[Otal Nimrodi]

The Gods were Silent
By Otal Nimrodi




The temple closed early in the city of Hwt-ka-Ptah. The Gods had been anointed, and the last pilgrims were making their donations to Bastet. Akhenist had spent his whole life tending to the deities of Egypt. He woke up early every morning to feed them, like a farmer wakes to feed his livestock, and assisted in the application of makeup to the face of the goddess. The pilgrims would then flock with sacrifices, and some would stay around afterwards, trying to catch a glimpse into the private inner sanctum, in which the statue of the goddess resided. It was the same in every temple around the city, around all of Khemet. The sea of pilgrims would soon trickle into a river, then a stream, and eventually would be lost into the city. Soon, too, he would be officially relieved of his duties, and be allowed to leave with them, when the last pilgrim left. He waited for a while, and he finally saw the sight he’d waited for, he saw the last pilgrim leave, and carefully, climbed down from the archway. He paused on a massive block before taking a final leap onto the ground, and stroked a red stain that, try as they might, the furious winds of the desert could not wash off. One time, as a young boy, Akhenist had seen a man fall from the top of the gateway, and crack his head open on the stone. It was a festival day, he and his mother were taking a sacrifice to Bastet. He somehow recalled it as if it were yesterday. The man’s face as he fell, the sound of his skull meeting hard rock, and the feel of the strange gray stuff which, covered with blood, had flown from the man’s head into young Akhenist’s hands. The man had been declared dead instantly. Now, Akhenist looked out into the desert sand, looking the same way it had 21 years ago. He knew that, should he fall one day from his perch on the archway, the desert would not lift a hand to help him, just as it had refused to help the man who had fallen all those years ago. There would be no divine intervention to save him, just as they had been for the man, the gods would be silent, not caring for this tragic death. He stroked the stain thoughtfully, and then with these thoughts in mind, he jumped down to head into the city. There would be a nice little place around here somewhere where he could order beer until he couldn’t think straight, and possibly find a nice young woman to go to bed with, so he could wake up in the morning and start the whole routine over.

==========================SOME TIME LATER======================

Akhenist found his way back to the temple. He didn’t know why he had come back, his day was over. He’d found the nice little place with the beer, but the nice young woman had failed to materialize, as she always did. He was sure one day she’d be there, but clearly today was not that day. So he’d come back to the temple. He always came back to the temple, it was the place he called home. Actually, he called a nice little house just a few yards from it home, but the temple was where he spent his life. So when he’d taken a last pottery bottle of the beer out, and come here. It was different at night. Somehow quieter. He snuck into the inner sanctum of the temple. He technically didn’t need to sneak. He could probably have walked right in, but he would be embarrassed if his friends saw him like this. He lit the torches and looked up at the statue of the goddess.
“Hail, goddess, may your ever-present wisdom guide me,” He said, “and so on and and so on.” He added, forgetting the rest of the opening prayer. “Don’t know why I’m asking you for guidance, you’re the one who went crazy and tried to destroy humanity…” He said, said, taking a swig, “Where are my manners. Want some?” He asked, offering the bottle. The goddess didn’t take it.
“Don’t you ever say anything?” He asked the goddess. She didn’t respond. He took another swig and looked into the bottle. It was empty. It was his fourth that day. He threw it at the feet of Bastet. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He said. “You know, that’s your problem,” he decided, “You never change your mind. You never change anything.” For some reason, for the second time that day, he remembered the carnage of the man who had fallen, “Why didn’t you save him?!” He demanded, “You’re a goddess, shouldn’t you be powerful enough to save him?” He asked, “He had no crimes to his name, I’m sure, at least none that would merit… That.” He said. “But why did you not do anything? Why did you not say anything? WHY DO YOU NEVER SAY ANYTHING?!” He yelled. Then he saw the statue’s arm move.
“Because,” said a soft, pleasant voice he nearly hadn’t heard, “they do not matter. All this, this life, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Your life,” The voice sounded angry now, and the arm swung out into his chest and he felt a pain in his heart. “Doesn’t matter.” Said the voice, now raging with what sounded like a million voices. “You do not matter.” It declared. He tried to respond but found he couldn’t. The pain in his chest was to great. He couldn’t say anything. He staggered, first to his knees, then to the ground, his arms falling behind his head as he rolled onto his back, face to where the sky would be, should there have been sky. And the gods were silent.


============================THE END==================


I wrote an epilogue, but decided against including it. Tell me if you think I should. And sorry if its not very good, but it took me an hour to write, so I thought I'd show it to SOMEONE.