A Griffin's Tale

Five millennia.



Five long, cruel and lonely millennia.



The trees are ashen now. The embers still glow amongst the dying flames. The earth is already bare, her facet cracked and dry. Water is scarce; the sea had retreated and the scent of burning flesh – it still lingers – a legendary reminder of the deed that was done.



I have watched them from afar, horrified at their folly. Savage and mindless, they tear at one another, each an enemy to the other. They create their weapons and fight for power, a foolish unending struggle for more.



Each great man, woman and child will return – as one – to the earth that spawned them. So blind they are, until they kill their kin in cold blood, each death bringing them closer still, to the monster they sought to destroy.



Ah, to feel my youth again. This burden of life it crushes me. Where goes the days of old? Where I once soared above the plentiful valleys and fields? Alas, I am old, my once glorious feathers bedraggled and faded. I feel my strength fading with every moment; another grain of sand in the hourglass, marking the end of my time.



Once we existed side by side. My people gave those treasures, ageless and invaluable, the greatest gift that we could give, we gave away willingly – imparting upon the humans - the gift of wisdom.





We taught them for years, helped them survive. And as time took its toll, they wanted more.



More land! More glory! More power! More strength! More! They cried, More!



We tried our best to quench their greed; the wisest among us foresaw their doom. Yet we held on, as allies, as friends; unwilling to succumb to the overwhelming greed.



Then came the day they decided to say:

These creatures are monsters! They seek to control us! They fear our number and pretend to befriend us! We are wise! We are strong and we are many!



Like a rising tide, they rose against us, my kindest people slain without cause. Still we remained, in hiding, in vain, to teach the younger ones, the ones who were sane; what wisdom that was left, we imparted onto them.







My people, they did no wrong. We only sought to make them strong. Yet greed had worked its unholy charms and turned the humans against my kin. Millenniums passed and we lived in hiding, hoping for a chance, to restore the peace. We watched time pass with afflicted hearts. Blood stained the earth; the air resonating with the cry for vengeance – a vengeance with no reason.



The world was created in seven days. Now it lies desolate, devoid of life.

The nights are cold, the days are fiery. My kin- the others - have long since gone; passed into the arms of the Maker. I am the only one still alive, watching the wind blow the ashes by. I wonder really, what went wrong? Was there really another chance for them? If they had paused, would they have changed?



It’s too late to wonder now, we did what we could, and it was their choice. Perchance there are survivors out there, to carry on the legend of that day, perhaps to make a change. Their screams for mercy still ring in my ears, emblazoned into my memory; the day the sky rained fire.