Silver Creek genesis

February 14, 2019

 

He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.”
—Genesis 15:5

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In the beginning, there was nothing. Then the sperm entered the egg and created life, and suddenly, there was everything. But it was tiny, contained, all potential. The DNA told the complete story, but these creatures had not that knowledge. To them, this child could be anything. Male or female, large or small, living or stillborn. The world was its oyster, and theirs, too.

A flip of the coin. 50-50. The bitch that whelped that day pushed out several sons, and oh! How the heavens did rejoice! How their father did smile! But this particular fetus ended up female, and thus her fate was sealed. What had once been promise was now bitter resignation.

For she carried a womb much like the one she was born from, and her only duty was to repeat the process. Aspirations, desires, skills—nothing mattered, save she procreated. She could have been the Messiah reborn and still, it would not matter. As Jesus died on the cross, she might die in childbirth. Unlike the Christ, though, her name would never be uttered again. Her name never mattered, anyway.

Addison Darling Odolf. Her mother had the ultimate misfortune of insemination by a weapons-grade misogynist. And because of that, her daughter would forever suffer.

Would she, though?

For the witches had opened her up and peered inside, to find that she was still all potential and the lies she had been fed all her life were just that—lies. Her worth went beyond a virgin hole, a fertile womb. Brave, strong, smart. Adjectives that had been used to describe her brothers since their birth. But they described Addison, too, and she had known it for a while. . .but had pushed it down. What worth was that knowledge to her? For all she believed in herself, she could never act upon it.

Couldn't she?

They'd danced circles 'round her listless form, drowsy with drugs. One by one, they'd woken her, body and soul. Their tongues slipping over each and every curve, their flesh pressed against hers. She had never known such tenderness, wrapped in barbs of ferocity. She had never known such worship.

For her entire existence, she had been scorned. The witches put her on a pedestal, and deep down—despite the damage they'd inflicted, the poison they'd put into her mind—she loved them for it. And she would love them forever, even if their lessons had no substance. She loved them for the adoration, for the caresses. For making her feel like she never had before—both wanted and wanting.

But their lessons were worth more than kisses and spells. They'd given her a wisdom far deeper than words or touch. They had brought forth something within her that had been there from birth but never fostered. A tiny, flickering flame, and as the days had gone by, it grew into a roaring fire.

"You are the earth-mother, and we your servants,
But just as we serve you, so you must serve the earth—
Take the seed and strike down the tree.
Plant your own forest.
Your descendants will be as numerous as the stars,
And they will be free."

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She stands waist-deep in the middle of the creek, frosty eyes staring down the current. Except the ice is melting, as the fire they'd lit has spread. She burns, and she burns only for herself. For her children. And she casts two of her names aside, letting them slip away with the water.

d a r l i n go d o l f

Leaving only Addison behind.