Dust and Bone

The first human story is a unique one - and perhaps a misnomer - in that it is largely not about humans in the slightest. Instead, it is a story of two very underrated substances; dust and bone. In many ways, it is a love story. In many others, it is far from it. Regardless of what is evoked from those who hear it, or even whether you believe it or not (although, trust me, you should) this is a story that surpasses the ages, and it begins with a gust of wind.

It was the second day, and although I wish I could explain to you how long days felt in that time, I do not think I could ever express it fully. But for now, understand that one day could pass, but even in that span of time, thousands of creatures grew and died, shifted and emerged from the shadows, only to pass back out of sight. On the second of these, a gust of wind began to blow like none other I have ever seen. It whipped across the plains and whistled through the valleys with a spirit that made the red dust that covered the earth and sat there endlessly, pick up and dance.

I began to foster a sort of fondness toward this dusty wind, and every day it woke up with the sun and stretched, and furled its red fogginess out. I tried to catch it, but it flit through my fingers. No matter how much I tried to grasp it, it snuck through my fingers like a phantom shadow when you try to turn and look at it. Determined not to let it go, to capture that spirit that had begun to captivate me so, I grabbed the dust from under my feet, certain the wind would come after it. I was right, and when the gust blew past me and tried to pry the dirt cupped in my palms, I threw it up but at that exact moment morphed it, capturing the dust and solidifying both it and the wind until there before, stood a creature that looked a but like me, upright and tall. It’s brown, reddish skin matched the dirt it sprung from, and as soon as it began to dance around me, I recognized the liveliness of my wind. I called him Anemois, wind.

We played together for a long while, but not a whole day. Anemois grew sad, because his new legs could not carry him as they had done before, when he was the wind. He ran and became weary, and could not rope around the trees and reach up into the clouds. I too, was saddened by the misery that had taken hold of my friend, and felt that I owed him in a way. If I had not been so selfish and wanted to capture him, he would not be like a caged animal in his new body.

I decided to surprise him with a companion, but was not sure what else to use. The wind would not do, since I had harnessed its strength and drive, and any new creature spawned from the gentle breeze that now blew past my face would be a sorry, boring friend indeed. Late one night I had an idea, and while Anemois was sleeping, I took from his side a little bit of himself (not too much, mind you) and again blew into it and shaped it until it resembled a little like me, and a little like Anemois, but also a little something all its own. I called her Eleusis, coming, because she had been drawn to me from my first creation.

Anemois was startled to wake up looking into a face like his own, but whiter and smaller. He danced with her and was happy again, and with the three of us, I felt more content than ever before. Eleusis was tough and loyal, a framework in our group, whereas Anemois was fleeting but spirited. We were the best of friends, and in the coming days, we built many more creatures to fill the plains, and Anemois and Eleusis went on to make some of their own. They mastered the terrain and  filled it with little beings that resembled themselves. One day, after walking with my two friends, some of their little ones tagging along behind us, and animals walking on either side, to and fro as they pleased, I looked at all that I had made, and decided, without a doubt, that it w as good.