Author: Magpie Poet PM
(Egyptian mythology) How can order be destroyed? A bloodied goddess lies in the sand. A look at the end of the world.Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Drama - Words: 627 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 1 - Published: 06-17-03 - id: 1332588
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I am forever.
I lie in the golden sands, letting waves of sharp grains wash over me. I want to drown in the sands, in their purity and heat.
In my shame I lie prone before Ra, a humble supplicant no longer fit for his light.
He shines overhead, baking the sands as he journeys across the sky. In his old age the western horizon glows with the hue of freshly spilt blood. Not of the rust color that I am now adorned with.
The eastern sky lies dark in his absence. It is in shadow, yet radiates a dusky heat. Nothing escapes the sun in this world, all seeing. All powerful.
The sands brand dusty hieroglyphs into my tender souls, a thousand minute scorpions lashing away with untender kisses. The sands drift again, burning my thighs, crusting the blood between them. The sharp pains fall before the dull weight of the sun. Movement reawakens them. I thrash, a dying creature praying for the sun's divine grace. For a last moment of attention. I am not worthy. The very heart of Ra's fire will not consume me, cannot purify me. And without me, who can protect him?
My breasts are scorched, abused, blackened. The skin has grown tight, yet wrinkled. Like a lotus bud eaten by the worm even as it is in the final swell before blooming. I am desiccated by the dunes that drift over me. I taste the grains in my mouth. Quartz grit. Crystals worn from purity and beauty into barren dust. For a moment they reflect His glory. I roll them over my tongue, their roughness honey sweet. They taste of forever.
A moment of pain, and I exist no longer. Here, but without function. Trapped in life. The great snake never caught the sun in his great belly, but it would have been better that way. An end. A battle. Then Nothing.
Things will run down instead. Die slowly. A painful process. Like the old man who survives war and famine only to fade away as he wears his teeth to painful nubs on coarse bread and spends his waking hours envying those who died in the fullness of youth.
Caught, trapped like an ibis pinioned for display. Laid out, powerless. A foot thrust between my legs, stamped on the ground, the other kicked forward. An unjust blow. Stars formed vivid constellations behind my closed eyes in an explosion of pain. I would not cry out. I would not cry. I bit my lips to silence myself. I tasted copper on my tongue. He lowered himself upon me, his pale skin eclipsing the sun. His body walled me from my ward, and my protector Ra. Large coarse hands pinned down my wrists, holding them above my head in a mockery of adulation. He pushed inside me with a sudden jerk, impaling me as a Nubian upon a spear. Always war with him. Always war. He hammered me into the dusty ground. Seed and blood spilt freely, watering the desert.
Anger, a rush of blood welled up. I slipped my wrists from under his sweaty hands and reached up to claw the monster above me. I drew parallel lines from his cheekbones to chin, his blood dripped down. It matched his hair. His blood fell upon my lips, mingled with my own.
In shock he roared back, indignant and bare as a sudden storm. I fled. And he did not follow.
Chaos violates order. And I cannot return the favor. Why is it so? It is not right. It is not just. It is not Maat.
I am Order.
I am Maat.
I am forever.
Today forever ends.