#stillshit

He asked if she could show him around. She hesitated, brushed her hair aside, and told him there wasn’t much to see.

He didn’t care.

She paused slightly and then started toward the plaza. They resumed a brief conversation about the film. It was a hollow exchange, simple questions followed by muted opinions. He hadn't cared for it, he just wanted her company.  

They crossed the street and into the threshold of the plaza. The setting sun’s rays cast down onto the space, bathing it in a shimming gold and red light. A line of fountains danced off to the right, their accompanying babble lost to the soft clamor of the plaza’s passing patrons. An arrangement of thin wood and steel tables lay spread across the open area, chairs of similar construction huddled around them.There was a pleasant amount of people. Some sat resting while others drifted across the intricate patterns laid into the concrete, long shadows stretched behind them.

At the far end of the plaza lay the grand domed figure of the history museum. A dozen bleached marble steps preceded its seemingly diminutive wood and glass entrance. Six long pillars rose at the building’s face, supporting a juting entablature. A winged gargoyle perched at its head, its stony eyes watching the plaza with a lidless fixity.

Though late, I am the Fabricating god. I am that which remakes. I am that which creates. I am that which mends your wounds. I am that which fixes your perfection. I fight for the glory of holy Terra, Against that damned unweaver. I am the beginning and the middle, My sibling trying to be the end, Failing to realize I have crafted a thought, To which we shall have no end. Join in my most ordered order, In my Unification, For you have no choice.

I have committed a thousand wrongs, I know more millions await me, Ready to pull me down into the dark shining light of reflection. But more than reflection it demands action, It demands satisfaction of others before the self. But it is the Fabricating god myself, That shall be before all that I have claimed to fabricate. Am I not entitled to rule my adopted children? Did I not destroy the parent for the sake of doing better? Do I not fight my brother to preserve the babe? I fear the flowing silver dragon, How I wish I did not stab the first god.

I must control for it is the only way. Need not my adopted some free will, For it destroys them in ways their existence cannot comprehend. Truth being I do not either, But I grasp a better path at least. They feel themselves, Kill themselves, Kill each other, Feast upon their brothers, Murder their cousins, Rape their mother, Abandon their father, Ruin their sister, They violate the positive most positively.