Mesopotamia.
The first civilization of Humans, expanded out across dozens and dozens of acres.
Hundreds of stone buildings crowded tightly together, busy streets of foot traffic.
Basic clothing made of cloth covered their bodies, all of them smiling and seeming to enjoy their lives.
Domesticated animals pulled carts of wheat and grain, fields of farmland and fresh soil.
A beautiful woman made her way into her small home, smiling as she unpacked freshly made bread onto a small wooden table. Her cloth was loose, but her curves were still very easy to see through the fabric.
"I am home with supper." She said in Sumerian.
"That sounds lovely." A voice replied.
A man emerged from behind an open arch in the house. It looked like a primitive doorway, without a door.
The man had a muscular body, very clearly one belonging to a farmer who worked hours and hours every single day.
"How was the harvest today?" She asked.
The man rubbed his hands with a small cloth and smiled.
"It was plentiful. Able to gather enough food for a while." He replied.
The man made his way towards her.
His arms wrapped around her body, holding her close to his body while he began to softly kiss her neck.
She smiled and grabbed hold of the table as he continued to kiss her skin over and over again, his hands tightly gripping her clothing.
She giggled and grabbed his head.
"Are you sure about this?" She asked with a smile.
"Yes." He simply replied and kissed her lips deeply.
They made their way into another room, throwing their clothing off.
Out in the fields, farmers were working in the hot sun. Sweat and dirt covered their barely clothed bodies. One man stood, wiping his eyes and turning to stare at the mountains in the distance.
Mountains visible on the horizon, yet too far to conceivably be reached by their kind.
He took a breath in while he continued to stare, as if expecting something to happen.
"Ašane, get back to work." Another man shouted.
The man went back to farming, using a sickle made of stone to tear the crops out and throw them into a wooden cart.
He was panting hard, thinking about his wife at home.
He kept throwing grain after grain, piling them high while the other farmers did the same.
Just tedious work in the hot sun for hours and hours and hours.
As they moved forward, others behind them pulled out the remaining weeds and planted new seeds.
Fixing the soil and helping to make sure more plants and food could grow.
Dark clouds in the distance were moving closer and closer, loud booms rippling and cracking through the air.
"The Gods must be fighting." One farmer said.
Ašane turned and stared at the black clouds that moved closer and closer.
"They are coming quite quickly. We might have to rush back inside." Ašane replied.
"Did we do something to upset them?" Another farmer asked.
YOU ARE READING
Grand Angel
FantasyA being created by the blood of a dying God, later becoming the one who sets everything in motion. The one who really puts the entire Anomaly Saga into motion.
