The Cycle of the New Gods

When the lightning came, the Earth visually shook. Darkness evaporated in a flash and Mexibim surveyed the landscape with callus eyes. The brown dirt caught in a forceful wind, blowing plumes of grit across the valley floor. Mexibim saw only ugliness.

This was the land of his father. A land that was once a plentiful oasis had gone to rot. Through the howling wind, Mexibim strained angelic ears for sounds of life. Perhaps a distant bird or skittering lizard, but no. Only death coated the wind. What was he to accomplish here?

Tien whispered on Mex’s left. “I see potential.”

Uriel whispered on Mex’s right. “You are the potential, Mexibim.”

The lantern at his feet remained lit, so when the lightning faded and the darkness crept back in, Mexibim shone on the hill.

“You will bring a new cycle to this land,” Tien assured.

Uriel snorted. “This he knows, diametric one. Mexibim will do what needs to be done.” Although this was said with much vigor, the ghost of Uriel’s eyebrow rose in question.

Mexibim took a deep breath in response. The darkness was once again gone in a flash of lightning.

“There.” He pointed at a broken tree in the middle of the valley floor. The two companions took stock in quiet contemplation. Mexibim slowly wound his way down the ashen hillside, leaving a trail of hesitant grass seedlings poking out in his wake. Tien and Uriel pulsed in anticipation.

The sky was turning grey by the time they reached the bottom. The lightning had ceased, and the darkness abated into its daily slumber. What was once thought to be only dirt from up above actually consisted of several varieties of sand punctuated with different hazel buds and mahogany vines.

Mexibim reached his hand out to touch the dead tree, its papery bark flaking away at his presence. The tree was cold, colder than the air surrounding it. But not all the way dead, for its roots clung to the sandy dirt in a desperate grip.

Mexibim smirked.

“Watch it, “ Tien chided. “That was almost a smile, Mexibim.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, eh, Tien?” Uriel whispered hauntingly.

Mexibim barked out a laugh. Silence was as foreign to him as water in this dirty wasteland. “Did I just hear you two agree on something?”, Mexibim spoke aloud.

“Maybe?” Tien answered truthfully.

“Never,” Uriel’s voice rolled thunder.

The absurdity of his two companions constantly grated on his soul like Chinese water torture. When he was four, he had driven spikes into his ears for silence. It was unsuccessful.

A pulse began to radiate from Mexibim’s palm. Its’ glow seeped out and spread over the rough whiteish bark. Several thin leaves sprouted from lifeless limbs. Mexibim slowly rotated around the newly awoken tree painting the ground green with his feet. The trunk shook in appreciation.

“Beautiful,” Tien’s voice came out dripping with desire.

“Do you approve?” Mexibim asked the angel on his left.

“Only death can follow life,” Tien responded, his voice drifting along the sea of dirt.

“And what of you, Uriel? What does the angel on my right say?”

The Earth stood still in the coming sun. Grey gave way to a reddish-orange glow drenching the sand in sparkling brightness. The color of birth. A phoenix rising from its ashes, perhaps. The cycle of the new Gods was now.

I was wrong, Mexibim thought. Not rotten, just sleeping, waiting for me.

“Ahh, life”, Uriel breathed as soft as a cloud, and in sucking in the air around Mex’s right shoulder, three hazel buds withered and died.