Fic a Week 24 - The creation of the world
Aug. 31st, 2009 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pauraque_bkUgh. I wrote something but it isn't done. This is a dream I had.
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The creation of the world
Holding hands with her companion, she walks along the trickle of the new river. It has just been put there, cutting neat and straight into the ground. As soon as it is made, it begins to change. It soaks the earth below it, and it eats away at the shore. As they walk, the world is still being drawn ahead of them. There is no erasing, nothing can be unmade. It can only be painted over.
As her bare feet squelch into the mud, small silver fishes come into existence and crowd up to the line between the water and the land, searching for things to eat that have perhaps not been made yet. They nibble at her toes, and she smiles down at their kisses. The sun has been made, a yellow circle in the middle of the sky.
The river widens and elaborates as she and her companion walk, and it seems to happen both slowly and at once: the water swells so much ahead of them that the horizon itself is rising. Wind comes, and waves turn white. There are jagged rocks beneath her feet, and she is up to her thighs in water now; the fishes swarm and beat like rain around her legs.
They still hold each other's hands, grasping and swimming into the darkening water. There are no more bright colors or sharp outlines; it is all a blur between water and earth, the inundated soil swirling away beneath their feet. There are no longer any straight lines at all.
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The creation of the world
Holding hands with her companion, she walks along the trickle of the new river. It has just been put there, cutting neat and straight into the ground. As soon as it is made, it begins to change. It soaks the earth below it, and it eats away at the shore. As they walk, the world is still being drawn ahead of them. There is no erasing, nothing can be unmade. It can only be painted over.
As her bare feet squelch into the mud, small silver fishes come into existence and crowd up to the line between the water and the land, searching for things to eat that have perhaps not been made yet. They nibble at her toes, and she smiles down at their kisses. The sun has been made, a yellow circle in the middle of the sky.
The river widens and elaborates as she and her companion walk, and it seems to happen both slowly and at once: the water swells so much ahead of them that the horizon itself is rising. Wind comes, and waves turn white. There are jagged rocks beneath her feet, and she is up to her thighs in water now; the fishes swarm and beat like rain around her legs.
They still hold each other's hands, grasping and swimming into the darkening water. There are no more bright colors or sharp outlines; it is all a blur between water and earth, the inundated soil swirling away beneath their feet. There are no longer any straight lines at all.
