Chapter 2: 2 | I found myself dreaming

I beheld the wretch – the miserable monster whom I had created.

—Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

 

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I paused my footsteps to gaze up at the night sky. It was something that I had seen countless times before, but without the taint of artificial light, the night sky was exceptionally crisp and clear. All the stars seemingly came out at the same time to shine down on the desolate wasteland, which stretched endlessly in all directions. 

I wondered if the existence that humans call ‘God’ was lurking somewhere within the untold depths, hidden beyond the stars, peering down at me just as I was looking up at them. Were they aware of the state of this world? Did they know this was going to happen? Would they…would they want to save something as hopeless and forsaken as this world?

Perhaps these questions will forever be left unanswered, just like the many others I’d asked before. Alas, if only I could gain the same omnipotence as ‘God’. 

I breathed a sigh and dug my scythe into the ashen ground. Unlike Life, who loved to roam the world and enjoy her myriad creations whenever possible, I wasn’t as inclined to waste my time on things outside of my responsibilities. Since the dying and terminally ill were usually…well, for lack of a better word, immobile, I wasn’t used to travelling long distances on foot. 

Resting my tired legs, I glanced back over my shoulder at the barren land which I had just traversed. Rusty, corroded remnants of rebar and crumbling concrete structures jutted out from the ground as far as my eyes could discern. I turned my head forward, and a similar lifeless sight laid out before my eyes. The shadowy ruins looked just like abandoned gravestones, I mused. Their names and meanings were forgotten, and the memories they once held were forever lost to time.

I wondered if this place could have been a thriving metropolis bursting with vitality and resplendent splendour before the armageddon. Did she visit this city before on one of her travels? Could she have stood in the same place as I did now, quietly and eagerly watching the world go by? I imagined how happy she would have been to bask in its ambient liveliness. 

Then, in a rather rueful manner, I thought how such a large and prosperous city would have been one of the first targets to be annihilated by the device. I could only imagine how she felt when she witnessed everything being taken away from her in a blink of an eye.

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Sighing again, I surveyed my immediate surroundings for a suitable shelter. Without life, everywhere I looked seemed the same to me. The same dusty brown dirt, covered in a layer of pale ash and polluted by whatever trash that was left behind by the humans. 

Ironically, a while later I found myself collecting bits and pieces of said trash—mostly canned food, water canteens and other bric-a-brac which I thought a human being would possibly require.

After all, in another ironic way, no one knows the incredible fragility of human life better than me. If I wanted to be serious about fulfilling my promise, I needed to make sure her creations could sustain themselves in this world.

“Should I set up a fire?” I wondered aloud before mentally chiding myself for having such a risible thought. But in the end, I gathered driftwood from a dried-out river bank into a pile. Then I sat down beside it and hummed a levenslied to set the pile on fire. 

Levenslied, which is akin to songs in the human sense, is the medium that embodiments like myself usually communicate and convey our powers with. Just like how flaws are what make humans ‘human’, levensliederen are what define us. Furthermore, whatever we embody has its own unique levenslied that resonates only with its corresponding embodiment. Unless one imparts their levenslied to another, no one else can create or wield what they embodied. 

The simple embodiments, such as water, heat and light, readily shared their levensliederen with every being willing to listen. Naturally, I learnt to sing their songs too. But for more complex and vague embodiments, levensliederen are considered sacred—even more so for Life and myself. 

And now, her levenslied rested quietly in my hands. Pulsing with an ephemeral luminescence reminiscent of her transcendent beauty. The sweet and blissful warmth that it radiated stung my cold skin, but I held on to it as tightly as I could. 

Still, I found myself hesitating to initiate a connection with the orb. Perhaps if I simply ignored its existence, I could pretend—just for a while longer—that she wasn’t gone. Perhaps if I had the courage to stand up to her, I could have stopped her…I-I could have prevented her self-destruction…

The dull red embers of the dying fire swam before my eyes. My vision clouded. Sobbing for breath, my numb legs buckled and collapsed under me. This starlit world, so vast and empty and still, suddenly felt cold, colder than death itself. 

So cold, that even the weakly glowing orb against my chest could no longer provide any warmth.

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