Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
THE COST OF PEACE
It was lonely, being a god.
Walking out over a restless sea, he could feel it in every step. The emptiness, the aching, the gaping chasm of a soul too far gone from reality. The feeling of having possessed so much, for so long, that he had been corroded from the inside out. Broken from the weight of his world.
From the horrifying knowledge that no one else in it ever really existed.
Not like he did.
There were mortals, of course, but how could humanity compare to him? A life that ended in the blink of an eye couldn’t save a god from isolation. Certainly, it couldn’t save a god from himself.
It didn’t matter now, though, he knew, as the sky above him threatened a storm. The air felt as he did—untethered and unbalanced, a promised respite nearly within reach, but not without a cost. It rumbled over him as he walked farther and farther from shore, his body growing weaker with every passing moment.
When the storm finally broke, what would it feel like?
His steps faltered, the last of his power fading into nothingness. It was his own fault, he knew; it had consumed him, and he had let it, believing nothing could hurt a god.
For all his ability and knowledge, he was nothing compared to that slow corruption. In the end, his power grew too large to sustain, and devoured itself, leaving an empty shell behind, a god in name only.
Slowly, he began to sink, just as the first drops fell from the sky. Where he had expected a raging torrent, reality brought only a soft drizzle caressing his skin. The wind, that had so recently whipped and thrashed around him, disappeared, leaving only the sound of waves as they enveloped his ancient body.
Freezing water surrounded the once god, yet he felt no fear. The little light left above him evanesced while he drifted, ears ringing as the darkness took him. Allowing himself the smallest smile, he embraced the numbing void.
He had been alone his entire existence—what was nothingness compared to that?
No pain found him. No dread gripped his heart.
Maybe it was even peaceful.
Yet, how could one differentiate peace from loneliness?
Loneliness came with life, at least for a god. It was the one thing he envied about mortals—their existence, though short and meaningless, was filled with love. Companionship. Their lives were shared, unlike his.
And peace?
Closing his eyes, sinking to the icy depths, he knew.
For a god, peace came with death.
G. C. Taylor grew up in the mountains of northern Utah, where she found a love of reading and writing at an early age. After three years in the Japanese countryside, she now resides on the east coast with her partner, primarily writing horror and fantasy stories. In addition to writing, she makes time to embroider, practice judo, and dabble in photography and printmaking.
If you enjoyed this drabble you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.
Iron Faerie Publishing 