Beetle

BEETLE

Colours danced and emotions churned in a whirlpool, winding around a central point of light buried in their depth. They created a sliver no bigger than a grain of sand, though if one were to look closer they would see that it had tiny arms and tiny legs with fingers huddled in tight fists. Small beaded eyes which would dare not open until the turmoil of creation ceased. A warmth bubbled around it, nursing it with thought, weaving its net with care. All the while, it drifted through the endlessness, twisted and turned on all angles for the great eyes to observe its every detail.

It had taken on its final shape; in that deciding instant the forces surrounding it did not ebb away in gentle wisps but recoiled back instantaneously, as though in fright or repulsion. A smooth whisper replaced the white noise: absolute, conclusive, consummate, decided, decisive, definite, exact, factual, fixed, genuine, infallible, precise, unambiguous, undeniable, unequivocal, unmitigated, unquestionable.

Absolute.

         The insect was discarded from suspension, falling with the laughter, fear, and confusion it had been infused with. It collided with a smooth luminescent surfaced which scorched its back upon contact, its body a black grain hurtling towards a ledge. It feebly clung to a speck of dirt to keep itself from being flung to further descent. A microscopic heart raced within as eyes darted to and fro, taking in the view. There was an expanse of but a single colour above, appearing simplistic and soothing. Below there were ropes and strips of green and brown, carved in a myriad of shapes and decorated with bursts of fire. Living beings crawled upon them but did not burn.

         It was a curious sight to behold, one which it ought to certainly confront, though its crystal mind buzzed with warning. The iridescent spec willed itself to descend.

         It called itself Beetle.
…….

“Is it not a wonderful feeling?” spoke a voice, ringing with an echo through the morphing abyss. He waited and watched with utmost curiosity as she let her imagination run wild. How quickly she could recreated a world much like the one they once knew. That world was far more intricate of course, eternally evolving to a higher will. Even he had to marvel at how it had managed to maintain a semblance of order, or do so much as insist on it. It began with merely a series of whims and general direction. One could call it emotion perhaps.
The grotesque creature certainly did not seem as if she knew what she wanted yet, so he thought, for the time being she would have to test the bounds of her abilities. Colour had been her first step, and how beautiful it was, anything was a relief after existing in such a void. There was no heaven nor hell nor earth, there were no stars, not even light and dark. There was only a lapse between time and space where one found emptiness in its purest form. Neither colour nor shape nor sound nor scent had ever entered such a place as was his prison.

He had waited there for longer than his restless mind wished to remember, in solitude with nothing but his own thoughts. Revoked were his powers of emotion, all that he had at his disposal was the ability to destroy and distort. But his new realm did not contain a single element to decompose. All that had been allowed to him was his own mind, body, and soul. To keep his sanity he would explore the breadth of each in turn, remembering fondly his desperate attempts to make the abyss less horrid. His final trial was to break apart the atoms of his body to create a new being yet unlike a god he could not bring himself to tear away a part of his soul to plant in the corporal host and make it sentient.  And so it could remained nothing more than a puppet, a beautiful puppet to admire, and growing bored of it he broke it apart and took back what was his, thus regaining his physical form.

Then came the gift of mercy to lessen his suffering. She was indeed the gift of creation, the one who would shape the world around him to his will. No sooner did she arrive had he vowed to claim her. How fair she was, a being of not only shape and colour but also of free will.
For the time being he would take care not to interfere with her creative process and answer her only when necessary, to offer comfort. As time went on, he hoped to take a greater involvement in the course this new paradise would take, gently guiding her.
A whisper named her Clotho.
…….

He watched her cry for the first time, shedding her tears like precious diamonds to him. All that he could ponder was how human she was. It entranced him.

How quickly she felt the pang of loneliness and solitude. It had indeed been a wonderful caprice of the creator, to grant humans that ability. There was a certain pleasure in seeing one’s troubles take shape and fall like raindrops. There were times when he had tried to recreate the same effect for himself but he arrived at little success.

The being could not help but rejoice as his young creator was on the brim of composing shape and matter. But just as the spark of hope was lighted he watched it be torn away from him. He dared not speak, both in for the fear of worsening Clotho’s state as well as for his own incredulity. If there was any power which he could exercise to force her into submission he would have applied it then, but the king of his realm realized that he was only a figurehead until his subject set the toil of creation into full motion. This was the critical moment.
His mind was in a flurry, analyzing the variables and their effects, torn between waiting idly and responding. If he chose to wait and see, placing his faith in Clotho, she may well forsake him by bringing about her own destruction as she had with her creations. It appeared that all was very volatile when it came to Old Beetle’s gifts, perhaps this was all a ruse to tempt him into hope from his views. Yet if he acted too rashly he may squander the gift which had indeed become his sole hope. The best course of action appeared dubious and left to the Fates.

From what he could discern of the female’s nature, she was fearful yet filled with contradicting desires. His voice had brought about the sharp pang of adrenaline and worsened her state but did she not suffer from loneliness? Was it in fear of the unknown that she cringed from her sole companion? Perhaps she sensed him to be deceitful and hostile by appearing so suddenly to her in her vulnerable state. At last he had decided that this would be the interpretation he would act upon and readied himself to address her:
“I was always here, watching over you and keeping you from harm,” he told her, his voice soft, as though speaking to a child. “There is no need to be afraid, this world is yours.” He looked at her closely, surveying her reaction.  “ Think not of the darkness of this void as anything but your canvas. Exercise your free will and stifle no emotion. I am here as your guide and companion, to offer you comfort and answer your every question and request.”
She did not know his name but she would call the voice Lachesis.

……

As newly-formed light and matter spangled the abyss, filling it with bursts of brilliant glow, the sole atoms under Lachesis’s control were forced into a corporal form. Once scattered throughout the void, his body began to take shape.
His face was drawn and angular, with sunken cheekbones which may have once appeared elegant, now emaciated. Locks of long dark hair fell to his ribs and bright gray eyes marked the relentless strength of his spirit. The being covered his nakedness with his folded wings, looking more like a bat than a songbird, as he crept unsteadily onwards through what was left of the darkness. He could no longer view the expanse of the abyss with an omnipotent eye for his line of vision was limited to however his neck may turn. No longer did Lachesis’s spirit encompass the emptiness which he had claimed as his.

Step after step, adjusting to the material form, the being willed himself to move closer to the light. At last he was led to what he sought: Clotho, admiring her own creations with an artist’s pride. He could not help but find the sight amusing, that one could admire the very things that they would fling away in fear or disgust. Lachesis could not help but be reminded of the first Beetle.
He stepped from the darkness, his gaze meeting that of Clotho. The spirit took care to arrange his expression into that of openness and wisdom, his notion of trust, feeling that she would be frightened by a stranger’s visit if he were to seem particularly reserved or else too eager. He wondered how she may react, would she run in horror? Embrace him with joy? Glare at him in hostility? Regardless of how it may be, the being relished any sort of sentient reaction. It had been too long since intelligent life had entered his realm. His only fear was not whether she would learn to worship or loathe him but whether this new gift would ever cease to be.