Paradise Made

Forty-Four: The Throne

I sensed her arrive behind me, though she made no sound. I was staring at them again: Clay and the others, unable to tear my eyes away. I was not crying, but it was wet below my eyes. He'd been my best friend. I'd loved him, and a terrible pain unlike anything I'd ever felt inhabited my chest

"I'd ask you to bring him back, but with how close the end is now, I can hardly see the point," I said, not turning to face her.

She'd come to stand beside me, and to my surprise a single tear worked its way down her cheek.

"I'm sorry. I didn't plan this—I don't remember..."

"They tortured him." I said, regretting the venom that was beginning to creep into my voice. "He was your friend too, once."

"I did care for him."

"So many have asked this question through history, and the way things are going I feel I might be the last. Why does God create such suffering?" There was a stretching pause before I spoke again. "So, are you going to give me an answer? Or do you work in mysterious ways?"

"You create it for yourself."

I turned to face Sara, anger in my eyes. "Have we created disease, disaster? And who made us who we are in the first place?"

"That is an interesting question. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel as if I couldn't have created you, that you are too good to have come from me. Maybe it's the other way around."

"Are these Sara's musings, or Gods'?"

"The line between those is much blurrier than before. I am unsure how much of my other self is left beyond my reach."

"Maybe less than you think. Maybe the things you want—the terrible, human things—maybe you've always wanted them. Maybe you've trapped yourself in this cycle just like the rest of us."

There was another long pause. Sara had turned away from the bodies and walked out to the edge of the roof. She stared out onto her world, watched as it burned. I knew she saw more than I ever could, everyone's pain, everyone's loss. I understood her then, strangely and abruptly, and I realized that Pen was right.

"You have no idea what I want," she said, voice low and almost dangerous.

I went to join her. "I know you love this world and everyone on it. I know you poured your heart into it, maybe even your entire existence. And yet," I motioned out over the chaos, "you do this to it. They say that God is in everything, that you are everything in this world. You're still my friend. I care about you. Why are you hurting yourself like this?"

She didn't answer, standing stock still. What was that look in her eyes? Was it fear?

"Please, Sara," I pressed, "I love you."

She turned quickly, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me closer to her. I thought she was going to kiss me, but instead she rested her forehead against mine. She was crying now, silently. Her hair tickled my face, and I wrapped my arms around her. It was easy to forget what she was, that she was anything more than my friend.

"Maybe," I said: slowly, softly, "being stuck here with us is hurting you as much as you're hurting us. Maybe this has all gone on too long."

"Do you think," she said, "that maybe this time, if I can, I should end it for good?"

I shook my head, pulling away a fraction of an inch. "Humanity has too much untapped potential for me to think that."

"I don't want to abandon you."