The God Reached Out For Biscuits But Pulled Out Coal

February 24, 2014

The god reached out for biscuits but pulled out coal.  She placed a piece into her mouth just to see how it would feel and it turned to charcoal.  She laughed at the in-joke regarding carbon footprints and dehydration.  She bit down and shuddered that it cleaned her teeth too well.  She will teach them to invent toothpaste.

Several times, she looked to the smell of rosemary, shivering from the heat and rewinding herself.  Will there be tomorrows?  Or will tomorrow be a memory of something that has yet to happen?

Her stomach.  How it aches.  She is frightened it is bleeding again.  It is after all, nearing the anniversary of the death of her last holographic vision.

She holds a star between her toes in anticipation of the day she will have to teach herself how to walk.  Long, lovely sinew.  She could create the need within minutes but why should she when her mind moves mountains into seas with less than a word?  She chooses not to do that either.  She has not yet created language or the need to speak but oh ...  Oh how she loves to hear the songs that come from unrestricted voices.

When there are no words, there is only the perfection of each attosecond and the spaces in between.
She removes the charcoal and tosses it aside, creating new numbers that look like collections of pyramids.  As the charcoal looks for a place to hide, she considers what the other gods choose to teach.
She is trying to decide between a holocaust and mathematics for she cannot find the biscuits. 
 - Written 2014-02-24

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