Dear Diary #3
As ever, little else of its body was clear to it.
There was distant pain that presumably connected to something that was, or was once, its self.
There was the emptiness where nothing drummed in its chest—not now, not so long after the last sacrificial blood.
There was skin or something that passed for skin and breath, sometimes, eyes that could not see in the dark and now could see nothing but the light.
Riley had called it a book.
It wondered what that was.
It tried to feel itself as something else—tried to feel that some part of itself was far, far away from here, was wherever Riley was, carried around with her.
But that was a hope with death already dried up inside it.
No part of it was anywhere but here. Whatever a book was, it must be the same magic the long-ago priests used to send prayers to it from their cathedral far above.
A new magic, perhaps. Back then, the priests had been directly above the grotto when they sent their prayers down to the god in the dark.
Riley was not so close. She was far, far away.
It hoped.
And while it hoped its god-killing priest would never find it, it explored and exercised the cracked and ancient corpse that was its body, preparing for her next prayer.
And then, a worm of light flickered in the putrid depths.
Dear Diary, Riley wrote. This might not surprise you, but things have continued to be weird.
The god drew itself up. It was ready for this.
ARE YOU WELL?
I’m super. No complaints. Well, a few complaints.
A pause.
This is a safe space, right?
The god could not see what surrounded it. Even the light from the priests’ wall did not illuminate anything beyond the finger it used to write on it.
But it was not, it had never been, safe. Not while the priests were beyond.
But there were no priests now.
Only Riley.
YES, it wrote, and hoped it was not a lie.
Has the world always been this weird? Did I just miss all this, all my life? I feel like I’ve gone deep into conspiracy world BUT IT’S ALL REAL.
People are going missing. And I think what’s happening to them is what Steve wanted to happen to me.
It’s all over the world. Other people have noticed. I’ve got friends now, I think. Or at least there are other people who know about this shit and that’s almost as good, right?
Not as good friends as you, obviously, bestie Diary.
But there are creatures like the one Steve sent me to and the one in the chasms and the one on the lake EVERYWHERE, Diary.
All over the world. And weird fucks like Steve’s gross friends all over the world, too.
It’s something to do with the eclipse? Which, there isn’t even an eclipse due this year, like, I checked.
But they’re all preparing for SOMETHING.
I’m worried, Diary. I just want to go home, except home is where Steve is.
So I guess I’m going somewhere else, instead.
Hey Diary?
YES? The god wrote, still dazed after the onslaught of communication. It had thought it was prepared for more conversation. It was not.
Riley’s words filled the wall in front of it, higher than it could reach without standing on legs that had not held it in centuries.
Can I use your book to write down some notes for myself? Would that annoy you? It’s just that I only have the one bag and you are a pretty hefty book. I’d use my phone but the others say not to keep any phones that you use and syncing notes probably counts as what you’re not supposed to do.
I guess I could buy another notebook? I would need to buy another pen too. Like this one probably wouldn’t work in another book.
It raised its writing finger again. YOU—
And I like writing to you.
YES, it wrote. USE THE BOOK HOWEVER YOU WISH.
Use ME however you wish, it thought, but did not write.
The god knew fear. It knew horror, and guilt, and helplessness. It knew the dark and wanted and prayed never to see the light.
When the sound of Riley’s inscriptions filled the shadows, and yet no words appeared on the obsidian, it felt none of these things.
It felt confused.
WHAT IS THAT? it asked, as politely as its skeletal finger could manage.
Her response was immediate. What is what?
YOU ARE WRITING SOMETHING, BUT I CANNOT READ IT.
Really? Like this?
Again, the scratching. Again, no words.
The god waited, unease grinding in its gut. YES. LIKE THAT. IF YOU WROTE SOMETHING ELSE, I COULD NOT READ IT.
That is so interesting! You mean if I write it TO you, you can read it, but if I don’t write it thinking I’m writing to you, you can’t read it? Even though you’re a book? Ooh and the words aren’t disappearing like they do when I write to you.
I AM NOT A BOOK, the god inscribed. Which was more than it should have revealed, but it was too distracted.
It’s not like I’m writing anything important. Just notes to myself. What’s going on. Trying to keep it all straight. Ok maybe that is important now I put it like that. See? Writing it down helps! Just like my therapist said oh lol oh my god can you imagine if I told her about this shit.
The god could not believe what it was reading.
How was that possible? It had imagined the other side of the obsidian gate so many times.
Long before it ever inscribed something in return.
The priests’ words—Riley’s words—appeared deeply graven into the glistening obsidian that surrounded the god’s domain.
They must require great effort to inscribe.
IS IT NOT DIFFICULT? it wrote, with effort.
What, writing? We do still learn it in school despite what my pops says.
I mean yeah I would rather put a note in my phone but this is fine.
Makes me feel mysterious, writing in my tome.
That’s what the others call it. I think first time they saw me, they thought what people usually think when they see me and honestly like me being all tied up and mostly butt ass naked would not have helped with that.
THE OTHERS?
Oh I don’t think I told you about that. So far I am 2 for 2 tied up for gods that end up dead.
I kind of helped with this one? But mostly it was my new friends.
Who like I was saying, first impressions, I don’t think they were impressed, but then I found where the latest troupe of robefuckers had stashed my stuff and oooh, mysterious tome!
Guess this bitch is magic, and cool, and we can bring her into the team and she can pretend like she knows what the fuck is going on!
The god frowned. Riley had companions—that was good. People who would keep her safe.
But her explanation had raised more questions.
WHAT DO PEOPLE NORMALLY THINK OF YOU?
More scribbling. No words appeared.
Did you see that?
NO.
That’s probably for the best. Um. I’m a very complex and a complete and interesting human being, actually. I hope.
YES. The god frowned. Why did she write that as though she doubted it?
And I figured everyone else saw that? Like I thought we all knew that. People might seem like fuckboys or total hos but underneath they are real people, who sure, they have fun fuckboying and hoing around but also have a lot going on. And you shouldn’t kill them.
The god was very unclear on what a lot of those words meant. But one thing stood out.
YOUR STEVE DID NOT SEE THAT YOU WERE A PERSON?
Fucking Steve.
I knew he was an asshole. But I thought we understood each other, you know? He wasn’t JUST an asshole. He had depth, and feelings, and vulnerability. I thought that meant he must see that I had those things, too.
I guess not.
He could have just SAID—like, it wasn’t totally unexpected, right? Wanting to try new things. Basic bitch shit. He could have just SAID he didn’t want to.
But why would he need to say anything when he could just kill me, right. Or get someone else to kill me. Like I’m not even a person.
Riley’s pain and anger boiled through her words.
Her elegant lettering became a jagged scrawl.
The dead god pressed one hand against the blue glow of the writing, then the other, then its forehead, as though it could take the feelings from her; as though all that pain would seep into it, instead. As though it could help.
I AM SORRY, it wrote, small, sad bloody words overlapping Riley’s moonlit hurt, the strokes of its letters little sticks in the glossy black. Like a fence to keep her safe. Like arms, reaching out to hold.
It would not have held her, if she were really here. It would not have braced itself around her, a skeletal sanctuary, an embrace of bones and tarry, ancient flesh. All it had was its words, and it did not know what else to say.
I WISH YOU BETTER FRIENDS THAN THE STEVE, it said at last.
I have friends now. But I can’t help thinking that they would have thought what he thought, if I didn’t have you. The tome. They think I’m some sort of wizard and the dumb brat thing is just an act.
Better hope they don’t find out the truth lol
That strange sigil again. The arms upraised above the head.
THEN I STILL WISH YOU BETTER FRIENDS.
me too lololol
More arms, over more heads? WHAT IS THAT WORD? The god copied it out. LOL.
oh it’s like laughing. laughing out loud
Ah. Not a sigil. Not two arms extending above a head—two Ls, and an O, in this language the priests’ magic meant the god could read.
YOU DO NOT SEEM TO BE LAUGHING WHEN YOU USE IT
no
lol
Later, when Riley was silent, the god worked its tongue within its mouth. Dry flesh scraped against jagged teeth. There was no moisture down here to wet it. No bloody sacrifice to light whatever divine power still existed within its own veins.
It bit down on its own tongue, and something like dust sifted out through the wound.
The god hissed its displeasure, and—
It hissed. That was a noise! A noise it heard; a noise it made.
And if it could make a noise, perhaps it could answer the prayer its priest had echoed back to it.
I wish you better friends.
This was not the way things were meant to work. The priests made the prayers; the god answered them, bathed in blood.