The Arrival

The arrival

I see him laying there, roaring sound coming out of him, black smoke covering all of him, just like it was predicted by the priests in our tribe. He is bigger than I ever imagined he would be. His wings reflected the sun and blinded us all. His figure reflects light and blinds us all. However, I’m wondering why he decided to come down. Has he been listening to our prayers? Has our time on this world reached an end? What do the tattoos that spell “American Airlines” on his sides mean? It’s all so confusing, but there is no doubt: a God has landed on our sacred grounds.

The day the tribe had been waiting for is finally here. I thought he was smaller, but now that I can see him next to me, our God is bigger than anyone or anything here at the village. He seemed hurt, his wings seemed like they’ve been cut in half. Maybe he needs us to help him, I believe that after all he has done for us, this is our chance to do something for him. As our tribe leader, Rajiv approaches him and looks inside through the holes on his side. He says he saw dead people laying on his stomach. Maybe they were from other tribes, but they seemed too different and strange from all of us.

Rajiv continued trying to make contact with the God, but as he shouted and tried to talk to him, he responded with more black smoke and roaring metallic sounds coming from his wings. We think we might have angered our god. We begin to pray, but our chants seem futile and He does not respond. Rajiv is desperate, he send all of us women to dance and try to peace his anger, but nightfall is coming and our God has yet to respond. We hear another screeching sound. Rajiv interprets this as hunger from our God.

We don’t know what God’s are supposed to eat up amongst the clouds, so we first bring forth our best crops. We offer life from the ground, fruits, medicinal herbs and all kinds of crops. He remains unimpressed. Maybe what he needs is meat to take his strength back. So we fetch our best meat, we bring chicken, boars and even a goat. We offer them in his honor and proceed to cook our more delicious dishes. A feast worthy of a God. Nonetheless, we seem to bore him, and the fire that had once lived inside of our God is slowly dying. Finally, we realize it’s time for the ultimate gift.

Rajiv brings forth our strongest warrior. He, who volunteered himself in order to become a sacrifice for our divine being. The highest honor and biggest display of faith that a mortal can gain can only be received through voluntary sacrifice. We begin to paint all over his body, writing ancient passages and trying to copy the “American Airlines” tattoo from our god. At the same time, men prepare a wood statue to tie up the sacrifice. The time comes and Rajiv ties up the warrior. He chants a few passages, and finally set it all on fire. His death is slow and painful to watch, it takes until dawn for the fire to die.


In spite of our efforts the mighty God refused to respond. Some of his body was slowly being washed into the sea, back to a place we will never know. What else could we have done to please our God? Or maybe this was all just a test. We’ll keep trying to please him, but as humans nothing we can do that can compare to his grace. But day after day, we will wait for him to come back and respond. We can always try tomorrow. What a torment it is to live a mortal life, full of the unknown and at the mercy of others.

Zinxong: The Torturer

Cthulhu Mythos

Oracle of the one born of Hanuman's womb,

Words to confirm what has gone before.

Blessed is the one who grasps inner meaning,

For only the inner eye may read.


In the year of the badger,

My office to the Feeble One.

Century-old master of our sect,

And his bloated viceregent;

The Mad Prophetess.


Occupying the forlorn monastery of Tsang,

Whereupon no worldly man may enter.

The task was the keeping of the scrolls,

Housed in abundance.


No longer could they read the scripts,

Traced upon parchment.

From the skins of humans,

Stripped on their deathbeds.


When one might dare to read

What was written on those pages;

Dangerous doctrines might arise,

But forgotten by the tortures of our tribe.


But these two arts,

Copying the scrolls.

Flaying of humane hides,

Was the monastery enriched.


Discipline for their prisoners.

Peaceful community,

Year after year.

'Till the return of Zinxong,

Away serving as the torturer;

For Qwon-Ling, the most powerful.


At first rejoicing,

As for a long lost relative.

Little they knew that his warriors,

Were slaying all who opposed them.

Sounds of fighting in the dining hall,

All rose safe for the Feeble One;

Who had to be carried from place to place.


The false brother greeted the warriors,

The chieftain as well as his shaman.

His tribe had made alliance with our rivals,

The Brotherhood of Leng.


Their silken yellow caps glowed in the soft light,

Their presence was blasphemy.

A sword struck the Feeble One;

A second blow silenced forever the mouth of the Mad,

Prophetess ever at his side.


None mourned greatly at the passing of the Feeble One,

His voice not being heard in many a season;

Since the Mad One had dominated him.


The Cult: the Red Hats of Tsang.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about a torturer near the monastery of Tsang.

He was asked if he wanted to extend his eye onto his tribe...

He was asked if he wanted to extend his eye onto his tribe...
The answer was clear and just...

His home is extended to all walks of life...
The offering of entry is eternal and never dissipates...

He will not call upon them...
They must come with open arms...

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