The Souls Of The Innocent

the souls of the innocent

Guys, let's make a sandwich. I'll start:

Bread

I was always sort of sad when they left.

I knew their names, of course. But they faded out like nearly everyone did. I scribed their first names on the back of a dresser the first one gave to me when she met me.

That was so long ago. I watched as the names filled up the space. Josie and Matthew, Bo and Luke, Arlie and Gibson. I've filled up a full line across the top in my tiny cursive.

They are all memorable in their own ways. Gibson had the sweetest dimples when he was little and marginally less sweet dimples when he got older. I can no longer remember the top half of his face, but I remember the dimples.

Luke liked wheels. He would whittle tiny little wheels out of branches from a fallen oak and give them to me. I would put an axle in them and give them back. We would trade making parts until we had a tiny little wagon.

Matthew was tall and dark. He didn't speak often and preferred to be outside. When he got older, he spent most of his time in his rocking chair on the porch. But he was always humming a song if he wasn't talking. I no longer remember his face but I remember his voice.

And Josie was the first of them all. She was the one who charmed me with her smile and wits. She was the one who had my kids, and we raised them together. And it is Josie who I remember now, no matter the generations since she went. Josie whose face I still remember. Josie who still speaks in my mind, telling me not to do something in that carefree tone she has.

Better watch out, you don't want to fall into the gully!

The words may be modernized somewhat, but it is what she would say. And it is exactly how she would say it.

For her, I raise her kids and her grand kids and her great-grandkids. I raise the family until I can barely remember how many greats go before grandkids. And still, I see her.

She is in little baby Arthur in the way he babbles. In Arlie's stare and the way she moves. In the footprints long swept away that materialise in the feet of Charlie.

She is here. Why would I want to leave?

Most immortals become the angsty “everyone I have ever loved is gone” kind of immortal. You, on the other hand, instead took it upon yourself to be a loving presence to entire generations of your chosen family, because they are descended from someone you once loved long ago.

Something had been strange for a while. You were traveling to work faster. You started getting more odd looks, more confused ones. You stopped eating as much and didn't get hungry.

For a long time, you thought it was just a coincidence, or maybe that new haircut you tried out didn't work.

Then it happened. You were cuddling with your girlfriend, when she murmured into your ear. You listened to the words and felt a rush of happiness, of power, and your hair set on fire.

The words were "I love you, sweetie. I wanna be with you forever."

The condition of your head was excellent after the fire went out. Not a scratch, not a singed hair.

But both of your romantic moods were gone as you tried to figure out what happened.

Turns out you were a god. You're a pretty pleasant one, you can do lots of godly stuff, but you also have with powers comparable to the ancient Greeks... in a very, very scaled down fashion.

You can bring the storms, but they're always pleasant. No showy lightning or thundering rain, instead it's light pitter-patter and damp everywhere.

You can raise the dead. But they're all so cranky. They're irritated that you brought them out of their sleep just when they were starting to get good. And if you don't put them to rest, they'll follow you around the house bringing a very putrid smell with them.

And yes, you can set things on fire. Fire is already extremely destructive. If you concentrate for long enough, you could raze forests. But you don't, because your girlfriend wouldn't like that and besides, the birds like it there and it's pretty and green.

Your next question is, what do I do next?

With the ability to conjure money out of thin air (but only Canadian dollars, and you're not in Canada) and the ability to get away with tax fraud (the number always shows up a little bit smaller than you would like it to be), you could be anyone. Do anything.

But you can't forget that rush of euphoria when your girlfriend compliments you, or when she brings you little trinkets from the woods like a crow, or when she simply smiles at you.

She knows you're a god and she doesn't care. Her love to you is unconditional, almost like she's been enchanted. She hasn't, though, you've been very careful to not make any lasting promises to her or about her.

(If she is doing that of her own free will, she's a keeper. She's a lovely woman. It's your job to keep her from harm - not from humans, but gods. She is yours and your... follower? Yes, follower works. She is your follower alone.)

You decide to talk to other people, maybe expand your followers, hope for even more euphoria than your girlfriend - now wife - gives you.

As you expand your following, however, you feel less and less happy. Your subjects start to be dissonant. They start cluttering your mind with all of their feelings that drag you down and make you angry. And when you're angry, you bring out the fire.

It might have been your fault that you burned their houses to the ground. It might have been your fault that some people were caught inside. It might have been, it might have been. Nobody here knows the facts, right? It was their fault that they didn't make you happy. It was their fault.

It was their fault they died, their fault they didn't join you and give you their all. Their fault they were bad and wrong. Their fault they weren't the example your wife sets, and by the way, where is she?

You find the note in your bedroom, saying I can't do this anymore, you've become corrupted. I want my old partner back. I'm leaving for a while and I will only come back when I'm ready. Don't try to follow me.

So disgusting. But now you're sad. And when you're sad, your remaining followers starve because you weren't there to water the crops or keep the insects away. They leave or they die, just like your wife. You wonder where she's gone.

It's been two years, three, five, and you hold out hope. Maybe she'll return in a week. Maybe a month. You turn over houses and dig under logs searching for her, even as your searches turn up fruitless.

Before you know it, it's been two decades. You think it's safe to believe she's never coming back.

It can't have been her fault she left. She might have been taken. She might have died. You try to reincarnate her, if only to here her voice one more time, but if there is a skeleton, it isn't within five hundred miles. Maybe you need to search harder. Extend your range.

Five decades pass, and you fall into despair. You finally brought her body up and she didn't recognize you. She didn't remember who you were. She was your wife and she didn't remember you.

As if your power was waiting for this barrier to break all this time, the skies turn overcast and the clouds break, water flowing from dark dark gray clouds and slamming into the earth like it can beat it up.

You don't remember if the storm passes.

You never knew you were a god until you got your very first follower.

Bothering licence GIVEN to anyone who has that little purple mutual tag above their name and also anyone else really but moots especially

The urge to bother my mutuals

site that you can type in the definition of a word and get the word

site for when you can only remember part of a word/its definition 

site that gives you words that rhyme with a word

site that gives you synonyms and antonyms

You can get 1.5 liters of Jarritos at a grocery store very close to me for cheaper than the individual bottles.

So in answer to your question: ABSOLUTELY GREAT WHAT'S ON YOUR END

The urge to bother my mutuals