[Fic] Every Little Girl's Favorite - Amara, God; creation story, probably sacrilege, 11x03 tag
Title: Every Little Girl’s Favorite
Genre: gen, creation story, probably sacrilege, 11x03 “The Bad Seed” tag
Characters: Amara, God
Rating: G
Word Count: ~650
Summary: Stay quiet, Amara. You will never build as He does. God will always be louder, faster, rasher. Stay quiet, little girl.
This song rhymes in the old tongue, the way all the first stories do. On a morning before there were mornings, God nuzzled her flank, them both like flopsy bunnies. At least, that's how Amara remembers it now. He'd said, come with me, sister. Let me show you stars.
She hadn't known stars then; and when she finds them on the demon's computer she is disappointed. They're not so far as she thought, nor so large. They can be described in words, helmed in by signs, touched by the measurement of man. They're closer, even, than Heaven. Amara has no love for stars.
But one morning long ago, God told her, Reach. Reach for that bright and beautiful thing.
I made it for you.
Like He'd made the song, their tongue, the thing that called her and made them together. God makes.
Amara reaches.
Further, He says. Amara, further.
Amara, Amara, He chants. It is not her name, not really. Names are a game God invented, but the longer and louder He sings the harder it is to resist. She likes it when he sings.
Amara, he sings, I invented love just now, I invented it for you. I give you love and stars and I have a vision of the moon.
Amara.
Amara reaches.
God invented love, and stars, thinks Amara. But He did not invent her.
Still, sometimes she whispers her name, and she thinks maybe He did. Maybe now He has. Amara.
Amara, what will you make? she thinks.
Amara, reach, God urges.
(What will you make, Amara? What will you do?)
She feels the heat of the star as she nears it.
But why? she asks. What need have you for stars? Why are there stars?
She likes to think about these things. She believes that--
Amara, it doesn't matter, God says, impatient. I made them for you. I made you love. I make these things, Amara, I make them for you.
God will always be louder, faster, rasher.
Stay quiet, Amara. You will never build as He does.
Amara, reach! God squeals. In this instant, He invents delight. Anticipation. Pride.
She has her arms nearly around it, hot and miasmic.
Why did you make the stars? Amara asks again.
There's a hunger in God's eyes. Because, he says--
--Amara grasps the star--
--Because I made hydrogen, says God, And I wanted to see how it burned.
That's why I made the stars, Amara.
I wanted to see how they’d burn.
Amara screams.
The star unmoors her. Snares her hand like it has teeth (God told her nothing about teeth).
She screams and screams.
Several billion years later, after Nebraska, the demon will tell her she's been locked away. But that's incorrect; imprecision the old tongue and God's old song would never allow for. She is not locked away.
You are beautiful, God says that night (the night he invented night), and he smiles. My star, it's beautiful against your skin, Amara.
God pulls, and Amara stretches.
Sky, God proclaims. That's what the stars needed. Amara, you are my beautiful sky.
God twists, and Amara is rent in four. (sky--)
I would never lock you away, God insists. He pets her many heads.
I would never.
But God only loves her in pieces.
Amara is Death, which she feels in the tremor of Dean's hands, still ringing with the scythe he’d held. Death, in the warm safe crook of his arm.
She is Pestilence, her father's heat that night, the slick of his neck when he bundles her and tells her he loves her. (Oh, Amara remembers love. She remembers that gift well.)
Her Famine she stokes with the souls she takes: Human souls snap like chips; demons are sweet.
I'm hungry, she says. I'm hungry.
I am forever hungry.
And soon, Amara will go to War.
Because I mean, why wouldn't unleashing the Darkness be at least a two-step process? Destroy the Mark; kill Death. Now we're talking!
Genre: gen, creation story, probably sacrilege, 11x03 “The Bad Seed” tag
Characters: Amara, God
Rating: G
Word Count: ~650
Summary: Stay quiet, Amara. You will never build as He does. God will always be louder, faster, rasher. Stay quiet, little girl.
This song rhymes in the old tongue, the way all the first stories do. On a morning before there were mornings, God nuzzled her flank, them both like flopsy bunnies. At least, that's how Amara remembers it now. He'd said, come with me, sister. Let me show you stars.
She hadn't known stars then; and when she finds them on the demon's computer she is disappointed. They're not so far as she thought, nor so large. They can be described in words, helmed in by signs, touched by the measurement of man. They're closer, even, than Heaven. Amara has no love for stars.
But one morning long ago, God told her, Reach. Reach for that bright and beautiful thing.
I made it for you.
Like He'd made the song, their tongue, the thing that called her and made them together. God makes.
Amara reaches.
Further, He says. Amara, further.
Amara, Amara, He chants. It is not her name, not really. Names are a game God invented, but the longer and louder He sings the harder it is to resist. She likes it when he sings.
Amara, he sings, I invented love just now, I invented it for you. I give you love and stars and I have a vision of the moon.
Amara.
Amara reaches.
God invented love, and stars, thinks Amara. But He did not invent her.
Still, sometimes she whispers her name, and she thinks maybe He did. Maybe now He has. Amara.
Amara, what will you make? she thinks.
Amara, reach, God urges.
(What will you make, Amara? What will you do?)
She feels the heat of the star as she nears it.
But why? she asks. What need have you for stars? Why are there stars?
She likes to think about these things. She believes that--
Amara, it doesn't matter, God says, impatient. I made them for you. I made you love. I make these things, Amara, I make them for you.
God will always be louder, faster, rasher.
Stay quiet, Amara. You will never build as He does.
Amara, reach! God squeals. In this instant, He invents delight. Anticipation. Pride.
She has her arms nearly around it, hot and miasmic.
Why did you make the stars? Amara asks again.
There's a hunger in God's eyes. Because, he says--
--Amara grasps the star--
--Because I made hydrogen, says God, And I wanted to see how it burned.
That's why I made the stars, Amara.
I wanted to see how they’d burn.
Amara screams.
The star unmoors her. Snares her hand like it has teeth (God told her nothing about teeth).
She screams and screams.
Several billion years later, after Nebraska, the demon will tell her she's been locked away. But that's incorrect; imprecision the old tongue and God's old song would never allow for. She is not locked away.
You are beautiful, God says that night (the night he invented night), and he smiles. My star, it's beautiful against your skin, Amara.
God pulls, and Amara stretches.
Sky, God proclaims. That's what the stars needed. Amara, you are my beautiful sky.
God twists, and Amara is rent in four. (sky--)
I would never lock you away, God insists. He pets her many heads.
I would never.
But God only loves her in pieces.
Amara is Death, which she feels in the tremor of Dean's hands, still ringing with the scythe he’d held. Death, in the warm safe crook of his arm.
She is Pestilence, her father's heat that night, the slick of his neck when he bundles her and tells her he loves her. (Oh, Amara remembers love. She remembers that gift well.)
Her Famine she stokes with the souls she takes: Human souls snap like chips; demons are sweet.
I'm hungry, she says. I'm hungry.
I am forever hungry.
And soon, Amara will go to War.
Because I mean, why wouldn't unleashing the Darkness be at least a two-step process? Destroy the Mark; kill Death. Now we're talking!