A Dream Of Small Gods

You know that you’re a writer with your dreams come in short story format.

A Dream Of Small Gods

We stood waste deep in the drowned house and looked out at the unbound river.

“It’s calling,” the god said. “It’s coming.”

I did not turn to look at her, but heard her turn to the acolytes.

“Go,” she said.  

And they left. Theirs was a perfect obedience. I watched them swim downstream, fleeing, but still beautiful, grace beyond measure.

“I thought they’d stay with you,” I said, not turning from the window. It was coming.

“It is my end. They have served long and well. They’ll find new service.”

I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t understand. You’re a god. How can you die?” And then I did look at her. She smiled and gently touched my arm. Solid, yet flickering. Mermaid-like, yet fully human. 

“I’m a small god. I won’t die. I’ll simply end.”

“I don’t …”

“Come,” she said and swam out the window. I couldn’t help but follow. 

“I’m not strong enough. I can’t swim upstream.”

She touched my arm again. “Come,” she said and I found that I could swim and swim easily. I kept pace beside her and we make our way to the swift middle current and cut through it as if we were walking through a light breeze.

“I can go on my own,” I told her. “It wants me. I don’t know what it is or why it wants me, but you don’t have to go.”

“I go,” the god said. 

We swam for a great while and I searched myself for fear. There was none. What was coming was a mystery, but swimming beside the small god I only felt peace, pride at the strength of my swimming, even though it was not my strength, and wonder at her beauty.  And I felt the pull of the thing that called us. 

“I go,” the god whispered and was gone.

I stopped swimming and discovered that the river had shallowed. I found my footing and stood, waist deep and looked up the river. What was coming was not a god. She had no words for it, none that she could say to me. But it called, wanted.  

And then it was there. Nothing to be seen, nothing I could feel, and yet, it was there.

“I’m here,” I said. It came out small, sticking in my throat, so I tried again and said it again, louder. “I’m here.”

It did not reply.

“What do you want?”

“Wake up,” it said.