Vayux 2

Vayux 2 was written during winter December 2020/January 2021, a period in which I surrendered to the dissolution of one version of my life and opened to the possibility that light was at the end of a tunnel of darkness.

Vayux is an original character that has infinite permutations. Each serves as a vessel for creative expression. When I put her on, and live through her, and then take her off, I find I am a better version of my true self.


Vayux sat crossed-legged as crypto-crystalline dust fell around her. She wore a stone crown, which collected large and lithe gray flakes of the floating material. Vayux’s body, draped by a sari that wrapped around her shoulders and breasts and hips but left her belly exposed, towered over the remnant of ancient New York City. Large knobs of crypto-crystalline landed in her lap. Vayux looked at them through stone eyes, took them and bit into them with stone teeth. She chewed and swallowed and into nothing the human traces went; at the back of Vayux’s throat was a black hole. Her stone body, a the tomb around spacetime.

Ancient New York City floated outer space. Humans still lived there, but they were information suspended in matrices in the crypto-crystalline.

A birth was coming. Vayux consumed the knob with an invigorated ferocity, and her feet began to emit a trace of a heat signature. She ate memories, emotions; impulses—toward compassion, gratitude, hope. The material made more heat inside her. Human information: their pleasures, sight as bright bursts of colors, aquamarine, neon yellow, red;  their joy, swimming in dark, deep seas latticed by radiant sun beams; their delight, dancing in crowded rooms; their liking of scents, coffee and rain on hot pavement—all fell back into spacetime.

Vayux turned toward the fireball that raged through outer space.

The birth had arrived. Vayux’s stone body perceived a change in pressure of the space time around her. Flakes swirled, dust trails, tiny tornado vortices collected at the bottoms of her feet.

            And then, a silent explosion, a burst of light: a hardened, tiny body appeared out of the flame in front of Vayux. She leaned forward and grabbed the solid-block. Heat had moved from her feet through her body to her hands, and they melted the material around a human fully-formed, and the human started to melt too, bleeding trails of pinkish-red liquid at the force of Vayux’s heat, and the blood swirled around her, joining the flakes, dust trails, tiny tornado vortices at the bottoms of her feet.

She took a bite out of the tiny human, her mouth filled of a large, crooked nose—consumed it. It was chewy and oily. Vayux reached again, and a tuft of eyebrow skin with the brow-hairs still attached came away—tiny under her large stone fingers. She consumed it and her cheeks puffed, stuffed. It tasted like hate and fear. This life had been hard.

            Vayux leaned in one more time, and tore in at the tiny body, tore at the heels with her concrete teeth. Her sharp diamond nails severed the tendon in each foot before grabbing them, shoving them in her mouth, too. She tore into the right hamstring of the form; eating, consuming, ingesting all of it. The body was small, but it caused Vayux to swell, and the ancient New York City cracked and groaned under the weight of her expanding body.

            And then, Vayux fell over, and started to shake. Her stone belly began to glow and cracks began to seep crypto-crystalline dust. The belly burst and a new human, male (infant, pink, naked, flesh), the tiny form rolled out, slid onto the barren stone meadow of ancient Central Park and came to a stop, curled in a fetal position. Lying sideways, the baby opened his eyes, stunned.

After every birth, Vayux needed rest.

She stood up slowly, collected pieces of her belly that hung ragged, wrapped them into the sari, stepped a few giant steps back, over the stunned tiny new form which would be tossed out on the wind when she had the strength and the gust was right.

Vayux birthed—dust or form—but it was the black hole inside her that decided whether the form needed another life or could retire its existence and become dust. If she birthed form, the form would be back again; Vayux would consume the life again, and the black hole would rip its essence apart again and would decide whether it needed to exist as form, if the life needed to exist again at all.

Vayux moved down a spire of an ancient road to her pedestal in the blackened water crypto-crystalline-solid material. She picked up her torch that lay at the base of the pedestal then stepped and raised her arm. She willed a cosmic lightning strike; it lit the top of the torch. Light cast over the ancient New York City, black crypto-crystalline rock and gray crypto-crystalline dust; and beyond, light dissipated in outer space.

Vayux saw that dust fell again on the ancient New York City at its normal pace. Her body perceived no heavy pressure. So she settled in, stood, arm and lit torch held up, and fell asleep, standing over her creation.

A mother’s work is never done.