PURE FICTION

Lightfall

Flash Fiction

It was my office. In the first great darkness — before flint ever sparked the least light — I alone illuminated the heavens. I treasured my position. I was His proudest creation, prized before all else… until that fickle day.

“Luz,” He said, “I’m troubled.”

So what was new? I’m serious. Ever since He’d formed them — Man, that is — it was all He complained about. They didn’t know Him. Nobody cared about Him. Whenever His “children” spoke of Him, the ingrates considered Him a stranger — “He-That-Has-No-Name.”

“I love you,” I’d say.

“I’m a mystery to them.”

Yes.

But I’ll tell you this, it was His fault. For eons, I’d believed He enjoyed His enigmatic presence. In boggy moors, He manifested as mists. He’d streak the skies as comets with long fiery tails. After deluges, during impish humor, He enchanted them as magical rainbows. Thunder! Oh, how He loved that. The hearts of his lambs would quake and deep inside their caves, they’d bleat for mercy. And eclipses! Both lunar and solar. I fancied lunar. Call me sentimental. I don’t know. It brought back the early days.

I’d lie. “Give them time.”

The old man would cock his hoary head. “Luz,” He’d say, “please don’t patronize Me.”

Oops!

Sometimes I’d forget He was omniscient.

One fine day He looked haggard. Hoping to abate one of His notorious moods, where a dark, heavy-browed He would abscond in silence for eons, I suggested possible names for Him. Of course, He’d already considered that.

“The Great I Am,” He said.

I nodded. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Catchy.”

“I Am He who is?”

“That too — good, good.”

“I Am what I Am and that’s all that I Am?”

My light dimmed. “Sounds… kind of apologetic.”

I was fortunate He let it pass. He preferred to speak of better moments, our last good laugh together, the time He sprinkled Jupiter with sixty-three moons. Whew! Talk about moon-struck lovers. Who could sleep? We laughed! He left Jupiter unpopulated.

“You’re in a funk,” I said. “That’s all.”

“Meaning?”

“Well,” I said, “Creation is a hard act to follow. Think of it. Been there. Done that. With all due respect, I suspect Your best work is behind You.”

“Baaa!”

I cowered, lifting a wing to cover my head. After a moment, I dared to continue. “Just look at Yourself,” I said. “This thing with Man. The Creator wants His creation to know Him.” I cringed. It was absurd. “Doesn’t it sound a little… desperate?”

“Novel,” He said.

“Come on, I’ve read your drafts.”

His left eye opened wide. “And?”

“You know.”

“Speak it anyway.”

I didn’t dare. He loved them. But they didn’t deserve it. And me? What about me? I cherished my post. But darkness — that was the thing — it no longer existed. He created new marvels. Glorious sunrises. Dreamy moonlit nights. And fire! Of all things, why gift them fire? Ashes! Ruin! That’s what I saw. I was only trying to protect Him.

He leaned forward.

Grim.

Ever the fragile artist, he said, “What about My script, Luz?”

“Streets of gold? Pearly gates? Angels strum harps all day? Forgive me, but it sounds… boring!”

His lips pressed together, eyes downcast, He looked so defeated. Etched on his broad forehead was a monstrous crease.

I’d gone too far.

Someone needed to. He was about to mess up big time. Granting Man free will, that would be His big mistake, His downfall. It would be the end of paradise. Man didn’t know shit!

“I’ve been thinking,” He said.

‘Oh-oh.’

“No. Hear Me out.”

I stared. For the longest time, I’d feared the coming of this moment. He planned to send me. Me, His most brilliant light? I was to circulate amongst ‘His people,’ proclaim His name and preach of Him all across that insignificant speck of dirt. The apes didn’t deserve me. They’d laugh. With their large nasty lips twisted back, they would jeer and mock us.

“Handouts?” I said. “Flyers?”

“Don’t get smart, Luz.”

I had the most remarkable vision then. It was my grandest idea. I proposed Man should name Him. I could see it. As the chimps spread across the land, populating every nook, cranny, and tree of that mud pit, each group would claim Him as his own.

I was beside myself. In a gush of radiating enthusiasm, my light glowing across multiple dimensions, I explained how the variety of names would give His children the opportunity to develop a personal relationship with Him.

“They’ll bicker,” He said.

“Contraire! A win-win.”

“You don’t understand, Luz.”

Of course, I understood. He wanted the selfish dolts to know Him. Can you imagine? Give me this. Give me that. Kill all my enemies. Every day until the end of Time they’d bitch and moan — and who would have to do His dirty work?

No way.

He should keep His distance. Keep them clawed and hairy-toed. I believed with all my heart that they’d hurt Him in the end. And I loved Him. I did. I begged — keep the rabble out.

“Luz,” he said, “you’re bright. No pun intended. I know you’ll come up with something.”

I bit my tongue — sliced it, in fact, right down the middle.

“Now, now, don’t pout. It hurts Me to see you like that. Not to worry, Luz. I have your back. You’ll return before Lightfall.”

I laughed out loud!

He’d do this to me? We’d been together almost from the start. Yet He was stubborn, short-tempered. He liked to pull rank.

I shuddered then.

Before my eyes — peering into the most distant future — I saw the mouth of a fierce black snake opening wide. It hissed. My blood turned cold. He’d always said it too. I used to think He joked. I’d better watch it. Someday He’d turn me into a serpent.

Naah.

Impossible.

I… the light of the world?

If you enjoyed my story, consider becoming a member of Medium for the nominal fee of $5 monthly. It’ll help support me and thousands of other talented writers. Join us! Our heartfelt thanks.