I Am Legend.
Evening of Day Six.
If you are ever alone with God, ask Him:
Whose blood coloured the story of Adam?
I rankle in God's heart like a thorn. But what about you?
All you do is chant 'He is God!' over and over!
('Gabriel and Iblis', Muhammad Iqbal)
I look over Excolo. The rain has stopped, but the air still rumbles with the promise of thunder. Clouds the colour of bruises stain the swollen sky, and in the west the sun is bleeding into the wet land.
I smile. Tonight I am going to walk this town.
It has been some time since I left the water tower, or at least some time in human terms. Once I sat in the desert and watched sand dunes for forty years. Not once in that time did I see a single living thing. It was the most absolutely barren place. Those forty years passed before I even thought to change position.
Today, however, I am in the mood for action. I can see that things have begun to shift, to prepare for the day I am awaiting, but I am no longer gifted with timelessness, and so there is only so much I can observe. Again I curse the one whose rejection has bound me to this sphere, to this time. I am repulsed by linearity. As much as I can I ignore it, but even my endless patience will only allow me to glimpse at the future, not know all possibilities past and present.
Sometimes my fury regarding this has been enough to provoke me into dramatic action. The Crimean War was probably my favourite.
Now, though, I wish to play my hand quietly, gently. There is a human game where domino tiles are lined up in complex patterns, and then toppled. If any of the tiles are jarred too early, only a few will fall and the chain is broken. I do not wish that to happen. Still, I am today feeling curiosity, which is a rare enough experience in my long existence to be something that I savour. I want to visit this place that will be a battlefield in time.
Perhaps it was the visit of the carnival's Management today that has stirred me. I have known him of old. He made his obesiances, as is fitting, and then we talked for some time.
The carnival will be in town for a while yet.
Or perhaps it was Djinn's reports that have made me want to walk the streets. The people are uneasy, he tells me, and shocked and suspicious. The news of the shopkeeper's murder has rippled through the town. It will not be long before the detail of the burn on her body slips out. And this is only the beginning.
I stand in front of my mirror and will myself into shape. It is easy enough for me to adopt a form like a human's. The human shape can itself be pleasing - what is disgusting about it is how the shape is a sack for filth, and how the sack oozes with sweat and other fluids. And, of course, any being limited to only one form is contemptible. I can make myself into a most beautiful human, however. On a number of occasions, I chose to appear in the most perfect form I could imagine. Looking at me has sent men mad. There was a riot, once. And another time I was addressed as Christ come again - which I found terribly amusing. It is tempting to dress myself in a blaze of glory and send the townsfolk into hysterics.
But no, that would not do. Instead I create for myself an avatar that is beautiful, but not godlike. A form that will appeal to many kinds of people. Male, in this instance, and lean bodied. My face is sculpted from marble, but my lips are soft. My hair is dark gold. I admire myself in the mirror. Even Adam was not so lovely. I look powerful, but not frightening, and there is an androgyny to my form that will appeal to both men and women.
My qareen brings me a ruffled shirt and black trousers. I had not asked, and I do not know where my qareen went for them, but it is a good servant and anticipates my needs.
I walk through the fields near the tower, enjoying the feel of high grasses rubbing against my thighs. And then I am in the town, the streets wet with rain and mud, but I remain clean. I do not permit the filth to touch me, for it is not my will. The town vibrates with nervous energy, and it makes me smile.
And then I see it. Follow Me Boy. The corner of my mouth curls up. Ah, Karina. She has not yet been to make a report to me. The idea of an incognito visit pleases me - and long experience has taught me that the stews are often the best place to glean information.
I step out of the darkness into the lobby. Showtime.
[open to Follow Me Boy staff and visitors]
If you are ever alone with God, ask Him:
Whose blood coloured the story of Adam?
I rankle in God's heart like a thorn. But what about you?
All you do is chant 'He is God!' over and over!
('Gabriel and Iblis', Muhammad Iqbal)
I look over Excolo. The rain has stopped, but the air still rumbles with the promise of thunder. Clouds the colour of bruises stain the swollen sky, and in the west the sun is bleeding into the wet land.
I smile. Tonight I am going to walk this town.
It has been some time since I left the water tower, or at least some time in human terms. Once I sat in the desert and watched sand dunes for forty years. Not once in that time did I see a single living thing. It was the most absolutely barren place. Those forty years passed before I even thought to change position.
Today, however, I am in the mood for action. I can see that things have begun to shift, to prepare for the day I am awaiting, but I am no longer gifted with timelessness, and so there is only so much I can observe. Again I curse the one whose rejection has bound me to this sphere, to this time. I am repulsed by linearity. As much as I can I ignore it, but even my endless patience will only allow me to glimpse at the future, not know all possibilities past and present.
Sometimes my fury regarding this has been enough to provoke me into dramatic action. The Crimean War was probably my favourite.
Now, though, I wish to play my hand quietly, gently. There is a human game where domino tiles are lined up in complex patterns, and then toppled. If any of the tiles are jarred too early, only a few will fall and the chain is broken. I do not wish that to happen. Still, I am today feeling curiosity, which is a rare enough experience in my long existence to be something that I savour. I want to visit this place that will be a battlefield in time.
Perhaps it was the visit of the carnival's Management today that has stirred me. I have known him of old. He made his obesiances, as is fitting, and then we talked for some time.
The carnival will be in town for a while yet.
Or perhaps it was Djinn's reports that have made me want to walk the streets. The people are uneasy, he tells me, and shocked and suspicious. The news of the shopkeeper's murder has rippled through the town. It will not be long before the detail of the burn on her body slips out. And this is only the beginning.
I stand in front of my mirror and will myself into shape. It is easy enough for me to adopt a form like a human's. The human shape can itself be pleasing - what is disgusting about it is how the shape is a sack for filth, and how the sack oozes with sweat and other fluids. And, of course, any being limited to only one form is contemptible. I can make myself into a most beautiful human, however. On a number of occasions, I chose to appear in the most perfect form I could imagine. Looking at me has sent men mad. There was a riot, once. And another time I was addressed as Christ come again - which I found terribly amusing. It is tempting to dress myself in a blaze of glory and send the townsfolk into hysterics.
But no, that would not do. Instead I create for myself an avatar that is beautiful, but not godlike. A form that will appeal to many kinds of people. Male, in this instance, and lean bodied. My face is sculpted from marble, but my lips are soft. My hair is dark gold. I admire myself in the mirror. Even Adam was not so lovely. I look powerful, but not frightening, and there is an androgyny to my form that will appeal to both men and women.
My qareen brings me a ruffled shirt and black trousers. I had not asked, and I do not know where my qareen went for them, but it is a good servant and anticipates my needs.
I walk through the fields near the tower, enjoying the feel of high grasses rubbing against my thighs. And then I am in the town, the streets wet with rain and mud, but I remain clean. I do not permit the filth to touch me, for it is not my will. The town vibrates with nervous energy, and it makes me smile.
And then I see it. Follow Me Boy. The corner of my mouth curls up. Ah, Karina. She has not yet been to make a report to me. The idea of an incognito visit pleases me - and long experience has taught me that the stews are often the best place to glean information.
I step out of the darkness into the lobby. Showtime.
[open to Follow Me Boy staff and visitors]