Bad Advice

Written by anonymous

This work was last updated October 10, 2019

Necessity bred the desperate edged hunger for survival. The ability that made humans into nothing more than wolves, all clashing teeth, wild eyes, and dangerous snarls. Survival turned our world into the enemy so that we could find meaning in the mundane and fight for the right to see the tomorrow after tomorrow.
However, Necessity is no longer anything more than a decrepit, cloudy-eyed shadow and the wolves have become little more than placid, docile dogs; far too content with the world around them and fat from lazy years. The world, itself, is no longer the enemy but a conquered kingdom; green and brown is torn apart in order to make way for concrete rivers and stone cliffs.

I stand among it all and wonder in the twisted definitions of words - in the loss of Necessity - and see how the stars have fallen, spiralling over the landscape like broken fireworks.

We cannot, however, blame the dogs for the destruction of the overgrowth and the holes in the earth. To fault them would be pointless because the blame would ultimately trickle back to their master. The being that taught the world to turn, that still has sway but not so much that it can make the sky dance, trees cry and roaring fires timid. It used to be able to do that; be able to, on a whim, get everything in existence to listen on the barest edge of a word.
Instead, rather fittingly, it slowly grew bloated and neglectful on the whispers of dangerous wisdom; breeding Necessity, who in turn, allowed the wolves to become dogs, free to run rampant and destroy us all.

I was only ever able to watch everything fall apart, all so carefully, until it tumbled, cracking into shards on the floor. It’s like Pandora’s box; once it was opened, it left everyone fighting over what they could with what remained. And the master of all, better known as Creation, stood there and watched with me.

Creation was loving, once, and generous - having the ability to find countless wonders and fill the cracks in the scatter. It allowed the Sun and the Moon to walk freely together, the warm gold and the frigid silver allowing weather ripe for crops to thrive. Rivers threaded landscapes with deep blues and careful green threads. The stars were fat, hung like pictures in the cornflower blue of the twilight. The grass was too green, oceans too blue.
However, Creation could also be unintentionally cruel, like how its misguided attempt to help ultimately forced competition among paradise’s creatures to survive. Even so, Creation’s nature didn’t allow paradise to become an apocalypse despite the predators and the wolves that lurked within. Yet, the perfection of it all should have been the warning.

And I watched as the future was foreshadowed in front of me, knowing that poisoned fruits and bitter honey would one day come and take it all away. Survival became the biggest ineffable joke because there could be nothing that would prepare anyone for what was to come.

Chaos, Creation's jealous counterpart, had always hidden itself within the fabric of shadows; inky black masses that covered the edges of paradise in careless evil. It was always there, even in the beginning, waiting in the wings to find an opportunity to take paradise and twist it into something sinister. And so, it did - because it could.
In Creation’s ear, Chaos whispered the words that would become dangerous, that would lead to the end of paradise and to the creation of Destruction. Necessity was born from Creation alone but Destruction, its eldest sibling, is the poisoned child that came from the ashes of Creation and Chaos' relationship.

I honestly can’t help but marvel at how much Destruction took after Chaos. Chaos who only laughed as Destruction carved deep fissures into the ground and smashed land together, driving rock into dizzying peaks. And Creation was helpless to do anything but watch.

This poor wisdom led to the end of the Golden Age. Destruction finally was able to tear the moon and the sun apart, hanging one among the stars and the other in an empty blue plain. Creation watched as Destruction set the wolves, and their brethren, free into the world until finally it could watch no longer.
Creation loved too much to kill its first-born - but it could save the dying world in the sacrifice of its next child, Necessity. And in the same way the world lost Creation, we lost Necessity. And Necessity soon became far too stale to give any more than it already did. Taking away Necessity turned the wolves to other methods in order to find survival and, there, they found Hope.

I find it so fascinating how, on the edges of the undercurrent left behind by Necessity, humans can find something so beautiful. Something they can blunt their jagged edges on. Because, despite it all, Beauty remains.

Beauty and Hope are the foil to the world Destruction created and their combined patience brings Belief, something that the wolves can cling to. And no longer are they really Wolves, they have become what they should have been all along. Humans - in all their curious, clumsy glory. Not sure of anything but determined to find a way.
And in their attempts to curb Destruction, Beauty, Belief and Hope lose sight of what their purpose was - their negligence allowing humans to grow into the placid dogs, in the absence of necessity and in the safety inadvertently given.

Humans clawed their way to something more than survival in the absence of it all but weren’t told how to stop. Concrete, stone, chunks of metal and broken purpose scrape against the world. Destruction no longer fights because the dogs have taken over its purpose - and Beauty has faded while Hope and Belief have weakened. Their mistake was realised too late and Destruction triumphs in the dying light.

And now, for the first time in Millenia, Creation - nothing more than a rusted statue - turns to me with a sharp glint in its eye. A calculating expression that I had not seen since it’s last encounter with Chaos.

Words grate out, dry and hoarse from complete disuse. “And what are you going to do, my child?”

I look at my parent with what can only be a mixture of disbelief and love. “Who - me?” At this, Creation gives me a disappointed look and turns to look at the world below. It frustrates me enough that I ask again, “What is it?”

“You have watched,” Creation slowly says, “you know the world better than my other children.”

“Because I was never sent below,” I remind Creation, not at all masking the bitterness. “Like they were. I have only been able to see as humans see.”

Creation’s lips slowly curl into a smile. “Then my work is done.” At my puzzled look, Creation murmurs, “you are my atonement.” The words hang in the air as gears click in my mind, trying to find a link in the broken code. Creation reaches out and touches me, “I name you Promise.”

“But humans already make promises-” I protest weakly, not seeing exactly what Creation was talking about or getting at.

Creation shakes their head. “No, you’re my Promise. The first Promise, made a long time ago.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” I demand, standing defensively, “go into the world and bring them hope?”

“Hope is already there,” Creation smiles sadly and pulls away, “you will be more than that. More than words.” I am all but ready to fight for more answers yet Creation once again shakes their head. “I cannot help you for it is my time now.”

That stops me. “Time for what?” My eyes widen as I catch onto the words. “No, it can’t be.”

“It must be.”

Creation steps away, even further, and - without even a second look - turns to walk into the starlight. I hurl demand after demand, question after question yet Creation doesn’t turn back. Oddly enough, with each step, Creation becomes younger and younger; power and authority returning to its withered husk for the first time in many years. I watch until it disappears into the starshine, an impossible speck in the grandness of it all.
And Creation has, once again, left a mess. But this time, it has left it up to me to fix everything - with nothing more than empty words and a tangle that might be advice. Might be, if I can figure it out. If I can’t, it would be like Chaos all over again - bad advice that caused us to dig wells into polluted water.

It's a choice between being Promise or being Destruction reborn. I'm not sure what'll happen but I know I'll have to do something with whatever remains. That is all that would be left to do.

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