned to ash and the nearby trees grew from curiosity to hear it, only to die from the sound.The skies faded to darkness and clouds billowed above as birds free fell to their death.
“But, my dearest, you may call me-”
“I will call you nothing,” she interrupted, ready to catch another gale and be gone, but not leaving, not just yet. “I will not see you again,” she echoes in the darkness to him, as if he didn’t hear her the first time.
The Tsunami said for a second time also, “If you insist, my lady.” He raised his whip to send his horde forward, she raised her flawless wings to go on without him. A flurry of wind clashed and twisted around every feather of hers and she let it heave her to worlds over.
“Father? Mother?” she said, flying through clouds across time. She grievously knew there would be no answer to her sorrowful song she cried. They never have answered her, not since the Earth was a child, certainly not now when it has grown. She neither knew nor believed that they have ever heard her. A rain cloud travels and gathers and depletes itself many times in the course of a single day, let alone the lifetime of a world. Even so, not even the daughter of thunderous clouds could tell one from another.
They might be her parents. They might just be clouds. They were not her parents. They were just clouds. Though still, she cried out, “Mother? Father?”
She had no answer to what her question would be when they finally responded, if they responded, so she flew in silence from then on. Her mind was sullen with the thoughts of the Tsunami; fights they have never had, defeats she has never won, arguments that have never taken place, and the sweet release she wishes to grant him if he asks for her forgiveness.
Still, she soared through amorphous nebulas, letting the moisture they contained wet her clothes and soothe her sore muscles.
All the while, her parents watched her. They whispered her name from afar, but only when the thunder rumbled, when they knew she was too far to hear. She flew on.
“I see you have changed,” the lady said.
“Indeed,” the Tsunami replied, “And yet, I am still the same.” As tradition, the lady cautiously flew in great circles around the Tsunami that formed rings in the sky like that of Eternity. “I am no longer a General, my dear,” the Tsunami says, “I am not an agent of war any longer. It isn’t the same anymore.”
“But here you are, building and creating, you add to the world.”
“It is what the tide is to do. We destroy for a new world to begin, then tear it down again. Until we are tamed to just a current.”
”Ha, I see you’ve gained a sense of humor; you tease me,” the lady said.
“And you, my dear, taunt me viciously.”
The lady perched onto a peaked roof in a village of factories the Tsunami had created. The black smog the factory produced did not touch her. It flowed around both her and her skin, leaving her pure still.
“Me? How could I possibly taunt you?” she asked, “How can this be true?”
“My thoughts are filled with you. Every corner, every nook, every empty space now filled with the image of your being,” he said, “You enter my deepest dreams, yet you stay out of reach.”
“You enter my dreams as well, Tsunami.” she said, “And yet, you do not.”
The Tsunami smiles a familiar expression of malevolence she had seen long ago, and of course the merriment behind his blazing eyes. “My lady dreams of me?” he asked, with the knowledge to his question.
She takes flight into the next world again.
“Wait, my lady!” he called after her, “Before you leave, a gift for you.”
She made a great swoop around and soared behind him, over the vast land he had once warred upon when they were younger. “Pray tell, what gift could I possibly want to accept from you?” the woman asked. “You, sir, are a Tsunami. Your mission is to destroy.”
”And destroy again.”
“And create again, my dearest. You know this infinite circle to be true. You know for you’ve seen it yourself.”
“What is your gift, Tsunami?” the lady asked.
“Take perch once more so I may bestow my gift upon you.”
“You are dangerous to me.”
“My love, you are just as dangerous to me as I am for you. With the power you contain in a single strand of hair, you can tame me to a current. It is a risk to both you and I. Either we both live, or we are both sent to the Underworld. And I’m not so sure of you, my dearest, but I prefer to live.”
She contemplated the man’s offer. After a moment or two, she landed.
“What is your gift, Tsunami?” she asked.
“An unexpected truth, my dear,” said the Tsunami. Across the expanse of a continent, he offered her his hand. She accepted his hand, though much more quickly than she would have liked, she did so regardless.
The Tsunami rumbled and shifted and erupted, causing the Earth to split into two. Factories, towns, cities, fell into the chasm he had created. The skies filled with ash and fire. Great tides from beneath the land engulfed trees and swallowed them whole. Mountains drowned and volcanoes became stone. Everything around them was but darkness and destruction.
“But you, my dear,” he said, “Are unharmed. I cannot, do you see?” With his free hand, he raised a giant storm of water to take her life, but it parted as it fell on her, leaving her still untouched. He spun his hand in a circle and created a tornado to throw her from her feet to the galaxies, but again, it did not harm a molecule of her skin. It simply fell off of her. He then raised a tight fist of water to crush her, but it stopped before it harmed a feather on her head.
“I wish I could destroy you, my dear,” he said, “So that I may create you again. But I cannot, despite what you and I believe.” He let her step onto his palm and he held her up high, over the ruined life, up to his eyes, those blazing eyes. “Do you see what this means?”
“I do,” she says. “And my answer is yes, I will marry you.” On the palm of his hand, grass grew under her feet. The sky cleared around them and they stood in the midst of revolving planets and dusty stars deep within the heavens. The very hands they used to create and destroy, were now enraptured by the other’s touch, unable to let go. Not now. They couldn’t resist, they couldn’t break free.
They undertook the task of recreating the world together. They called it their child, a joke neither was particularly comfortable with, especially when the speaking of it made it true. He brought tidal waves to water dehydrated lands. She brought the seasons in to wear them down, to plant life, fill them with a new age.
Their classical couplings were violent and yet unsatisfying. His hands wished to drown her, to tender her corpse, and hers wished to calm him to a current, or to turn him to steam. But, they are useless, they could not harm one another. He had to viciously toss and turn, she had to constantly and angrily forgive.
Yet it works. For a time.
They are what they have been, and they have not changed from it.
She suspected he to be the cause of the wars that raged on the face of their child, of all the hate and madness that occurred. When he returned, his horses sweat beads of blood as if though they had just run to the end of time and back.
He suspected that she was breaking hearts in his absence, in turn. When she returned, there was a contentment within her that he sensed, a satisfaction in her bronze eyes that she is slow to wake from.
He thought he was too big, too powerful, much too universally traveled for jealousy. She thought herself to be too free, too quietly sure of her place in the world for jealousy to exist within her core.
They were both wrong.
She had begun to pursue him on his trips across their child, too far behind for him to notice, but all the while she watched him raise armies that swarmed across the Earth, watched him build factories that belched smoke to the heavens, watched him control the people below.
He, meanwhile, hid in hot springs and geysers, traveled beneath the surface of the Earth using forgotten channels and rivers never seen. He danced on tectonic plates and the floors of caverns, watching her deal with the people of their child. He watched as they tried to take her from him, watched her forgive them with her touch, break their hearts with her kiss, releasing them from their burdens.
Their child, much like all children, sensed the disquiet. It frets and turns and soils itself under their increasingly neglectful eye. Some days, when its cries are loud enough, they return to it, pay it attention, and tend to its needs. They gave their beloved child grandeur weather and bountiful seasons of harvest for the people. They gave their child endless sunny days and romantically moonlit nights. This, however, did not last long. Both tide and lady would catch gazes again and continue their feud to the grave, once again neglecting their adolescent child.
The Earth, during times like these, knew to take himself to bed early.
And then it arrived, the final day.
She had followed her husband to yet another carnage. Their child split into pieces, spewing and spouting lava from the crevasses and seams to chase down the Tsunami’s men. The armies, they raced through the narrow veins of cities as the fitful fire from beneath their feet chased after them, sealing their fate.
She followed through the path of destruction, the looting, pillaging, chaos, as she skid one single finger through rivers and pools of blood. She shed diamonds from the corner of her eyes. She wept for the child that was theirs, and yet, wasn’t. She wept for her lover, her husband, and wondered if it was lost. The lady did not wonder if it was true. For it was true, for both, that much was evident.
But was it enough?
The Tsunami is everywhere and nowhere during the war. Though his presence could not be seen, all that was, was because of him. She found instead the General of the army that fought; a meager man. The General believed he led the troops that surrounded them, but he no more led the armies than horns lead a stampeding bull. His chin was masked in a veneer of the enemy’s blood where he had been feeding.
With eyes raised, the General saw the lady approach and dropped his enemy then followed to a bow at the waist respectfully. “My lady,” he says.
“You know me?” the lady questions.
“Everyone knows you, my lady,” the small General said.
“You are an agent under my husband, are you?” she asked.
“Indeed, that is how it is so,” the man said. He gestured to the enemy on the ground, grasping for air with teeth mark punctures along his trachea, trying to shovel the blood back into his windpipe.
“And so did he. We all do fight for your husband, madame.”
“Are you not tired…” she asked, as she stepped around him in a slow circle.
He looks up at her, head still bowed. “I am, my lady,” he said, his voice full of weariness, weakness, and disappointment.
“You, my dear General, do not seek war, do you?” she said, as she stood behind him.
“No, madame. I do not,” he replied.
“You seek forgiveness…” she said.
He said nothing, there was only the death cries of ruthless monsters ripping hearts from chests. When she came around again to his face, he pulled himself up to full height and looked proud. “As you say, madame.”
“Should I forgive you?” she asked, meanwhile bewildered, feeling a wave of hesitancy forming around her.
The small General slid his fingers from his sides up to his top buttons of his uniform. He unbuttoned the first five buttons, exposing his bare chest, the fragile skin over his heart. “As you wish, my lady.”
She flew to him across the narrow street muddied with blood. His eyes gave nothing away about his true intentions. She was still unsure, and hesitated.
“I cannot commit this act in anger,” she said. “I can only do this out of love.”
“Would it help my lady if I wept for her?” he asked solemnly.
“Very much,” she whispered in his ear. The General wept for the lady. “Thank you,” she said, and sliced a precise line down his chest, revealing a fish with golden scales where his heart should’ve been. She reached both hands deep inside and cradled the fish out, then settled her teeth beneath its scales, into its flesh. She consumed the fish whole in front of the small General.
He did not die. He did not even thank her.
“I’m going to bite out your eyes now,” she said, uncertainty still lingering.
“My lady, please do so, do as you wish to end my eternal suffering,” he said, words sounding resiliently true.
She sensed his pain, the suffering he spoke of. But it was not the kind of suffering that was from just the mere pain of death.
Confused, she moved closer to him to bite out his eyes, but within the last moment possible, she finally saw.
Deep within those eyes, deep down past whom the General is, deep beyond his adolescence and birth, behind the history of their child who brought him to this place, this city/battlefield, deep behind and beyond all that rested gently in the General’s mind-
There was a blazing flash of Sapphire.
“You and I are equivalent, my lady,” said the Tsunami, as he looked out of the General’s eyes.
“That is untrue, we are different,” she replied.
“We are the same and we are different.”
She opened her mouth in hopes of contradicting the man, but she soon found she cannot, for he is wistfully correct.
“You have betrayed me, and with this small General, too,” she said.
“And you have done the same with him as well, dearest.” He stepped from behind the General’s eyes, sending away all the flesh of the General’s body airborne, splattering against the concrete walls of the city. Not a single drop of blood touched her. “And as you can see, my lady, I still cannot harm you.”
“Nor can I do harm to you.”
“We must end this, whatever this is,” he said. “We cannot work. We do not fit. Our end is only one of eradication. That is how it must be, that is how it always must have been, my love.”
“I cannot do it.”
“You can, my love.”
He knelt before her. His sapphire eyes blazing with an infinite amount of thoughts and emotions, too many for the lady to have read and understood. He was cold, too, as cold as the glaciers in the still forming north that he was a part of.
And, from the corner of his eyes, raindrops fell to their child Earth. He wept enough to fill the ocean. The city that was, was now drenched in his tears, sinking it to the bottom of the sea like Atlantis. All that was around them has died.
“I have loved you, my lady,” he said. “From the first day you fell from the sky and met me until the seconds that pass as I speak this sentence, I have loved you. I cannot change it as certainly as I cannot harm you.”
The sky turned to ash. The ground neath his knees turned to ash. The trees around them turned to ash. The world shuddered beneath them.
“And so, my dear,” he said, “the day has arrived. Our last day. Ordained from the moment our eyes met one another’s first.”
He dug his fingers deep into his chest and pulled it apart, destructive floods and typhoons spill into the earth. He exposed a fish that bled fire from its wounds, but was still alive. “You must forgive me, my lady,” he said to her, diamond raindrops formed in her eyes.
She couldn’t utter a single word from her trembling lips.
“You must, my dearest, or I will find a way to destroy you. You know that this is true. We are not meant for each other.”
“We are only meant for each other, sir.”
“That is true also. We are the same, we are different. But my dear, with every moment that passes between us that I cannot drown you and destroy you utterly with my love for you is a moment of harsh torment that does not disintegrate. And because it does not disintegrate, I will continue to take it out on our beloved child, this Earth, this world.” He leaned closer to her, the fish in his cavity bled more and more fire, steam rose out of the split like smog from his factories. “Forgive me, my love, once and for all.”
“I cannot. Not to you.”
“You know what I speak to be true, my love.”
”I do know this.”
“You must do this, my lady. Reach in, devour it. Bite out my eyes.”
His eyes burned a furious inferno. “Then you do not love me.”
She could not breath. The thought of losing the one she loved, her husband, took the breath from within her lungs. She raised her hands to his chest to dig deep and coddle the fish out.
“Do it, my lady,” he said, closing his eyes. “Forgive me, break my heart, I beg this of you.”
Her hands were raised, ready to reach in and lure it out, to end this torment, which she would admit was as bad for her as it would ever be for him. She loved him and that was impossible. She hated him and that was also impossible. She could not be with him. She couldn’t be without him. And both are burningly, simultaneously true in a way that grinds the cliche into dust.
But what she could not do, what she could not do that has no opposite, which was also true, what she could not ever, ever do-
Was forgive him.
For loving her. For drowning her. For desiring her. For making her do all that, in return by his very existence.
She couldn’t ever imagine forgiving him.
She didn’t end his torment from her. She did not end hers.
She lowered both hands and let him live.
The lady’s hand didn’t dive within him.
The Tsunami opened his eyes, the sapphire jewels at first surprised, then slowly burned, boiled, blazed to a fitful animosity.
“That is how it will be then, my lady,” he said and rose to his feet. His hands lifted to the skies, his voice shook the foundation of creation as he whispers in her ear, “I love you, my dear, and now my malice toward you will outweigh the love. As heavy as the heavens and hell. You will be punished by my infinite chasing of you, never will I stop my torment toward you. Never stop asking you for what you cannot bestow upon me.”
“And I love you, dear,” she said, “and your punishment will be that I will always love you. Always.”
He leaned down to her. “You will never again know peace, you will never again know rest.”
“Neither will you, my dear husband.”
“The difference, my love, is that I was never at rest to begin with.”
She took a step back from him. And then one more, then again, then another, moving faster and faster, until she spun around and took flight into the void of the sky.
“Run all you wish, my lady!” he shouted after her. “I will forever chase!”
But then, he frowned. She was not running from him. Her path swooped upward to the heavens, high up, beyond this world, beyond time and the universes and their ever shifting rules.
And now she was free falling back.
With increasing speed.
She raced toward him like a heated comet traveling across the galaxies before the beginning of all things. He stood taller, sunk his roots deep beneath the Earth, preparing for battle. Still she dove, further and further and further, white-hot from her speed.
She was a bullet, separated from herself, she flew toward him, watching herself do so. She watched herself fly toward his still-exposed chest to the fish caught on fire. She slowed mid-air, watching the bullet part of herself continue its inevitable fate toward him, cutting the air, careening faster and faster.
Until it stuck him and lodged the fish between its scales.
The impact knocked the Tsunami off of his feet. He fell with a crash that created planets, destroyed stars, that scarred the heavens with its massive concussion to the Earth.
But he did not die.
He instead laughed. “What have you done, my love, that is supposed to have killed me, exactly?” He sat up, feeling the fish within him thrashing still.
“I have shot you where it hurts,” she said.
“Ha, hardly. A bullet without harm is no bullet at all, my lady.”
“Ah, but it is a bullet with a name. The name of the bullet will be the death of you, my dear husband. The name of the bullet is Permission.”
His face formed to a frown, he grew angry. “You speak in riddles. Come off it.”
“As long as this bullet is lodged within you, deep within you, then you will carry a part of me with you. And as long as a part of me resides within you…” She flew down and perched herself on a tree branch so they would be face to face so there would be no mistaking her words. “You have permission to do what harm you wish to me.”
There was only silence as the world below registered the shocked breath they had.
“What did you just say, my lady?” the Tsunami asked, his voice was low and heavy; shocked, too.
“Try to harm me now.”
He was agitated, confused. But she was mocking him and began flying annoyingly in circles around his head. “My lady!” he shouted, upset, and half-heartedly threw a typhoon her direction.
She cried out in pain as the typhoon split a tear in her wing. She turned to him, the split now pouring blood that rained down upon their child Earth. The skin ripped and peeled and became an ugly wound on her.
“My lady!” he said appalled, reaching for her to help her.
But she flew out of reach before he could brush a finger against her tender frame.
“Where is your hatred for me now, my husband?” she screams. “Where is your torment? You can hurt me now.” She cocked her head sideways. “So, my love, what will you do to me?”
She turned her back on him and flew away. She did not flee, she did not go in fear, just away. Away from him. His entire being trembled at the thought of what he had just done. She had achieved something far worse than her lack of forgiveness in him.
He grew angry.
And angrier still.
She begun to disappear into the horizon, a speck of light against a night of black.
“I will still pursue you, my love,” he said. “I will never heed my pursual in you. I will follow you to the end of time and-”
But she was not listening.
But he was not pursuing.
His heart ached. It ached with the pain of love. With the darkness of hatred. With the bullet that she is, lodged within him.
He grew angrier.
“My love,” he said, furiously. “My love.”
He thrashed over landscapes, destroying everything that dared stand between them; there was no satisfaction in the death cries of the people below. He felt nothing for the cities that collapsed beneath his blows, the people sinking to live beneath the dirt under his boots, the vast forests that drowned from his sweat. He looked back to his wife on the horizon, still disappearing. She flew as one star among the firmament.
“My lady,” he cries.
With hands that could defeat the Titans, he reached deep into the forests of the people and pulled from its roots, the tallest tree he could. He bent and crushed and molded the tree until it was straight and light. He then reached into the cities, into the factories he is well familiar with, and he fashioned an arrowhead from the sword heads and guns from all his men. He dipped the smelted arrowhead into his skin and cooled it off; steam rose to his face. He fletched the arrow with feathers from the most beautiful birds he could find, extincting an entire species. He weaved and crafted a beautiful bowstring made from the finest dacron of the world, ignoring the cries of his child. He made the bow from the lava deep within the Earth, allowing it to cool into elasticity.
During the instant and eternity he had taken to create the weapon, she had still not disappeared from the horizon. She is there, still there, forever, like the bullet struck between his chest.
“This is not over, my lady,” he said, as he lined up his sight.
He let fly the arrow.
It stuck her.
“Oh, my love!” she cried out, in agony and terrible, inevitable malady. “What have you done to me?”
And she falls, falls, falls to Earth.