"The End is the Beginning is the End" by Jenna Rebecca Brager

Journal Entry 2- Write an Original Flood Story

            Razeal sat upon the tree stump, playing his flute.  The eerie beautiful music floated up into the dark sky, and the angels gathered to listen.  They flapped their powerful wings to stay aloft as the boy below them played.  Finally, the song was done, and Razeal brushed his long hair out of his eyes and smiled up towards the sky at the angels that swiftly flew away.  No one but Razeal saw the angels anymore.  Except the very old, who were so close to heaven that they could see its inhabitants.  Razeal was born without life in him, and only the prayers of the elders had brought him into the world.  Razeal had been saved, but only just.  The elders said that he was living with one foot in this world and one in the next. 

            The wisest of the elders, the medicine woman, whose name was Nineveh, had other ideas.  Nineveh thought that Razeal was not a human child, but a changeling, left in his parents crib by the evil Minions, magic-using winged creatures that warred against the Elfin folk for all eternity.  They cared nothing for the human race, and Nineveh predicted

that someday the Minions would return for Razeal, and in the process, destroy the world.  Razeal’s village mourned such a fate, and at his birth, resolved to kill the child that would bring such doom upon them.  But for some unexplainable reason, the elders that waited to take the life from the one who had just been brought into the world could not bring themselves to do so.  Something about this child was too amazing to destroy.  And indeed, the tiny child had brought great joy to the village, through his presence and his smile and his music.  Nineveh had taken Razeal in as her apprentice, to learn the ancient magic.  Already his music had amazing healing powers.

            The village had rejoiced in Razeal’s birth, for despite the grim prophecy, Razeal had made the present shine.  However, recently, Nineveh’s visions had grown stronger, and evil lay over the land.  The angels watched over Razeal, as though they were afraid of some approaching doom.  Every day the sky grew darker, and thunder rolled in the heavens.  Nineveh brooded in her home, as if in a trance, now and then mumbling.  Razeal sat upon the stump, day after day, playing his flute and examining the magical war in the heavens, all because of him.  With every passing day, the clouds got darker and heavier, and Razeal’s village watched with worry.

            On the tenth day, the rains began to fall.  Slowly at first, then more heavily, until the drizzle became a storm, the storm a deluge, and the flooding began.  The water filled the fields where the herds of mammoths roamed, the forests where Razeal’s people hunted the small warm-blooded creatures, as well as the occasional unicorn.  The water even came into the villages huts, seeping, then rushing in.  The village stood no chance.  Razeal stayed helplessly upon his stump, and saw the people he knew so well, his friends, his parents, even Nineveh, get swept away by the torrential rains. 

            Razeal looked to the heavens, and in the reflection of the water.  Everywhere he could see the battle that was destroying the earth.  Shadows of elfin folk and angels battling against the monstrous Minions, shrieks and falling feathers.  He stood up, took his flute in his hands, and began to play a tune that Nineveh had once taught him, to draw out the powers of good and defeat the evil, and as he played, the grotesque minions suddenly became smaller, less fierce.  The angels, with their golden swords of justice and compassion, slew the evil ones, for though the angels were kind, victory can never come without death.  The battle raged on, but Razeal also played on, and with his magical playing, the battle turned.  The rains slowed, and eventually subsided.  The Minions gave one last cry of rage, and went back into the dark depths of the Underworld, from where they had come.  Razeal finished his song, and collapsed, exhausted from the effort of keeping a continual flow of magic for such a length of time.  The last thing he remembered before passing out were the angel’s wings. 

            When Razeal awoke, his head ached, but he was surrounded by warmth.  He felt the garment that he wore, and it was finer than any he had ever known.  He sat up, and found himself in a small room of great luxury.  To his surprise, he saw Nineveh there, clad in a garment similar to his own.

            “Nineveh?  Where are we, what happened?  Was it all a dream?” he asked her.

            “Ah yes child, so you have awoken.  Good.  No child, it was not a dream, though I wish I could say it was.  We are in the court of the kind ones, where our ancestors went before us, since the beginning of time.”

            “Are we dead Nineveh?”  Razeal asked with dread.

            Nineveh laughed.  “Goodness no child, we are in the court of the Faerie lords.  And you, dear boy, are the chosen one.”

            “The chosen one?  What does that mean Nineveh?  I don’t understand!”

            “Dear child.  The world has become an evil place, over the years.  The minions have taken over the minds and hearts of men, even those in our own village, the ones we held so dear.  The world had to be cleansed, so we could start over, try again.  You shall start our world over.  In your time on our earth, you learned of the cruelties of man.  Now you must change all that, by creating the earth once again, in the image of the faeries.”

            “But Nineveh, how?” Razeal asked.

            “With the magic Razeal, we gave it to you, now use it.  Use your flute; use your faerie heritage and all the earth’s magic, and take this seed, from which the world shall grow again.”

            “I will Nineveh, I promise that I will!”

            “I know you shall my child, and it is time.  Close your eyes.”

            Razeal closed his eyes and felt Nineveh place her cool hands upon his forehead.  He felt a spinning sensation, and suddenly, Nineveh’s hands vanished, and in their place he felt a hot desert wind scraping his skin.  He opened his eyes.  Before him, where once lay an entire world, now lay a wasteland, huge expanses of nothingness.  Razeal felt his grief settle over him, like one of the great storm clouds that had destroyed all that he loved.  A single tear snaked down his cheek.  But then, Razeal opened his hand, and saw the single, tiny seed that Nineveh had given him.  He smiled, the salty tear still resting upon his cheek.  He stepped forward, and dug a tiny hole for the seed.  When it was finished, he placed the seed inside carefully, and covered the hole.  Razeal stepped back, and began to play.  The music that once brought joy to his people now brought salvation to this desolate earth.  Plants sprouted, urged on by the flute’s music, and from the blossoms came animals of all shapes and sizes.  Razeal brushed the tear from his face, and from it came a thousand waters.  The earth had been born.  Razeal stepped up to the place where the seed had been planted.  A tiny sprout showed its face.  Razeal played one last note.  And the plant grew, the loveliest plant of all, and from its center sprung a goddess of a woman, like the fruit of all mother earth.  She smiled, and took Razeal by the hand.  She began to dance, a wild dance that made even more beauty spring from beneath her feet.  Razeal danced with her, content that he had created a paradise, where no Minions could ever take hold again.  The woman spoke, and her voice was the voice of all those that Razeal had ever loved, all those that had been lost to the Minion’s evil.

            “You did it my dearest one; you have made the world again.  Look at its beauty.”

            Razeal smiled, and held his flute to his lips once more and began to play the most joyous melody.  The woman danced, and a new paradise was created.