(no subject)
Couple weeks ago, got an assignment for Lit. 101: write a non-human-centric world origin story.
So I was all like, hmmm, homework? No.... OKAMI FANFICTION.
Luckily they happened to go together, in this case.
Before there was the world, there was nothing. A blank slate; no light, no darkness. An empty piece of paper. This was where the goddess walked. In silence, she stalked the empty vastness of space. She did not care for it. It was so wide and void of life. There was nothing to see or hear.
She dipped her brush in ink, and began to draw.
She started slowly, a long line of ink that trailed behind her to become the ground. She built up speed, started to run in a straight line, as far and as fast as she could, until she crossed her own path. Her feet slipped as she crossed the dark line, and she now left a trail of black footprints across her newly made earth. Plants sprang from her footsteps, filling her world with color.
The goddess yelped joyously, and she leapt into the air, twisting out of her set path, leaving a great hole in the ground that she simply did not create. She kept running, no longer in a straight line, her brush making marks and swirls and dots across her canvas. She filled the gaps from her elated leaps with water, creating ponds and rivers and oceans. Some she thought looked better dry, and so she made canyons and valleys. She would stop suddenly, her momentum pushing the canvas forward until it made mountains. She drew trees and rocks and whole islands at random, speeding around her new world until it finally looked like something worthwhile.
She eventually slowed, padding through her forests and mountains and beaches at a leisurely walk. She had made land and water and plants and sky, but it wasn’t enough. The world was dark, so she covered her sky with dots; creating light far away that made her world lie on a background of twinkling stars. But it wasn’t enough.
She had walked around her world until her feet began to bleed. She carefully gathered the spilt blood on the tip of her brush, and she drew shapes in red ink. These shapes breathed, moved, ran along side her until they grew tired. She enjoyed the company, the sounds they made, the things they had to say. She stalked the earth once more, drawing creatures into the world, one at a time. In the sky, on the ground, in the water. Some were big, some were small; they had no unified appearance, though some came in sets, when her mind wandered and she drew variations on a theme, over and over.
They called her “Mother” or “Goddess” or names that held no meaning save to their own taste. She let them. She loved the noise, the movement, the activity and life she had brought to her creation. But she was tired, and they kept coming to her. They wanted more light, less light, it was too hot, too cold, too flat, too dry. They asked her for things she did not have the answer to. She raised her brush once more, and using red ink - redder, brighter, closer to her own essence than ever before - she made companions. She made one with many arms to help create what was missing; a long companion shaped like the rivers to control the waters; one with speed to match her own to keep the winds; three separate entities to care for the plants. She put one with long ears in the sky, sitting on a sliver of reflected light to illuminate the night. And finally, she drew a circle in the sky, creating the sun and the day. She carried it on her back as she walked the earth, bringing light to the world.
Her children, her lesser gods, they did their jobs, caring for the creatures on the earth as best they could. But still the creatures came to her with questions; what could they eat? Could they eat each other? Did she want anything from them in return? Could they change their homes, the world she had made?
Yes, she said finally, tired of walking and running out of ink. Yes, do what you like.
She left them, then, leaping up into the sky. A few of her creations followed her, swearing everlasting loyalty and love, but most stayed behind. She created one final thing, a place to rest, high up in the sky. She released the light from her back to flow across the land at a steady rate, and she curled up to watch her creation from afar, hiding her nose and eyes from the light she had made. She slept, and the world slowly changed without her.
When she awoke, her world was no longer her own. Her creatures had separated into groups, made their own languages, formed partnerships and rivalries. They’d built homes and temples to her and her children, though many were left forgotten. She was surprised at which of her creations had taken charge, but she mostly liked what she saw. Her world was independent, strong, vibrant.
But watching her changing world, she felt her itch to create return. There were some things not right with the world, twisted demons that she needed to fix. And she longed to run across her canvas once more, to see up close how her world had changed.
She stood, and she returned to the earth, landing gently on four feet. She kept her ink-stained brush swishing in the air behind her, careful not to let the ink drop from her fur to the ground, determined to walk among mortals as one of them. But even with her tail in the air, flowers bloomed in her pawprints, and she carried the sun on her back.
It's kind of in a weird style. I blame the assignment. I had to try and emulate Genesis and stuff. :/
In other news.... well, nonstop Whoniverse obsession. Been watching Sarah Jane Adventures, still reading Torchwood fanfics during class, doodling daleks on my assignment sheets.
Oh and Fanime. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~
I should probably do my school stuff now. :(
So I was all like, hmmm, homework? No.... OKAMI FANFICTION.
Luckily they happened to go together, in this case.
Before there was the world, there was nothing. A blank slate; no light, no darkness. An empty piece of paper. This was where the goddess walked. In silence, she stalked the empty vastness of space. She did not care for it. It was so wide and void of life. There was nothing to see or hear.
She dipped her brush in ink, and began to draw.
She started slowly, a long line of ink that trailed behind her to become the ground. She built up speed, started to run in a straight line, as far and as fast as she could, until she crossed her own path. Her feet slipped as she crossed the dark line, and she now left a trail of black footprints across her newly made earth. Plants sprang from her footsteps, filling her world with color.
The goddess yelped joyously, and she leapt into the air, twisting out of her set path, leaving a great hole in the ground that she simply did not create. She kept running, no longer in a straight line, her brush making marks and swirls and dots across her canvas. She filled the gaps from her elated leaps with water, creating ponds and rivers and oceans. Some she thought looked better dry, and so she made canyons and valleys. She would stop suddenly, her momentum pushing the canvas forward until it made mountains. She drew trees and rocks and whole islands at random, speeding around her new world until it finally looked like something worthwhile.
She eventually slowed, padding through her forests and mountains and beaches at a leisurely walk. She had made land and water and plants and sky, but it wasn’t enough. The world was dark, so she covered her sky with dots; creating light far away that made her world lie on a background of twinkling stars. But it wasn’t enough.
She had walked around her world until her feet began to bleed. She carefully gathered the spilt blood on the tip of her brush, and she drew shapes in red ink. These shapes breathed, moved, ran along side her until they grew tired. She enjoyed the company, the sounds they made, the things they had to say. She stalked the earth once more, drawing creatures into the world, one at a time. In the sky, on the ground, in the water. Some were big, some were small; they had no unified appearance, though some came in sets, when her mind wandered and she drew variations on a theme, over and over.
They called her “Mother” or “Goddess” or names that held no meaning save to their own taste. She let them. She loved the noise, the movement, the activity and life she had brought to her creation. But she was tired, and they kept coming to her. They wanted more light, less light, it was too hot, too cold, too flat, too dry. They asked her for things she did not have the answer to. She raised her brush once more, and using red ink - redder, brighter, closer to her own essence than ever before - she made companions. She made one with many arms to help create what was missing; a long companion shaped like the rivers to control the waters; one with speed to match her own to keep the winds; three separate entities to care for the plants. She put one with long ears in the sky, sitting on a sliver of reflected light to illuminate the night. And finally, she drew a circle in the sky, creating the sun and the day. She carried it on her back as she walked the earth, bringing light to the world.
Her children, her lesser gods, they did their jobs, caring for the creatures on the earth as best they could. But still the creatures came to her with questions; what could they eat? Could they eat each other? Did she want anything from them in return? Could they change their homes, the world she had made?
Yes, she said finally, tired of walking and running out of ink. Yes, do what you like.
She left them, then, leaping up into the sky. A few of her creations followed her, swearing everlasting loyalty and love, but most stayed behind. She created one final thing, a place to rest, high up in the sky. She released the light from her back to flow across the land at a steady rate, and she curled up to watch her creation from afar, hiding her nose and eyes from the light she had made. She slept, and the world slowly changed without her.
When she awoke, her world was no longer her own. Her creatures had separated into groups, made their own languages, formed partnerships and rivalries. They’d built homes and temples to her and her children, though many were left forgotten. She was surprised at which of her creations had taken charge, but she mostly liked what she saw. Her world was independent, strong, vibrant.
But watching her changing world, she felt her itch to create return. There were some things not right with the world, twisted demons that she needed to fix. And she longed to run across her canvas once more, to see up close how her world had changed.
She stood, and she returned to the earth, landing gently on four feet. She kept her ink-stained brush swishing in the air behind her, careful not to let the ink drop from her fur to the ground, determined to walk among mortals as one of them. But even with her tail in the air, flowers bloomed in her pawprints, and she carried the sun on her back.
It's kind of in a weird style. I blame the assignment. I had to try and emulate Genesis and stuff. :/
In other news.... well, nonstop Whoniverse obsession. Been watching Sarah Jane Adventures, still reading Torchwood fanfics during class, doodling daleks on my assignment sheets.
Oh and Fanime. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~
I should probably do my school stuff now. :(