Genocide

Drawing by Lisa ThorneIn the beginning, there was dust. There was dust, nothing but dust, and it drove her crazy. She could see about six inches far and wide. “What can one woman do with such an amount of dust?”,  she thought.

She used her fingers to draw mandalas in the dust. They left a trace of colour. Her left index finger turned the dust purple. Her thumb created yellow. She had all colours of the rainbow coming from her, and more.

She sneezed. Dust was in her nose, in her ears, in her hair. It was everywhere. Sneezing brought about a burst of colour. Orange. That’s good, she thought. Green would’ve been really tacky. She wondered what would happen when she wiggled her bum, or farted, but she didn’t want to try it out yet. The dust was boring her to death. Better save some of the fun for later.

She lay down and wondered why there was nothing but dust. And where she came into the picture. Why would a god create this amount of dust? And if everything was dust, was she dust too? What about the idea that everything was created to gods likeness. Was god dust?

Suddenly she startled. If she could think, could the dust think as well? What was it thinking at this moment? Was it thinking as one, or did all particles have their own thoughts? She grew uneasy. Was the dust thinking happy thoughts, or was it hostile? Had it liked being coloured, or did it resent it? Would the dust wage war at each other? She could end up in the middle of a dust battleground. A dust massacre.

The massacre thought was kind of appealing. Less dust. Would the good dust win or the bad dust? In her mind’s eye, she let the battle begin. The dust gathered in two parties – no, three. The atmosphere changed. The dull lull turned into a hum, which slowly grew stronger. The air felt like it was loading electricity. The hairs in her ears stood erect. It would start pretty soon.

The dust had used her colours to form factions. The yellows, oranges and reds had banded. The blues, purples and greens huddled up. And there was a group of browns, pink and beiges. “Beige”, she thought. “Which finger had produced beige? And where is black gone?”. But before she could finish her thoughts, the battle began.

The dust swirled and whooshed. It hit and pushed. It gnarled and grunted. She thought she could see commandments hitting each other, about thirty of them. A thou shalt not clashed with a be, and honour with an I am. She saw a snake biting an apple. Doubts and fears were raging against anger and madness. When she looked around, she saw the heavens hit the earth, and the seas swallow the heavens.

The sensory impressions were too much. She was knocked out, though not one particle had touched her.

When she woke, at last,  there was dust. Nothing but dust. It drove her crazy. Now she knew what she could do with such an amount of dust. She just didn’t want to do it.

Text © Angela van Son 2013 –  Image © Lisa Thorne

Check more of Lisa’s beautiful work at her Facebook page. And if you like the story, please share it. A story without readers is an orphan.

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