Written by: Farhana Safran
I am bored and tired, Death thinks.
The
usual sing-song voice that accompanies his thoughts is quiet, today of all days.
With a heavy sigh, he steps down from his old, rickety throne.
“Time to finish
the game, then.”
The
girl chosen to bring upon the apocalypse is in every which way, a normal
teenager. A little bit sullen, maybe. But then again, aren’t all teenagers prone
to a tiny bit of angst?
She
starts her official title of the Harbinger of the Apocalypse by performing miracles.
Healing a child’s scrapped knee. Soothing the pain of a cancer patient before she
dies. Bringing her little sister, 5 years dead, back to life. Miracles. Undiscovered
scientific marvels. Who knows?
An
angel, sent to aid humanity. A she-Devil, sent to entice weak men. A new breed
of humans. Conspiracies after conspiracies, new theories growing more farfetched
as her story spreads.
God’s Chosen,
someone says.
The anti-Christ,
says another.
“I am just a girl,”
she insists to the media.
“False modesty
will get you nowhere,” Death, as the newly awakened voice in her head reminds
her while she smiles at the cameras, her eyes blind from the flashes.
Tents
are erected on side walks, a few meters away from her front door. Men and women
of different faiths, nationalities, languages pray in her honor. A man blows himself up while she holds his child. She emerges with the many people gathering
around her, unscathed, the man (and his child) a splatter on the ground. Another
miracle.
She
inspires an army to fight in her name. A call for a new world order. The new
Joan of Arc. Entire continents crumble beneath her. Shrines are built in her
name. Ballads are sung in her honor. No, not a Joan. She serves no one. A God,
her army decides. Men and women and children are slaughtered by those who wish
for her favors.
“I never asked for
sacrifices,” she cries.
“But we are your
humble followers. We honor you in these rituals. They refused to accept your
divinity.”
Death
rolls his eyes at the all too familiar absurdity. Soon, the girl will realize
that they no longer hear her voice. Are
you still there? No singing. Alright,
then.
“Am I meant to
save the world?” the girl asks one day, as she sits on her shiny new throne,
the world outside her castle –how very princess-like –in ruins. Death in the
streets. Death in her head. Death, standing next to her, leaning onto her
throne.
“What is there to
save?”
Humans are always
prone to hoping. It irks him.
I have created you in my image. He scoffs at the thought, although there
might be truth in them.
“I don’t know.”
The answer
startles him. He regards her with curiosity. Have they broken her? So soon?
“Shall we burn it
all to the ground?”
“Okay.”
“A phoenix may rise from the ashes. We may
salvage what’s left, if you’d like?”
“No, we’ll start
again. From the beginning.”
He marvels at the
determined set to her jaw as she contemplates razing entire cities to the
ground and erasing the entire history of mankind. How very familiar.
He closes his
eyes. At the back of his head, a woman begins to sing again.
The end is nigh, is nigh, is nigh, she sings sweetly.
“Oh, there you
are,” he murmurs quietly.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, nothing, I was
just talking to myself.”
The girl gives him
a look, sighs, and straightens her spine. She looks forward.
In the
end, Death takes us all.
The singing stops
with a tone of finality.
Death opens his
eyes. He straightens, ready to see the girl plunge the world into chaos. He
looks to her, this girl shouldering what was originally his to bear.
“How about ruling
over a family of apes next time, huh?” the girl quips. He lets out an unsurprised
laugh.
“We shall see.”
He
looks at the back of her head and smiles sadly. History is circular. Did she
not learn this in school? But then, what better way to learn if not from
experience?
A family of apes,
then.
Be, and it shall be.
The world begins
anew. A new throne, a new god, with a new voice inside her head.
“Let the game
begin.”
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