The Invisible Decay

Two religious sects, the worshipers of Life and the worshipers of Death, exist side by side. Once they had been joined together; the faithful of Life risked all they held dear, so that their children and grandchildren would be born into a better future. Side by side with them were the faithful of Death, who acted against the murderers, the rapists, and the corrupt, so that they might face justice on the other side. Of two minds but one purpose, they had been as one pantheon; acting together in a joint struggle against all the forces of evil.

That was ages ago, and time has driven a wedge between these two peoples. It's doubtful there's any of them left that remember a time when a follower of the house of Life could call a follower of the house of Death his brother.

The vices of their faiths had slowly consumed them, even as they had driven all visible evil from sight. The congregation of Life grew weary of constant struggle, grew sick of endless bloodshed. Their numbers gradually diminished from the battlefield, eventually disappearing altogether. They had no desire to cause any further harm--at least, that was their initial rationale. As all memory of fighting faded, their worship soon turned from a faith in the virtues of the living world, towards a cherishing of their own lives. They grew risk-averse, dreading that they might lose the most valuable commodity of their religion; their existence. Death came to mean not an endpoint, not a close relative of Life, but a demon and a thief; cruelty and unfairness embodied.

Those faithful to Death became arrogant where their former comrades became tired. They spent all of their time dreaming of extinguishing themselves at the height of their own glory; of taking as many of the wicked into the other side as they could in order to pay the toll for their own passage. They watched the house of Life with contempt. At first, it was mere disgust that they would be so weak as to allow evil to spread without lifting a finger. But as generations passed, it grew into a true and virilent hatred. For the house of Death permitted no worldly pleasure; they went into battle and then either left to fight elsewhere, or stayed as a corpse. That the faithful of Life would withdraw from battle, and cling to the joys of the earth, drew an enmity and a righteous fury alike, that poisoned their hearts and consumed their every thought.

The attacks came rarely at first. As they increased in ferocity and frequency, some thought that perhaps something ought to be done. Yet if the berserkers of Death would not be reasoned with, then the only way they could conceivably be stopped would be to meet them in battle. This was something that the gentle people of Life would not do, and for the most part, could not do. Instead, they pretended that the problem did not exist. Some were sincere in their belief that battle would solve nothing, that the problem was really not widespread. Others simply could not conceive of fighting any longer; and would believe anything rather than have to deal with the thought of parting with their lives or even risking it.

Not all were so inclined. A schism occurred, with various sects of Life dedicated to returning to the battlefield. Some sought to defeat the faithful of Death. Some sought to seize control of the house of Life and force all to return to the battlefield, alongside the faithful of Death or without them.

It doesn't matter how many sects there were, or what particular belief any one of them held. They were too scattered, too few, and too late. In the chaos of the schism, the faithful of Death swooped in, like vultures to a stinking carcass, and those who were not killed in the carnage died in the terrible conditions of the aftermath.

Then, themselves not of one mind over what had been done or what ought to happen next, the wolves of Death turned to devouring one another, until all had fallen into the embrace of that which they worshiped.

Yet in that land now populated by corpses, it is rumored that a single wiseman did live a time after. His message to the world is carried on the wind, pleading us to understand.

To understand that a life for life's sake is devoid of meaning, and a death for death's sake is simply repulsive.

The Snark

A long time ago, before Sarcasm or Wit, there existed a creature known as the Snark.

The Snark was a hilarious little animal that never could quite figure out what species it was supposed to be. It clearly wanted to look like a porcupine, with dangerous, spiny quills, and yet it did not even take a close inspection to discover that the quills were fake. The Snark’s fur was actually quite soft, and when wet, the Snark had a closer resemblance to a black chipmunk, though it lacked the front teeth.

No one quite knew what to make of the Snark, nor did it quite know what to make of itself. Fellow rodents and the occasional canine took passing interest in it, but never for very long. Some feared their quills, until they learned the truth. Some found their fur quite nice, but never nice enough to stay for very long.

You see, the Snark was kind of an annoying little bugger. When it made a joke, one could never really tell whether it was trying to be funny, or insulting, or just teasing. In fact, it was trying to be all of these, because it feared being any one of them. Those who found humor in them would soon suspect that they were being made fun of, and would leave. Those who found them insulting would soon decide that it was light-hearted and forgive them. Those who put up with being teased often decided after a time that it really wasn’t all that funny.

And so it passed, that no one would love the Snark. They did not join, they did not have children, and their numbers greatly diminished. It was not long until there were only two left, a boy, and a girl.

“We should probably settle down and have a family,” he mused, “now that you’re the last girl in the world and all.”

“Well that’s flattering,” she sighed.

“Aw, don’t take me seriously,” he said quickly, “I really like you.”

“Like?”

“Well…maybe…love you?” He murmured, “Y’know, love is blind and all that.”

“What, am I ugly?”

“No way,” He assured her, “you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world!” This made her smile warmly, but the seriousness of the situation made him greatly uncomfortable. So he added, “not that you’ve got much competition.”

“Ok. That’s it.” She snapped, and turned to storm off.

“Wait! You can’t!” He shouted.

“Why? For the good of the species?” She spat.

“Well…maybe for the good of me a little…” He muttered pathetically. She turned and looked him in his beady little rodent eyes.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you find me beautiful,” She said quietly, “And mean it. If you can do that, then I might just stay.”

There was a moment then, an opportunity. The fate of this race had not yet been determined, a choice was available. And yet in the end, he found himself unable to make that choice. She waiting through his silence until she was satisfied it would not be broken, and left him forever.
And so the Snark passed into the night; romantic and unromantic, alive and dead, and unable to choose between two of anything up until this very day.