the_visitor: (godlet)
[personal profile] the_visitor
The Visitor sits, looking out at the vast landscape before her. To those who know Earth, she is situated somewhere in Africa, as can be guessed from the humid air and the flash of parrots around her. A flock of once-endangered birds gathers around her, speaking worriedly.

She quiets them with a hand.

"I know, children. I know. Let me battle your God of pollution. I doubt he is stronger than I."

The parrots look unconvinced, but return to the distant, destroyed city. They watch The Visitors actions from broken windows and crumpled iron benches. Nothing grows in the former human city, polluted as it has been by the chemical plants and landfills that surround the city.

The Visitor stands alone for a moment, a small figure dwarfed by the wasteland around her. Then, for an instant, she releases herself. For a moment, there is a multitude of Visitors, all occupying the same space, all looking down different paths, all taking different actions. She lives them all, gazing forward as she abandons human time. But it is only for an instant, then she returns, is once again one being, albeit constantly shifting creature of multiple wings and limbs.

She smiles, having decided upon the most beneficial path to reinforce, and raises two hands. Palms facing skyward, face gazing up, wings unfurled, she remains there as the world around her changes completely.

Begin with sand. Sand is in many things. It makes up everything from glass to silicone to toothpaste. Wastelands are filled with sand. Would it not be easier if one were to remove it? Push it to the side, perhaps, as one breaks down the complex and monstrous things that sand is used to make into their component parts.

Everything comes from nature. Reverse time, and it will return to nature though not, perhaps, as one would have intended. Certainly not as one would have expected - but then again, The Visitor was involved.

Sand cascaded out of the landfill, tumbling into the streets of the city, burying buildings even as they too began to dissolve (concrete, after all, has quite a bit of sand in it). Stone settled, rock met rock and bound itself together, only to sink beneath the sand to stabilize the flailing earth. Trees arose, crazy knitted together from dozens of different barks and fibers - mahogany twisted with pine, matchsticks joining with trees made of chairs and tables. A single tree would grow taller than the remaining skyscrapers, then shake itself and dissolve in to smaller tree clustered haphazardly around whatever had drawn them together. Birds were pulled together out of feathers, prompting a flip-book of impossible fliers before they too returned to dust or found themselves dissolving into flocks of possible creatures. Similar transformations created shoals of fish from shattered bones and scales and monkeys from rag-tag assortments of hands and tails. Once native creatures appeared and fled for the shadows, strange amalgamations coalesced then dissolved - or sometimes not, as The Visitor allowed the existence of creatures and plants that had never existed on the planet before retain their shape and biology.

Through it all, the riot of colors and swirls of time, there were few constants. One was that The Visitor remained still, almost frozen in a bubble of her own time. Another was the tide she pulled towards her. Plastics dissolved and joined tar, fumes coalesced into liquid, and it all came back to her. Oil lapped at her bare feet, staining the cloth she wore. No millennium old fern grew from the black tide she called to her. No former wheel grew a car, no engine a passenger. She stole the pollutant from the land, called the temptation back to her. No more would any species of hers be allowed easy power - for easy all to quickly transformed into evil.

Without it, the wasteland grew into a forest. Parts of it were impossible. Others could have been their for centuries.

When the last garbage truck dissolved she dropped her hands, and fished inside a pocket of her robe. There was one species that was perhaps the most difficult to recreate. The ball of microbes - infinity more diverse than anything she had recreated yet - spun in her hands. This rain forest owed its existence to these small creatures; Without them, the forest would die, rendering all her work for naught.

She threw the ball, and as it popped she, too, disappeared on the wind.
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The Visitor

January 2011

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