Les Nouvelles

He walked, tall as a titan, to the circle’s center. His ancientness glowed fresh and new in the Dawn’s light, as if born just a moment ago, in the dark beginnings before time, before word or memory. With a face of polished marble he faced the assembly and spoke in words made of deep distant sounds, a language born of the romance between whalesong and earthquake. My ears went deaf from his voice’s relentless slow momentum, as sure as the turning of the earth, but I could still feel and hear the sounds vibrating in my belly. I could somehow understand it, in the same way mosquitos and crickets sense the weather changing, buffeted by the changing air pressure.

The great Orator spoke, and we all received the news, entrusted to us to pass along to each of our own peoples. The news contained a message of Life and Death, and to underscore this point, the god shaped his last words from his own annihilation; we heard his final sentences trail off and rumble into the distance as his flawlessly smooth stony youth chipped, cracked, fracturing along the grief meridians of his body, dust billowing into the air, a mountain collapsing in on itself, the last sound the hiss of chalky dry tears caught on the wind and then….nothing.

Murmurs filled the assembly. We felt resolved to carry the message onward.

Written by Willem