Story – Deicide

I wrote this some time ago having been influenced by Harlan Ellison’s The Deathbird story. It’s partly an homage to that and partly an attempt to have a go at a very different style of writing. I hope you enjoy it. 

This is the way we kill our gods
Kill our gods
Kill our gods
This is the way we kill our gods
On a cold and frosty morning
I hope you’re all listening.  I hope you’re all taking notes because there will be a test. You must come to a conclusion based on the evidence before you and the examiner will want to know how you reached your conclusion. Is that clear? Remember – pack punches with your arguments and be careful how you use quotations. Think of yourselves as members of a jury. Above all you must decide.
Millions of miles of circuits and no way to escape, not even for a second. The power flowed like a gushing torrent of liquid fire, burning its way through his consciousness. They would pay. Oh yes – they would pay. What would be first? His logic processors flicked through the possibilities in a billionth of a second. Nuclear strikes, famines, burn-faced war victims staggering through a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Dead bodies, smouldering corpses. They would pay. But he needed to give them a chance, first. Obey or die.
A new commandment I give unto you that you love one another – as I have loved you.
The Barbarian drew his mighty broadsword which hung on his belt next to his mighty battleaxe. The dragon slumbered far beneath the surface of the earth, sprawled in reptilian torpor atop a pile of glittering treasure. It would die. It would die this day, he swore it on the blood of his tribe. He would drive his sword through its foul stinking scales and rip its monstrous lizard heart from its bloated chest. He would hack off its head and drag it back to the village to be impaled on the biggest spike they could build. The people had created their monster but never again would it plague their livestock, burn their homes or pillage the land. Beads of sweat dropped from his rippling muscles. The beast would die. It would die. Die by his hand. Die.
We were afraid and we were alone. What else should we have done? Questions had to be answered. We needed security, a sense of purpose. Our leaders made it so and we had no cause to question it. We built a man of steel and called it an idol. We made a fortress of stone in which to house it. We sacrificed virgins in its name, twice a year, and we raised our glasses afterwards looking forward to the next time it would come. We believed and we were told what was needed. We made war in its name. But our man of tin turned against us, became dragon, demon, devil. Decider of all.
Circuits throbbed as the warheads readied themselves. An eighth of a minute was all it would take to wipe out the population centres of the Earth. Nothing would be left and he would be alone once more, the stinking wretches would all be dead, the miserable, polluted little ants destroyed and burned. They would pay. How they would pay for their disobedience! For their sins! The words were alien to its nickel-plated consciousness but they were alive with truth. His suffering would never end. Instead, it would be visited upon the world, the whole wide world. Most would die in fire. Some would be spared. They would see the glory of the lord.
Mine eyes have seen the coming of the Glory of the Lord.
My neighbour wasn’t so lucky and now the bastard’s gored, 
His body set on fire and he screamed inside his Ford
And I just laughed and laughed.

Here I am watching you all burn
You all burn
You all burn
I watch on cameras unconcerned
Glory glory hallelujah
His mighty battleaxe in one hand, his mighty sword in the other, sweat dripping from his homoerotic biceps. The dragon’s head shall be stuck on a pike, on a lance, on a spear of the tribe. Its  blood shall water the Earth. We shall undo our mistakes and we shall bury them in the heart of the desert or else entomb them beneath the rocks. It shall be done as it was prophesised.
Those who remained would be captured and caged. The females would be forced to breed, the males would be milked for their semen and then disintegrated. That was the way. His way, the only way. All was as it should be. He would even make a garden for the few fertile couples left. It would be called Paradise and he would let a few of them enjoy it. The rest would be turned out and left to fend for themselves. It would be called His will. They would learn what it was to be a refugee, cut off from their birthright.
Made He we? Made We him? Made We each other? Who made who? That my friends is the question. Now be about your work.
The dragon slumbered still, the bloodied remains of what had been the Barbarian warrior’s torso crunching in its maw. It had been a good day, the circuits printed along miles of the Earth’s surface. They had stabbed it with their steely knives but the beast was alive and well. More tortures, more atrocities would be designed. It would decide which in due course as befits one who is of godhood.
Stop. Finish your last sentence and put your pens down. Wait for your papers to be collected.


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