Gaia

• Crystal Tarrant, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2012

High in the heavens, a goddess sleeps. She lies upon her bed of soft moss, dreaming of the earth beneath her feet and the smell of flowers. She dreamed of sparkling waterfalls and silver-blue droplets. She dreamed of pure white doves and rainbow peacocks singing of the wild. She dreamed of towering trees, tall and strong, and vibrant flowers. She dreamed of clear blue skies above and a crisp, fresh breeze. Then suddenly…she woke.
She gave a scream as her dark, emerald green skin began to turn brown and black, flaking away like ash. The flowers in her colorful, braided hair began falling one by one, turning to dust. She began gasping as the clean, fresh air around her changed, filling her lungs with its thick smell of smoke and burning. The pool in front of where she had slept turned from a clear, sparkling blue, to an oily black-brown, killing the tiny silver fish that swam in it. In pain and despair she looked down from her high home.
She saw her precious forests burning, falling, as men cut them down while birds scattered shrieking into the sky. She saw her crystal clear waters, her oceans, lakes and rivers become thick with oil from overturned ships, and waste being pumped into her live-giving gift from the many human cities. She saw factories pumping thick black smoke into the air, making black, toxic clouds. She saw cities replacing her forests, felt thousands of plants dying by the minute, and thousands of animals succumbing to the humans’ destruction. She saw death, everywhere.
Her pain turned into rage and she gave a mighty sweep of her hand. The earth heaved viciously, tearing down cities and swallowing them whole. The seas rose up and washed away everything in their path, cleansing the land. Bolts of lightning set the world afire, killing everything the way her trees had died, burning. She sent great winds to cleanse the air and wipe out the factories and machines that fouled it. Finally, her rage was spent and she surveyed the world again. Her anger turned to grief as she looked at the death and scars she had left. The world was dying.
The goddess’ skin was black and grey, sickly. Her hair hung in limp, unhealthy clumps, like sickly vines and her beautiful, lively blue-green eyes were clouded. She wept, and her tears softly blanketed the land below, soothing and healing. Suddenly, something floated up to her from below. The goddess opened her palm. A beautiful, delicate looking purple -blue butterfly landed kissing her hand with its tiny feet.
Below, the sun broke out from behind the clouds and illuminated a small patch of ground. A girl was talking cheerfully to a sapling as she planted it in the damp earth tenderly. The goddess could feel the plant’s joy at being alive and she smiled. Perhaps all was not lost. While the world below stirred with life, the goddess drifted into her dreams again, at peace.