All Things Must Begin 



Time is a wonderous thing.  It builds mountains… only to send them
grain by grain into the deepest lands covered by seas.  It shapes men
and women into creatures both wonderous and frightening… only to see
them pass away into that shadowy realm of myth, legend, lies and
memories.  And in all things, Time is patient.

So when magic returned once more to earth, Time was not at all
surprised.  Man has always had a connection to the impossible, even
though there are those amongs his kiun who would deny this with their
souls.  Time was there to witness the birth of the mage known far and
wide as Merlin.  It was there to see the creation of Delvar Steele and
the hideous things formed by the minds of men who desired eternal life
through their abominations.  And it was there the night when one man
laid next to one woman, and was the only one who knew the significance
of their union.

It watched with eyes accustomed to many sights as the man nursed on
the woman’s breast.  Where others wouls have need to walk around the
twisted mangle og flesh, Time stood ever powerful all around them, and
watched as the man sheathed his manhood in man-made… and inevitably
fickle.. plastic.  It saw that one of the million million cells which
would travel through perils unknowable by the minds of men.  And it
knew that its sisters, those whom men aptly named the Fates, were busy
tinkering once again with the affairs of Man.

Time focused its attention on the man, wondering once more how it came
to be that man, in all of his barbaric customs, could find it within
his soul to care for another.  To those who knew of him, he was a hero
of two great wars.  It was his courage that allowed thousands to cry
tears of sorrow instead of wailing unlamented in some forgotten nest
of night-things and blood soaked madness.  Yet time saw not the lies
or half-truths;  it saw the reality.  Many more now rested where the
crying humans would have… all because one man believed that his was
the side of the righteous and just.  And Time did not judge;  that
burden lay solely on those humans who thought it was their place.

Yet and still, even those who killed with a smile upon their lips
possessed some measure of tenderness, and this man was but one.
Perhaps, Time mused, those who judge will come to see him as the
father of some era or anoter.  Maybe they will judge him a madman
waiting for a younger, more vibrant body to carry on what for now are
but thoughts dismissed as flashbacks to night bloated with terror and
violence.  Yet on this night, none of them would know of the pure
bliss whithin his heart as he prepared to enter that tunnel which was
traveled by manhood and its resultant seed… good or bad.

The sheer volume of tenderness was more than many had shown in the
countless nights spent wrapped in the arms of another.  The soft
caring taken as he dragged his fingers across her breasts bellowed his
caring of her.  And the act itself, while primal in its essence, was
truly beautiful.  Even with the barrier separating manhood from
womanhood, there was the feel of true love between them both.  One
would simply have to overlook the grunts, growls, moans, scratching
and biting.  These were but manifestations of a rule which man seemed
to ignore more and more:  there are powers over which man has
absolutely no control.  The sounds of their sweat soaked skins
meeting… a unique combination of plop and slap not found anywere else
and easily recognized by the deafest of ears… pounded the air
relentlessly.

Time marveled at the total independence of his hands as they searched
her body with reckless abandon.  From her hair to her toes they
wandered, searching for something which they knew to exist, but knew
not of its actual location.  It watched as his fingers slid along the
singularity wich separated one butt cheek from its twin.  That one
finger actually found the entrance into her rear was of little
concern;  men were, if nothing else, creative where their pleasure was
concerned.  That she wailed with glee was also not a surprise, for
women, whether they cared to admit the reality or not, were little
more than a different shade of red of men.

 Her owns hands had taken purchase upon his chest, diggin the tallons
on each finger deeply into his flesh.  She was astride him, riding her
very own stallion through the gale of love which tossed them about as
if there were little more than a grain of sand set upon by an
eternally angry sea.  Her black locks were thrown this way and that as
she bounced happily on the upturned stake of his manhood.  Time
sniffed the air;  the scent of human sexual excitement was delicate
and akin to that of baking bread.  Depending on what type od bread the
baker decided to make, the scent shifted from sweet to almost hearty.
This scent was the sweetest yet to grace his nostrils.

With practiced ease, Time stepped back from their bodies.  Soon they
would both thrash about in their combined orgasmic bliss.  When his
hands shot forth, grabbing hold to the two mounds of termbling flesh
upon her chest, Time turned his back.  This was the moment when men
would say that Time ceased to even be a memory.  All was the power of
their own orgasmic experience.  No words created before or ever would
adequately describe the pleasure... the pain... the thrill... the
agony… of mutual orgasm.  Since man did not need it, Time simply
turned around once.

When it faced the bodies, Time took a moment to witness the struggle
of the one seed.  It had, by the grace of the Fates, found a small
opening in the barrier.  None of its nest mates would ever know of its
existence.  Yet it took advantage and slid through the hole, holding
it’s own soon-to-be-breath as it slid through the opening.

That neither of them noticed this made Time smile.  They would give
brith to, and raise, the one person capable of defeating an evil which
ran rampant through the realm of man.  It would be this child who
would walk down one of the multitude of paths creased eternally on
Time’s visage.  How many others would feel as his father did?  How
many others would know his father’s wrath as he snuffed the light
which was life from their eyes?  The paths branched eternally, and no
one man knew truly which way the path would lead… nor which paths
would be spawned from the countless crossroads.

But for these two, their paths had been chosen.  That they took all
precautions to prevent the entrance of an innocent into a world which
they believed full of dangers and temptations was good… but useless.
He would be born and would walk, crawl, run, jum down a path which the
Fates had chosen for him.

Time blinked, and the moment was gone.  It would remember the caring.
It would remember the testament to true love.  It would remember.
Pity man would not.