Drews drabbles and writtings

The concept of dying was not something he liked to think about, even if it had graced his long life with its presence. The snake mused that very few beings liked to think about such morbid topics even if death was a part of their daily existence.

How does a God die? Apparently with a soft “Oh” of realization, more of a whisper than articulation, at being shot by his own hands. An unlucky accident during the wee hours of the morning while he did maintenance and cleaning of his collection of guns. The fact that he was going to die settled inside him, just above the place, now occupied by a massive hole in his gut. Mix could feel life itself slowly leaking out of him alongside vibrant blood that was staining the leather of the chair and floor of his studio.

How does divinity end? It was more of a philosophical question, a reason for heated debates at universities, but it seemed that in this case, the answer resided in the divine forgetting it was divine in the first place.  Maybe death could finally wrap its jaws around him because he had forsaken his own divine nature, living with morals like one of their own.

Whatever the reason was, it appeared even he could shuffle his not-so-mortal coil. An unlucky accident was the end of something that had defied and spit at fate's face. It was almost poetic, reminding him of a story he once heard, of the monster only needing one night of bad luck to snatch its prey away.

Apparently, fate only needed the same thing to snatch him away. There was no way he could get help in time. His studio was too far from the rest of the household and the wound was in such a delicate area of size…. He knew that the next minutes were truly the last.

Tiredness crept over him, the snake slumping on the chair as he covered his wound on instinct; all limbs feeling like being of lead and cement. He had no energy to wonder why the wound wouldn't close; Stubbornness was a trait not even age had managed to control or eliminate, Mixcoatl wanted to live, and Claude wanted to see his husband preparing a last cup of coffee while being only half awake, and the father in the last moments of consciousness wanted to say goodbye.

Against his will, his eyelids started to close as a cold numbness spread through him, the smoking gun falling to the floor with a deafening sound to his ears. An accident, just an unlucky moment, causing what others had tried endlessly for eras. A mundane accident. It felt fitting in a way.

"It is a burden if it robs you of your innocence." Each of them had been given a gift, a talent. His felt more like a punishment. He knew their parents thought it was the best way to make him understand what they saw on humanity. He just saw the worst parts of them highlighted thru the ages. He saw the atrocities, the hurt, the evil.

He saw all and decided he would not let it come to that, one day or another. His name changed from that, now a synonym to the biting, chilling winds that howl in the night. The dark one, that puts humanity to the test and punishes or destroys the unworthy. (He saw the good, the marvelous and exciting things that also come thru life because of humanity, it does not change the rage at how they desecrate his siblings and children works.) He saw the end, and prepares for it, making sure he has a place to sleep the centuries away, just a few days after he has come to existence.  "It is a burden if it is not integrated into life.” Even then, gift did not come without strings, power was not without limitations. His desire to prevent the worst, he had planned to tell his brothers of the calamities to come, to help them avoid the heartbreak, the pain, the traps, shortcomings and so much that was coming for them. He had the way to stop unnecessary pain and struggle, some must still be faced but he could spare his loved ones the rest.

The primordial did not think it was wise, and so his voice was taken away. It was bad to see it happen; it was worst knowing it was coming and being unable to do something. (They were right, but knowing and feeling are very different, and it does nothing to erase the bitter feeling from his mouth). The dark wind ponders if they are truly alive, like how humans live? Because living and being alive are different things. Is there a difference between divinity and a god? He has seen the end, or to the furthest thing he can peer into, and even when they disappeared, the sun still rises, the winds still blew, and the rain poured down. They are at the basic bases just a representation of nature. Would that mean that they just receded into the most basic form they had, like how humans after they go to Mictlán go back to being part of the cosmic dust from which they came from? Humanity went from this fine and mystical powder that is precious and end going back to it so on, like a cycle of reincarnation. Do gods pass thru it in a same manner? Has he and his siblings lived before yet are unable to recall it? His unfamiliar sight fails to show him answers and maybe it’s a sign to try and live, yet…  "Is a burden if it does not bring joy." They gave him a consolation gift; a polished onyx, shiny and reflective as a mirror, leaving a small smoking trail behind. If he looked hard enough into it, he could see whatever he wished, no matter where or when it was. He thought he could overpass the limits set by them, but the smoke is deadly. No matter what he did, the smoke only razed and withered whatever encountered it, only the divine could withstand it. No matter how he looked, how he tried, he could not communicate his ideas only vague motions. 

Time gets… wonky when you know what is going to happen, has happened and will happen, but there can still be some surprises. He gets some names, persons and so mixed up, asking for beings that have not been born yet, have died or do not exist. He suspects his brothers also have a messed sense of time passing, and some even acknowledge the strange blond man that comes at times for when they are creating something new. (Later he recognizes the blond in the baby his brother presents so happily to him, the half-breed that is given everything without attachments and he can’t help but resent it, even if the feathered snake is without fault.) He still tries to change things, because he is a stubborn mother fucker like his brothers are/where/will be and struggles runs thru their veins. It does not mean it makes him happy, but his victories over fate are sweet as honey.

He created the stars and its patterns, on her face he found the beauty of them.

Her eyes were like the ocean not just in shade, but on how no matter what he did, they keep dragging him back, over and over again, how they were equally dangerous and beautiful and both hide on their depths marvelous secrets. He loves her spirit, her blood. By their own they are remarkable, together they sing as sweet as the first notes of creation, but not for him; he isn't the audience. They do it for the joy of resounding and expanding thru existence. She is a force of nature, not one made by him or his siblings, but she is as unavoidable as if she was, twice as strong and thrice as lovely as any of their work.

She shouldn't be so alluring considering she is one in a million yet she is. She is the Word rebellion given flesh, defiance etched on her skin and that should enrage him, yet he can't find a piece of him that loathes it. She will not bow to no one but the worthy and worthiness isn't just claimed in her eyes but earned with sweat and blood.

He is perfection, static and unmoving for eternity. She is flawed and a temporary blip on the cosmos but what a mark she is capable of producing, what a spirit she has, ambition and drive to even force a god to become more.