November stood, half naked, in the pentagram inside the circle on her apartment floor. “Judgement day.” That’s what she called it. The day she set old fashioned, biblical demons free, so they could, and hopefully would, destroy the world of humans. Her world.
A world of money. Of power. Of greed. A world where no one believed in peace, and cooperation, and working with each other. Where it was always, “I’m gonna be the best!” No matter who you had to step on. A world where no matter what you did, you were always forgiven on Sunday, when you went to church.
She took the knife, and drew its blade across her wrist, as she thought the words she’d learned over so many years. Words in a language long lost to civilized people. A language from before the days of one God.
“One God my ass,” she thought again, “If there’s only one, how come all the religions that worship that one God are at war with each other? How come they hate each other’s guts?”
She remembered the headlines of the past few days. “73 Dead and over 400 Injured in Mass Shooting in Des Moines.” Iowa, of all places. “Temperatures Set New Record Highs,” For the 20th straight year. “Robots in Saudi Arabia Failing From The Heat, Oil Prices Going Up Again!”
“It never ends. Men, and money. That’s all that matters. Men and money.” She had watched her best friend, Josie, waste away in her apartment. Neither of them had the money for the medicine that would have kept her alive. They hadn’t been able to raise enough on the crowdfunding sites either. Josie slowly died. It started as the flu, and grew from there. Until she coughed up blood. And more blood. And her lungs slowly filled with that blood. And she died.
Because. Medicine was for real people. People who had jobs. People who contributed to society. Not freeloaders. Not lazy, good-for-nothing people. Didn’t matter that Josie worked 39 hours a week at the office, until she fell over, and blood leaked from her mouth onto her desk. And they sent her home. With a pink slip. She’d been part time. It was a “right to work” place. They could fire her for no reason. And they did.
And with no insurance, the prescriptions ate up all the money. All of it.
November still cried when she thought of Josie. “I’ll see you soon, love. I’ll see you soon.”
She watched her blood drip onto the brooch on her necklace. Her thoughts kept echoing the words she’d learned. Their plea to the gods of old to return, and save Mother Earth, Gaia, from humankind, and it’s never ending destruction. To burn the water, and the sky, with cleansing fire. To melt the ground, and watch it sink into the oceans, so new ground could be made. New, clean ground, unspoiled by humankind.
She remembered the time her father. Yes, her father, had come into her room one night. She was just a girl. Just twelve. How her father forced himself on her. Shoved himself between her legs. How that was just the start of years of hell, as she tried to find a way, any way, to escape him. Until she finally started walking one day. And kept walking. So he couldn’t find her.
She remembered her nights on the street. Cold. Hungry. And the men. God, the men. “Come here, little girl. I’ll keep you warm.” How she’d thought of fighting them. Of telling them no. Of running away. Until she saw the two naked girls, hanging from a street light. “This is what we do to those who fight back.” That’s what they told her. That’s what they said.
So, there she was, calling forth the old gods. They’d kill her, of course. She knew that. She was human, after all. But it didn’t matter. She’d be free from the world of men. A world that killed everything.
As she finished the words in her mind, and her blood dripped on the brooch, the brooch began to glow. She moved it behind her back. Pressed it to her skin. It burned. But it worked. The room began to fill with water. The door to her apartment burned to dust, the frame caught fire. And beyond, the darkness, filled with black clouds, was growing.
“May there be peace on Gaia once again. After the stain of humanity has been burned away.” That was the last thing she remembered, as the world caught fire, and the sky began to burn.
Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 41st week. The picture was so good, I had to write for it a second time. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Never felt the need to write a second entry before. But this week, with that picture, I had more than one story to set free. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.