On a wide green plain sat a perfectly blue lake. Healthy reeds poked from the surface of the water and below the surface golden fish lived their happy, clueless fish-lives.
A figure sat on the bank, his scrawny legs dangling where the fish could swim around them and a worrisome crease along his forehead.
But this was not a Fisherman, this was not a man. On first sight he looked like a very plump, very self-important pigeon. But few pigeons wear clothes and this one sported a black and white striped turtleneck. On his head a dark beret was tilted ever so slightly and circular glasses hid his eyes and – he hoped – his thoughts.
No, this was not a normal pigeon. No one here was a ‘normal’. He didn’t know why, they were just born that way. Born in this green, vibrant playground. Never needing food or rest. And, from the day they came into being, called ‘Gods’.
And a God he was. Able to look over the Earth and see things that looked like him but were somehow less. As he sat by the lake he looked at one feathered hand, both wing and hand, he could hold things, roll a cigarette, anything and everything. Yet those things down below were really quite pitiful, strutting around naked, content to hide their true intelligence from the humans. Quite happy to be seen as dumb animals, just so they could survive and get by.
Truthfully, he hated them. Hated their chattering, their arrogance, how they constantly bitched about the humans but still leeched of their discarded scraps.
And he, in turn, was hated by them. He was the God of Nonsense. Whenever a Pigeon plummeted to a messy death when they were sure they could fly, he was to blame. Whenever a Pigeon, for no reason whatsoever, was found in a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken covered in hot batter, he was to blame. He was the master of the meaningless, and they hated him, hated how their lives were nothing but a plaything to this unseen, malevolent figure.
But on this day, he had something else on his mind. Matters far more important than pigeons, matters of respect and status, matters of matrimony.
There had been a wedding. The two of them had stepped into the Pavilion, hand-in-hand, and been locked together. Like all marriages, it was arranged. Loveless, orderly, businesslike.
There’s your husband, wash his clothes, sleep with him and if you could give me a grandchild, I’d really appreciate it, sweetheart.
And yet they all stood there, wide smiles on their beaks, clutching their own wives and husbands as if their feelings were genuine and not the result of being pressured to the altar.
The God saw a golden fish looking up at him with innocent black eyes. With a thought, he lifted the creature out of the lake and watched it squirm in mid-air, it’s mouth panting and pouting as it slowly drowned.
“But will they give me a wife?” He asked to the emptiness around him, folding his wings and suddenly feeling like he was a child again, being deprived of a toy by strict and uncaring parents. “Oh no! Heaven forbid! Not me! Not weird, crazy, fat little me! I’d spread my genes. Have lots of weird little kids running around. We couldn’t have that, could we? No, no, no.”
Suddenly he looked at the fish and considered what a charmed life this creature lived. No family. Just endless days of swimming. No one blaming him for simply existing, no one ignoring him because he had a unique sense of humour or peculiar fashion sense. But did he want that? Did he want to be ignored?
No, came a voice inside him, I want to thrive. I want respect, I want everything I know I deserve.
Without even noticing it, he had been twisting the fish this way and that, breaking its spine. His mind worked that way often, any little animal that crossed his path seemed to be flayed or broken. He couldn’t help it, he had an overactive imagination.
Respect. Status. Sex. Yes, he wanted that. Wanted it with a hunger and a passion he had never known before now.
In the distance, he heard his uncle cry out for the cake. Looked like the party was in full swing and one day he swore it would be him being cheered and patted on the back. One day he’d show them all.
“One day?” A silken, milky voice asked. “Why not today? Why not now?”
The young God looked straight ahead and saw a figure on the other side of the lake. He had been looking there for a good few minutes, why was he only seeing this stranger now? Where had he come from?
“Come on over, little one. I won’t bite. I think we have a shared enemy, and a common goal.”
And slowly, unsurely, the Nonsense God got to his feet and paced around the lake. Forging his destiny with every footstep.
Edited by Typhus, 27 March 2012 - 07:03 PM.