A Box of Weeds

The Goddess

“You must be joking!” I laughed, joyful at my date’s strange sense of humor. We’d gone to see a bad play downtown at the old theatre and came back to his tiny, sparsely furnished apartment that overlooked the river for coffee.

Samuel was old fashioned and strange. I sometimes got the impression that he was a gorgeous and well-sculpted space alien, trying to adapt and learn our human ways while blending in among them.

It was this particular night, sitting in the dark living room with the glow of street lights and river reflections dancing on our faces, that I kissed him for the first time. It wasn’t the awkward dancing of strange lips that are some first kisses, but more a symphony of choreography, mouths colliding, meshing, becoming one.

So when Samuel said what he did next, I laughed at him.

“It is true. The prophecy has been fulfilled. You will be my wife and rule the clan.”

I slapped his shoulder and snorted as I laughed. “You must be joking!”

He recoiled as if I had punched him. “I would never joke about that. Ruling the clan is very serious. You will be a goddess. We will move to the mountains and live in the village of my brethren.” He rubbed my belly roughly. “Soon, we will have a baby. The Messiah of the Dark Ones.”

I pushed him away and stood on shaky legs. Of course, I would pick the man that was in a satanic cult. It was just my luck.

Of course…

No one had ever offered to make me a goddess before.

That night, after making love to my betrothed, I breathed in the new air of promise.

I would rule my people with fierce devotion. I giggled and drifted off to sleep.