Creation

When Gaia was just a child, she and her siblings loved to dance around their father, chasing each other in wider and wider circles. She would throw stardust in her father’s face and giggle as he feigned anger, puffed up his cheeks, and incinerated the dust with one breath.

Sol told his children that he loved them all equally, but Gaia knew that she and her father shared a special bond. “Gaia,” he would whisper in her ear, “You are exceptional. I know you are destined for great things.”

As she and her siblings grew older, they ventured farther and farther away from the safety of her father’s arms. Mercury, the baby of the family, still stayed close to home, but Neptune, who had always been erratic and emotional, drifted the farthest, preferring the cold of nothingness to the warmth and companionship of his family.

And though Gaia’s siblings were far from each other, they would wink and wave to her as they danced through space; she would wink back to them, singing a song of love and joy across the void.

Sometimes, though, as she danced across the vast blackness of space, she found herself all alone. She cried tears of regret that she had grown older and wandered away from the bosom of her family. Those tears ran down her cheeks and gathered themselves between her bosoms, falling into the cracks and crevices of her body, and for the first time, Gaia saw the reflection of her father in the pools of water.

She called out, “Father, I miss you!”

Sol burned brightly in the darkness, but said nothing.

“Father,” she called again, “why are you so far away?”

Again, Sol was silent.

Finally, Gaia cried out in frustration, “Why must I be so alone?”

Sol sighed. “Oh, Gaia,” he whispered, too quietly for her to hear, “you are not alone.” And although he knew it would probably make his other children jealous, he blew a warm kiss directly towards her.

A few minutes later, the kiss made its way to her cheek. She touched her cheek and suddenly knew what she needed to do. She put her arms around herself and recalled all the love she had for her family. Her strong heart beat faster and faster, and electricity began to flow through and around her hands.

Lightning flashed between her hands in the sky and the pools of water on her body.

And then…something HAPPENED.

Gaia felt it deep down inside. She felt different. She was more than just a daughter of Sol. She had created something.

She stared at her body. Nothing really seemed that different. The salty tear-water was rocking back and forth as she danced through space. But then, she saw something gleaming: something new, something very, very small, way down in the depths. “I think…I think it’s moving!” she said in horrified fascination.

And it was. It was life.

A life.

Alive.

Not only was it moving, but it had begun to multiply. And there became more of them, and they kept changing form and shape, becoming increasingly diverse in their living, eating, and mating habits. Some of them swam around in the oceans, but others crawled out of the oceans and began to live and move on her body proper. Some didn’t move around at all, but dug their feet deep into her body and stretched their arms up-up-up towards her father.

And so she continued her dance of joy across the void, ever circling her father, full in the knowledge that no matter how far away she was from her family, she would never, ever be alone.

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This week’s Indie Ink Writing Challenge came from Wendryn, who gave me this prompt:

Write whatever you like, but include this line: “I think…I think it’s moving!” she said in horrified fascination.

My prompt went out to Kerri, who did a fantastic job answering it here.