Pieces

Arid, muted terrain stretches to the horizon until it reaches lush forest and meadows. A bronzed titan stands before the verdant expanse. In its right hand, it holds a rod of plasma, bright as the sun. If the titan were truly mechanical, it would be a wonder of engineering, for its metallic features hold as much emotion as any creature, perhaps more. Its long hair flows about its shoulders, jostled by the restless wind. The titan’s head is bowed, gaze fixed on the implement in its hand, and tears slowly track down its cheeks.

Finally, the titan looks up at the creatures huddled on the plain: people. Men, women, children. All dressed in crude leather. They watch the titan fearfully. Do you know what you have done, asks the titan, The gift you have thrown away. A gift I will never receive. Plants bend at the force of its words and the people cower. The titan’s voice quivers, You dumbfound and disgust me. Why would you do such a thing? The people do not answer. Be gone then, says the titan, Do not return. The titan strikes the ground with the rod of light and sets a wall of celestial fire between the people and paradise.

The titan leaps into the sky and flies to the reigning star. It returns the rod to the heart of the heavenly body, its rightful place. Adjacent the star stands an old woman, and the titan joins her. Together they watch the people below make their way through the scrubby, foreign terrain. I am mystified, says the titan, Why do you not destroy them? The old woman looks at the titan kindly and speaks, How could I destroy the pieces of my own heart?