• 5 years ago
• Posted in:Uncategorized
• 2
• Author: KatrinaLu

Vorax & The Serpent 

Let us go then, you and I — into the depths of the darkest night in which evil first marred this pure world.

The sky was black that night, as if God had saturated it with a heavy coating of tar. Two of the servant siblings were gathered around a blistering hearth, switching hands at stirring the clear concoction. The youngest of the trio, Vorax, was tucked behind a cherry blossom tree, watching with glossy eyes. His parents had strictly barred him from stirring, maintaining that the potion was far too thin, and required only the finest hands to ensure that it remained translucent enough for the Chosen One’s reflection to be clearly seen.

As the second-eldest, Fatum stirred, and the eldest, Misericordia, watched as Vorax admired from afar, his small hands planted on the bark of the cherry blossom tree to keep his balance as his black-topped head peeked out from the side, eyeing his sisters. As he watched, a slender snake slithered down the helm of the tree, caressing Vorax’s earlobes, and it began to tell him a story of a young man who had looked into a lake so clear that his own reflection smiled back at him, and the man proceeded to live a life full of riches, eventually reincarnating into a beautiful flower that’s lifestyle consisting of sipping the sweetest dew, and tasting the petrichor of rain every morning. Vorax consumed the serpent’s words like a wolf would an elk, drunk with the idea of utopia. As Misericordia stirred, Fatum watched soullessly as the serpent disappeared, and her brother’s bright, youthful eyes became heavy with a fervent look.

Wordlessly, Fatum took over for Misericordia, and with her free hand, she beckoned her brother over. She exchanged glances with Misericordia, who looked dismayed.

“Our poor brother…he has yet to be part of such an honorable task.” Full of pity, Misericordia placed the thick stir stick in her brother’s hands, and for the first time, Vorax ran his hands over the mahogany veneer of the stick, a family heirloom that had been carefully preserved. Stepping aside, the two sisters made way for the youngest brother.

Firmly gripping the stick, Vorax carefully tread his way to the basin of the pot, and glanced inside. He immediately became enamoured with what he saw.

“You need to stir!” Misericordia stood beside her brother, one hand reaching for the stick.

However, in that moment, Vorax was deaf to all but his own thoughts. The image in the pot was absolutely riveting — a fair, young boy with a heavy jewel crown atop his jet black hair, and bright skin that gleaned like the finest porcelain. The image in the cauldron smiled back to Vorax and waved, beautiful cherry blossoms wedged between his delicate fingers.

As Vorax stared at the image in the pot, the two sisters saw something completely different. The concoction had started to violently bubble, and the image inside became grossly misshapen. It became hunched over, eyes fueled with a drunken rage. The blossoms in its hands wilted, and instead, a snake wove its way in between the webs of the image’s fingers. The boy in the image growled and snarled until the low sounds emitted from it sounded like a hiss.

“STIR! YOU NEED TO BE STIRRING!” Misericordia begged, again lunging for the stick. Fatum shook her head and held her back, while Vorax beamed at the beautiful boy that his eyes still saw.

The concoction started to boil over, becoming a murky shade of black. It hissed and whistled, and eventually exploded, shattering the pot and sending shrapnel every which way. Then, it was piercingly silent, and Vorax was nowhere to be seen.

Wounded, the sisters stumbled over to survey the damage and look for their brother. He was nowhere to be seen, but in the center of the rubble lay a pristine golden crown, a wad of cash, and a lone flower.

As Misericordia cried, Fatum gazed into the distance and saw the serpent snickering, hanging off what remained of the cherry blossom tree. Laughter consumed its whole body, and without knowing, it fell from the tree and was punctured by a stray piece of shrapnel.

Fatum rubbed her sister’s back in comfort. Wearily, she spoke. “Once you have told a story, you can never take it back. So, be careful of the stories you tell, and the stories you listen to.”

***

When I think about evil, I think about overconsumption – whether it be of material goods, or self-absorption. Of course, there’s the classic tale of Narcissus , as well as the gross amount of wealth disparity in Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. 

Works Cited:

Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Narcissus.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 13 Feb. 2018, www.britannica.com/topic/Narcissus-Greek-mythology.

King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2003. Print. Silko, Leslie.  “[Long Time Ago].” First World Stories, n.d.  Web. 23 January 2019.

Ventom, Michael. “Social Commentary in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.” Social Commentary in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray,’ 30 Mar. 2014, michaelventom.wordpress.com/2014/03/30/social-commentary-in-the-picture-of-dorian-gray/.

Narcissus. Pacific Essences. https://www.pacificessences.com/narcissus

I found this assignment to definitely be quite tough. I enjoy creative writing as a leisurely activity, but it’s definitely been awhile, and the artistic concept of the creation myth is new to me in terms of writing style. However, the whole exercise definitely put into perspective the emphasis behind stories. There’s so much work that goes into crafting the perfect narrative, and being able to weave in didactic or thematic elements is tough. Reading this story verbally, as well as initially writing it made me realize that orality and written culture are two entirely different spheres. Although closely related, the nuances and implications that can be carried out by expression and tone is amazing, as honestly, reading over just the text made me feel rather bored, and even confused at my own work. By telling it verbally, I was able to breathe more life into it, which caused me to appreciate the art of storytelling as a social activity.