Mine, All Mine
by Cath Barton
It was bound to burn him, that molten lava. His hand will ossify and our descendants will find it when, at length, they excavate this area and wonder how such creatures once walked upon the Earth. I’ll miss him, but what could I do? He wanted the golden centre and it’s mine. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. I’ve worn my fingers to the bone so why shouldn’t he? Sorry, just my little joke.
What will you do now, my friends? Will you cross the burning lake and approach the place of the crimson Phoenix? I think not. I think you will flee the volcano. But the ash will fall upon you in whatever you are doing. It will catch you in sex or in war, in postures sublime or demeaning, and hold you there for the rest of time. Of this you will know nothing. You will have no chance to read my words. I write them only for our descendants, so that my name will live on.
So you later ones, you who are reading this, consider the lessons of history. Seek not to meddle with nature for she is ever supreme and will consume you. I alone was able to control the forces, and I do so still. The red and the gold are my colours. I am the centre of everything and beyond. Perhaps you have read the name God. I am not he. I am the Other and I will return.