A long path stretched ahead, and another crushed by the power of force, and in between the two ways, a woman with divinity, a goddess that had been born of a flame, consumed in flesh by a bigger, more muscular goddess, and then spat out with enough strength and faith and power to remake, but not create, things to a likeness similar to what one thing was once before. It was such an unusual presence that she exuded, such an unusual power she had, that she barely used it, and she barely understood it.

She eventually found herself being found. A family took her in and gave her gifts of the land that she had never tasted. She nodded gracefully whenever they offered something and, in return, she gave them gifts to reflect that of which they wanted the most: the mother, who was a widow, desired for love, so she received compassion, the child, who was blind, wished for sight, so he became able to squint through one his eyes, and the eldest daughter, she desired to provide for her family above all, to let them go of worry and sickness, so she received the freedom to do just that. There was a little rejoicing, and there was much discussion, and she knew, even though they tried to comfort her, the goddess of many, that her power was insufficient and she would never be praised enough as her soul needed.

The more she traveled, through time and lands, distances and heights, and the more half-miracles she delivered, the less she understood the world she inhabited now. She could not return to her star, she could not live among those who asked of things and were later, with fake smiles, trying to make her feel that her powers were useful and powerful. She felt useless and, even worse, she felt that this could not be changed. She walked and walked and found herself telling herself some beautiful lies to make herself feel better.

Inevitably, she understood the purpose of what she was to accomplish. It was not grand nor was it meaningful, nor was it imposed, it was simply something that she herself developed on her through her interactions with the world and the people who did not dismiss her but did not worship her either. Her purpose was to betray the trust of those who, blinded in rage, misery, bad luck, strangeness, despair, wrath, introversion, heartbreak, were asking for her, and only her, and then she, with the power of her very tiny heart, could make only a little bit come true so they could face the bloodied truth.

What a lifetime ago it felt, she thought, and that all those desires could come true, and with that, an end near could be envisioned, from a step, from a body, from a little wish to the next to the next, all to accomplish something that she was, unconsciously, always desiring. Was it revenge? Was it madness? Was it to simply cease to exist, from herself, inward, outwards, to everyone? Was it simply a desire for an answer that didn’t exist that everyone was playing along with?

I like to write for some reason so I’m doing it here. I’ll try write something every day, and hopefully, get better at it.