Chapter 1 (In The Beginning...)

Chapter 1 (In The Beginning...)

A Chapter by BTBeamon

On the Earth grew a tree; on the tree grew a person. A human bloom, slow and precise. 

In the beginning, a small oval of flesh buds; a single slice, reserved only for one, whatever it should become. All things that existed prior to this living, throbbing blossom kept hope in mind--for all knew: They existed for the blossom, to foster its coming. 

What would it bring?

The characterless shape of skin flowered; arms, it grew, and legs. Hands and feet. Fingers and toes. In high speed, a person’s form might as well have slithered from the branch. 

And the tree: its health noticeably declined; spending life in a stoop while bearing its gift, bark turning gray and white. It, too, hoped for the best, despite confusion as to the meaning of the monstrosity growing on its arms. 

Time flowed monotonously. The only moment worth waiting for: With a snap, the shape of a person dropped from the tree; with a thud, it fell to the ground. 

A human male stood with a sharp inhale, frantic, filled with panic and wonder. 

His first act: killing the tree. 

He destroyed it utterly, crushing every piece to dust; making its mysterious feat a singularity. 

How swift the tree’s confusion had answering; how empty its hope! 

And after birthing and murdering, the freshly grown man chose a moment of greater observation. He stood on high ground covered in crisp, striking green. Overhead, the planet’s bubble displayed crimson tapering into violet, stars creeping into view. Cool air fluttered past. On every side, the resonation of water; crackling of foliage; scurrying of unalike life.

The man faintly loved it; vaguely hated it. It--this thing--how shall he refer to it? Nature. Intuitively, he simply knew how to call it. And this nature, it wasn’t good enough. He knew better. Best. What of the contrasting beasts and rodents, already present, stakes claimed? They would have to wait, and see. 

When he made known to himself (for who else?) the inadequacies of his locality, he began a brief journey. Walking at a calm pace, the man shoved branches aside, wide-eyed, seeing everything; all the while, knowing everything. 

Soon enough, he came upon something he knew not; though he would soon enough know more-than-plenty. 

The creature--a word he, again, intuitively, suddenly knew--looked quite similar to himself. Had it, too, sprung from a tree? But it, he knew, could not have demolished its place of nativity--for how small this creature was compared to him! Slight in frame, desirable and conquerable; he knew, by way of seeing, that he suddenly, unquestionably, undeniably, owned this creature. 

And so ready to be owned, with its back exposed, ready and waiting. The man let this similar-but-subsidiary creature live (unlike the poor tree), however he established his supremacy in much the same way: rage, force, and masses of pain. 

Once past the exertion of domination, his intuition upgraded, and the formerly known creature became the freshly known she and her. The ownership remained as far as he knew, and he knew all. 

To she we shall return in a quick moment. First, it must be observed that this mysteriously gardened man thus far lived a thankless life. No thought went to a gardener or seed-planter (nor praise to the dear tree, may it rest peacefully). These ideas simply failed to occur to the first man. First man we can safely label him. Along with first woman, though he did not, would not agree. He happened to be larger than she, and that was all it took. 

To her we return: she, being led by nature’s leash, a mane of dark hair. He had already given her what he knew she desired, and for her own good. It was his place to decide her mind and feeling, he being more capable to do so. Clearly. All of this clear to him. 

Leading his discovery by the head, the spontaneous intuition continued its inward beam; this time in the form of wind and vibration. 

It’s happening:







Out he choked, over and over and over.

“Prize! Prize!”

He came first; he had won; he led his reward by the skull. 

In his excitement, he failed to notice the prize’s own choking, lower in tone. 






He wouldn’t have known the meaning of her word, nor she of his. These things were just being invented. They suddenly realized they could do and, lately, say. What else mattered? The joys of being first.

The possibilities sure seemed endless to the man; he had a faint idea of his fortune: thrust into a set of circumstances (could he think them odd?) in which all manner of things simply occurred to him as he went along, he being in full power of how to treat and apply them. 

Of course, he couldn’t forever fail to notice that the she, his small-framed opposite (again he would disagree; would call her lesser) picked up this new thing he knew to be language, just as swiftly as he. She spat out plenty of words next to him, all of which caught him by surprise. How dare she know something different, that he knew not. How dare anyone! This made him uncomfortable, and he compensated. 

Forever into the future, she would seek his permission to say new words or new sentences. If they were impressive to him, she would have the honor (a new word of his intuitive knowing) of his adopting whatever the word or saying. She hadn’t the option of being flattered like this or not: if she disobeyed, she disappeared--”Go away,” he said. “Not even possible.”

The man laid these commandments with such charisma and confidence that she did obey. How could she know she was not to the man as the man was to the sky? At such a time of beginnings, how?

Let us move from these matters for a longer while, for once the first man had successfully oppressed the first woman, naturally he lost interest, and reserved permission for himself to explore greater things.

The man accomplished trivial victories for survival; that of eating and drinking, the creation of fire (in which he saw confirmation of his leadership), construction of weapons for defense (a cure for his paranoia), and the confusion of, yes, his first defecation.

How easy it would be to become mired in the minutiae of becoming familiar with living; of being parent and child at one time. None of these discoveries merit grand amounts of attention, besides an awareness that they took place, are taking place, all the time. 

No; the most important moment in the man’s exploration came when he encountered another man. Imagine a world turned upside down, or partially upside down, depending on how intelligent the man--ours, the original--could be described in that exact instance. 

This new man, which he first referred to as “the other,” came not alone. Not only “the other” man, but “the other” woman, as well. This sparked our original woman to attention; though the mystery remains, whether the attention went towards the other woman, or the other man.

The original man launched immediately into identity-confusion. Now four people? What point of life if not just the one he, over the one she? Only days later, the original man would, almost magically, devise an elementary method to sort out this latest crisis. 

He, the original, would be called “Fossa,” a decision made after endless hours of sounding-out and slurring. The women, both of them, all of them, would be called “Ancilla.” No matter that they were separate entities; they shared the name. 

As for the second man, Fossa made no decision. He rather disliked granting this newcomer any humanity at all, although he did feel a stirring internal feeling of relation, allegiance, one might call it.

The second man named himself Fidei. Fossa, still riding an unstable wave of possible loss of authority, was gratified by the choice, which plainly began in the same “Ph” sounding as tribute. 

Each pair regarded the other with, on the whole, silence. To observers as we are, it may appear to be shock--a shaky state of affairs, as one can imagine for such early hours. Nevertheless, Fossa managed to constrain any shuffling of hierarchy. 

He secured his status like this: 

Terror. Darkness.

A blazing sky, reality unhinged--a pure white surrounding. Vigorous, mighty drumming follows. Echo. In its fading, terror again. Like a beast bounding and retreating, testing its tremulous prey. 

Torrents of water from the sky. Fossa, Fidei, and the Ancillas, drenched in relentless mayhem. Drenched in ignorance. Yet! An explanation: Fossa speaks up over the natural tumult, and it seems to be no natural phenomenon at all!

“This,” he says, “is from me.” Addressing chiefly Fidei, of course. Although ensuring the Ancillas are able to take such crucial information into account. 

“Before the day ended, I bent my face upwards, and commanded a powerful display. So it has happened! So it shall continue to happen, and you will be unaware; it may happen at any moment. Can you achieve these things? You will find, I think, you cannot. You can do no such thing, remotely, unless by my permission. 

“Label yourself on my side, and you may have my surplus, my scrap. Label yourself opposed, and worse things than this piffling display will follow, always.

Fossa lifts a handcrafted weapon; a stone, smooth at one end, razor sharp at the other. 

To Fidei: “Say I do not direct the sky.”

From Fidei: bewilderment.

Fossa says, “Speak the words. Say that I do not direct the sky.”

In a croak, below the thundering hammer-blows above, Fidei speaks as instructed.

You do not direct the sky.

Flash of light; a second’s blindness; Fidei detects a sting at the bottom of his throat, the spot where soft skin covers an indentation. 

Vision; Fossa, close; the stone, stuck to the soft spot, though unpenetrated. 

Fossa, voice resonating direct into Fidei’s ears: “From here to your toes! Gutted! Splayed open, innards seeping! Your day’s food removed by force and fed to Ancilla! I shall pick it from you myself. I shall leave you, forgotten, myself.

“Speak not against me, though, and I shall call you my dear. Only good can possibly follow. Remember this.”

With the intensity of the rock-edge removed from his throat, Fidei saw nothing but hope. 

© 2010 BTBeamon

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Added on April 10, 2010
Last Updated on April 11, 2010
Tags: Non Serviam, totalitarianism, religion, God, atheism, anti-theism, creation, fiction




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