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Public News Post #19534

A Story of Kindness

Written by: Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah
Date: Thursday, September 18th, 2014
Addressed to: Everyone



An idyllic river curled gently around the outer reaches of a very small village. The village was populated only by humans. In the mornings the men, save for the old or sick, left to hunt and mostly fish. The women stayed behind to sow their gardens, tend to the livestock, and take care of the babies. There were no scholars among these people, not even a primitive shaman, but every generation had a few wise-women, called the Koos, who read what the signs and portents held for the village. They were happy with their simple lives, and the women often sang songs of joy and praise as they went about their work. It was at one of these times, the men off on a particularly grueling wild boar hunt, that Laisra Zheliki, only six months along and already as big as a house, went into labor.

The Koos, and there was only one at this time, instructed a younger woman to get Laisra into a hut where there was shade and to bring some water from the river. The woman did as she was told. The life growing inside of Laisra Zheliki, however, was not going to wait. In what seemed like a matter of minutes, though it most certainly had to have been longer, Laisra gave birth to two beautiful and healthy twin boys. The old woman grabbed the first boy and spanked him on the thigh. Instead of a healthy infant cry, she heard nothing. The boy was silent, his face expressionless. The old woman wrapped a gnarled hand around the ankle of the second born, lifted him in the air, and swatted him hard across the backside. Nothing.

It was then that the Koos looked to Laisra. Laisra whose hair and eyes and gone white. Laisra, who hadn't scream once during the birth. The young mother greedily thrust her arms out. "Give them to me," she said. Cautiously, the wise-woman did as asked. The new mother pulled her dark-eyed boys to her breasts. "They're beautiful," she said. "I will name them Zebiki and Benjiin."

"Wait until their father seems them," the Koos croaked. "He will be so proud."

"Their father isn't going to see them," Laisra replied.

"But the men will be home any moment."

"The men aren't coming home," Laisra said. "At least not most of them."

As the years passed, the boys grew up in a way that was typical of the village. They played, they sang, they waited impatiently to be old enough to hunt and fish. The villagers may have described them as clever if asked, and they certainly would have described them as beautiful, but otherwise the boys were strikingly unremarkable in every single way except one. The oldest, Zebiki, never spoke until his seventh year, and those words were heard only by his younger brother. They were the first and last words that Zebiki Zheliki would ever speak. He asked, "Does our father love us?" Some years later, Bejiin answered, "Does it matter?"

All of this happened many years ago, or perhaps it will happen in the distant future. I know only that it is what I have seen. After meditation in the desert, I am beginning to understand the meaning behind this vision. You see, these two beautiful boys, these clever, sometimes trouble-making boys who would die of natural causes as old men, were human, but they would not have been recognized by anyone who might stumble across these words. For the river that cradled their peaceful little village was the Rea, and the dark city that loomed in the distance was Eridu, and the Void that surrounded it all had twisted them beyond recognition.

Did young Zebiki wonder if the father who had gone missing on the day he was born love him? Or did he mean the One who had brought humans to Eridu, blessing them beyond measure?

Do any of the Gods care for us? An argument can be made that they do not. They use us for Their own impenetrable reasons. We do Their bidding. We do what we can to praise Them. We do it all for a power struggle that we do not understand, can never understand. It plays out now across our battlefields , painted with the blood of our young.

There is one, however, that asks nothing of us. One that calls for us to break the shackles of these mortal responsibilities and to do as we will. One who assures us there need not be pain, suffering and bloodshed. He has the compassion to tell us the truth--none of the things your Gods have you fighting for matter.

He offers you freedom if you have the courage to take it. The mad god of the Abyss offers you the solace of nothingness. He offers you the peace of mind that no matter how much you try, you cannot stand before the hunger of the Void. He offers you the chance to abandon hope and be free.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Chronos, in the year 664 AF.


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