Creation Myth
"Damn it!" The obscenity seems like a violation of the serenity of the beach of nothingness, but he's too upset to be bothered by that. His temper is as hot as his fiery red hair. "Now you've done it!"
"I admit I might have screwed up." The other's violet eyes sparkle with humor--everything is funny to him, and death won't change it. "This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen."
He fists his hands. "'Screwed up'. Yeah, I suppose the entire universe biting it is just a 'screw up' to you."
The other glances at him, smiling. "Of course it is. We've done this before--don't you remember? We'll have another chance."
Water washes up the beach, lapping at the toes of his sneakers. He looks away from the other (his other), raising a hand to his face and throttling his temper down. Now wasn't--would never be--the time to carry on their feud. Hell, everything they had to FIGHT FOR was gone, just like the rest of existence.
Cloth squeaks on cloth. His other puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, baring his teeth in a silent snarl--only to be surprised to see a certain sadness in those violet eyes. (That's not right.) "What?"
"Did I do wrong, my general?" It's been a little more than fourteen years since his other has called him that. It brings up painful memories of old loss and older love.
He swallows hard, and looks away. He'd looked into those eyes when betraying his other once, and he's not sure he can do it again. "...No, 'Bedo. I guess you didn't," he finally admits, with a sigh. "Though I hope you know how to fix this. I sure as hell don't and it seems right up your alley."
Amusement ripples between them. "Naturally. I'm sure you do, too, my other half. You just haven't been thinking about it." His other moves surprisingly fast, stepping toward him and drawing him into a breath-stealing embrace, chin on his shoulder and bright eyes closed. (They're the same height now, but they've always been identical in spirit, though of opposite polarity.) He makes a startled noise, embracing his other back--and suddenly remembering what it is they did to solve this little problem before.
"You can't--" he begins, but his other just laughs.
"And why not? I'm the phoenix of the family, after all." His other steps back again, placing both hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "I'll be with you. I've told you before I'll never leave you alone. I mean it."
He swallows hard and nods. "All right." The hoarseness of his own voice surprises him. There was never a time in the past when he would have shed tears for his other--not in recent memory--but death changes things. It always has.
"Ahh, my Rubedo," his other chides, shaking his head. There's a flash of steel in his other's hands, a knife. (Never mind how it got here, on this beach at the end of everything. This is the way it's supposed to be.) "My Rubedo. No reason to be a coward for my sake." And then his other acts, slicing his own throat and collapsing to the gray sand in a spray of white and red. All creation has to come from somewhere, after all. Nothing is truly ex nihilo.
His breath catches in his throat, and he drops to his knees to catch his falling other. But all he catches is white light, a few drops of blood, and a handful of white hair. Already, the phoenix has risen from the ashes, releasing all the power bound into him for the sake of new creationg.
He cups his hands around the scraps of blood and hair, bowing his head and closing his eyes. The sounds of the beach fade. When he opens his eyes again, there is nothing but void around him. No light. No sound. Nothing.
You remember the words, a silent presence prompts in the back of his mind. You remember.
He gets to his feet, holding out his hands and letting those white hairs fall from them.
"Let there be light."
There was light, and God wept.
