A Godless Goddess

Written by Andy Naranjo
Image: “Moonlit Hunt” by John Dunkelberg
Model: Kay Ace

Slain by the fruitless sky, an athel tree slumbers with a groan. It’s only flower teeters in the cradle of an abandoned wasps hive. Though its life has lapsed, its roots continue to grow like varicose veins. Through and into the city, it reaches out, choking it.

My tears coagulate into stones. Trekking through brick and mortar graves in search of a bird and its branch, I watched the red skies cry blue, stinging me with somber drops. After some time I found the finch, pinched between two stones.

The sun sets into a depression. Shallow puddles that flood the corroded vistas no longer boil. My breath is a ghost of me. I'm getting colder.

So I hasten my pace as a moon rises to reign, making my way down to the cathedral where the fountain awaits at the altar.

I am hungry and gaunt, weak and sleepless. Pulling out a small tin of sugar and a hardened tear I suckle the two and ward off the hunger. It is salty and sweet.

Broken windows plaster the faces of these abandoned buildings, I see they hold my reflection. It appears to be fading the closer I get to the church.

Into the sky, she begins to eclipse my eye into a crescent. Grinding against the weather, lesions begin to wear my skin. Toes curled, my feet dragged, kicking the loose cobblestones. Finally, I've reached the altar. Empty benches and shoes surround the area.

Reaching into a sack of miscellaneous objects I collected my tears. Moonlit, they gleam an aquamarine. Placing them in the fountain I observe the ends of the athel’s roots flood it. But nothing happened. The tears were too dry to absorb.

All of the walls but one laid waste, casting its shadow against me. Pacing and praying to her, I tried to walk off this dream. But I can’t help but stare at it. Framed into the wall, a shattered mosaic hung, revealing a decrepit countenance.

The moonlight passes through to shine on me. I am enlightened by the glow and engulfed in the shadow of the broken mosaic. She looks down on us and awaits me at the cusp of our end.

The altar homes my body. It is cold and I can feel the moon holding me. She bites hard and I can no longer feel my feet, as my breath becomes a ghost of me.