He thought it would make her happy. With a flourish, Kukulcan donned his feather robe and stepped into the circle. He had been working for ages on this long count calendar, and tonight, the first night of the Tzolk’in cycle, he was ready to dedicate it to her. His mother. His lover. His goddess.
He thought it would make things better. Chirakan-Ixmucane had come to him in a dream so long ago and asked for — no, demanded — the calendar. And one does not deny a creator of the world. He had been haunted by her every night since then, to the point of sleeplessness, but he worked through the madness, knowing that his work would be used for the rest of eternity, so that there will never be an end to the world. It would be a relief to dedicate it to her.
He was wrong. As he stepped into the circle, he closed his eyes prepared himself to be blessed with her Divine Presence.
The people around him chanted louder and louder. Suddenly, his eyes flew open as the priests behind him slit his throat and wrists with ebony knives. The blood gushed out of him, but she was not there to receive his tribute. Instead, his spirit floated away from his body as his joints buckled and collapsed onto the stone calendar. He watched the throngs of villagers dissolve into inky darkness.
Too late, he realized the calendar he had created to keep the world eternal had brought about the end of existence.
For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Julia Mae gave me this prompt: He thought it would make her happy. He thought it would make things better. He was wrong.
I gave David Wiley this prompt: Underwater symphony.
Very timely… I’m glad I was still around to read this.