Last One Out

Now, my task is almost done...t beginning of it is lost to me, everything is a swirl of tectonic shifts and lava flows, the throes of birth… both mine and Hers—our tasks set before us: Hers was to mother, to create and nurture, mine to shape, carve, erode—our dance has been going for innumerable kalpas, ranges of mountains rise up, and I tear them down with centuries of gales, my breath never ceasing, fighting with my cousin Water for the attention of Earth…Water is weak, spread out, and lacking internal drive; while I, Wind, carve canyons and whistle my shrieks with cavern-mouths until She blushes with longing, joining slowly in my desire, groaning with pleasure for millennia until another mountain range is born—in the past, you may have found the spots where our lovemaking has ground her surface flat, dry, where I have chased even Water away…I do not only exist to destroy however; It is I who brings the breath of life everywhere I travel, cooling Her with breezes, light caresses, blowing zephyrs where she is cold and in need of touch—still, I go about my task, finishing, making sure the job is well done, I have all the time I need…it has been so long since anything moved on Her surface…once it was teeming, now, I have conquered all life, choked it with sand, my victory roar—but it is a hollow one, for I am all alone…in the throes of his death-rattle, Father Sun boiled my liquid cousin away…I tried to save him, to catch as much as I could so he could rain down again, but it was wasn’t enough… Mother Moon lay dull and lifeless, having no light to reflect, and no one to gaze upon… Father scorched my lover’s beautiful skin, leaving nothing but bleached skeletons and cold, endless cold darkness… Faced with such loss, with nothing to nurture, Earth herself lost all hope, and we grew distant, lovers who turned into strangers —then She began to slow…no mountains came…then no new islands…even her tremors stopped: Her internal fire was dying, and there was nothing to be done, whether it was by force of will or just the way of things, it was happening nonetheless, and I, so powerful, could do nothing…I screamed at her to wake up, roared longer and louder than I had ever dreamed I could, but no reply came—she was gone…there is no telling how long I raged for, eons, epochs, perhaps, but when I was done, with nothing but her dead husk to mourn over, I had carved a belt of desert around the diameter of her shell; wearily realizing that my task would be over when I had truly ground her down into flat, efficient uniformity—I was able to clear the western hemisphere simply by remembering her curves in the early days and how now I was erasing them, while it took me several years to finish the Himalayan ranges—I saved the old metropolises for last, as they were the simplest—just some light metals and crystals, with occasional concrete for good measure…now that I know I am done and nothing remains, I release my atmosphere, my own gravity, and drift into nothingness to join Her…how simple it is, how beautiful…I had it within me all along, my task and prison were of my own making, but now it is over: I am resting, ceasing, finally at peace and at an end.