​Nature versus nurture

Warm Summer day in the south part of the island. An older Genevieve is kneeled down next to a worn down Viktor.

Her eyes are layed on his hands while he cuts yellow fennels closely from the roots with the smallest scythe they own. Freddy, between his busy shifts and comissions at the center town’s blacksmith managed to produce it as a small marriage present for both of them. It had been almost 33 years since then, and Freddy now trained many new and fresh hands. But they kept it in immaculate conditions; back then this scythe was worth more than a worker’s monthly wage back in the mainland. He had definately kept some scratch materials to make it for them.

The yellow fennels were being forged for mentrual pain. They were a blessing for many women during the starving years of the island, since poor nutrition made the menstrual pain much worse.

Viktor’s hands reflected the warmth of the sun. Gennie observed his new wrinkles and sun spots, and many old stems that grew on his fingers and thumbs. There was some dirt under his nails, a habit definately developed from his tumultuous and unkept boyhood. She noted with herself to sit her husband down later to clean them. She took any oportunity to hold his hands.

Those hands gave her security and comfort, but expressed the words a broken boy couldnt express. A past unknown to him, and a future he chose as a stranger to himself. But he had accepted his path and became the voice for others when time was needed, putting everything else behind him. She admired that about him, as her past was as well extremely peculiar to her. Everything everywhere happened for a long time, but life began once they met and decided to share it together.

She wondered if any artist would possibly be able to paint his hands. She looked closely and noted that the shadows of his hands were not blackish as expected, but a hue of blue. As a matter of fact, with these new attention lenses she had on, she noticed his skin had hues of green too. Her years of royal etiquette, especially in make up, had told her he was warm toned. This means he looks good in warm and autumn-like colors.

‘No wonder he looks so good next to the sun’ She thought.

Viktor looked at her for a second, his light brown eyes shining with the sun as well, becoming honey in color. He smiled at her thought. She returned his smile, and they both placed their eyes on the tall grass again, Viktor continuing his action and Gennie continuing an admirer.

She had studied the gods and their creation, the humans and their art. Beautiful paintings and scultpures were scattered across the Golden palace of her childhood, beautiful sights to any individual. But to her, her husbands hands cutting down some grass for medicine, or some flowers to make flower crowns could also be considered artful creations.If art is a cult vouching for one man’s creation, why can’t her husband’s work for survival be considered a creation for itself? An art piece. He picked from his environment and made the best he could with it. She definately vouched for anything he did. Hunt, fish, forge, build, cooked, planned, all of it art in her eyes, for he had grown a broken boy conquering adversity while sitting with his pain.

Genevieve heard her grandchildren scream in the distance, bringing her back from her mind. Her eyes watched the house and the children running. All of that was their creation. An art piece carefully built from both of them.

Thinking of these creations, sometimes, caused different thoughts to cross her mind. 33 years ago, she had defeated the Matriarch Goddess effortlessly with her powers. The mother goddess had only kept a hope to control the regimen while she could, because even she, the mother of gods, understood that there is always someone stronger. But no one expected a mute human to be that person.

During that fight, an impeccable battle was expected. However, the two women, a mute and a mother goddess, conversed a lot. The Matriarch Goddess exposed Genevieve in her true skin, something she herself hadnt realised before.The doctrine imbedded in the world’s mind, the mindless followers of the gods that caused the restraints on critical thinking and human rights. Genevieve was the image of the saviour who was going to put a stop into it all, the saviour of freedom.

The Matriarch Goddess told her that had Genevieve not been born with those wishes and morals true to her heart, she wouldnt have freed anyone. That if she had grown into a sour representation of a forgotten queen, she would have flattened the world. Since she was the bigger fish, her wishes were now the reality of humanity, just like the gods. The procession she and the rest of humanity had made was another illusion created by the next most powerful entity.

Genevieve, shocked by the perspective, laughed. And she kept laughing as she tore apart the Matriarch Goddess’s body, now available to touch in her own realm because of Genevieve’s powers. As she didn’t know how to kill a goddess, she compromised by eating her heart. She didnt mind her existence inside of her forever, for she knew that the Matriarch Mother would be quiet.

There was a truth. Genevieve had been on a lost journey, abandoned and teared apart. When she rose up again, she had thought this liberty mission in the name of the ones she was fond of was a good reason for her future actions. But murdering the gods was her only wish. Especially Mother Goddess.

And if she had felt like trampling the rest of humanity, she would have.

Was the love she is able to bear for others born with her? Or nurtured by the rare individuals who showed the bright side of the sun to her? She was not sure. But she knew she would have killed everyone is she wanted it, and she didnt feel guilty anymore. If anyone was strong enough, they would do it too. Now, she didnt take pleasure in telling people to praise her for being humane. No one besides her husband knew of her actual selfish reasons.

Accepting herself like this, she calls it self-love.

But those were different times. She chose to live as a normal human. So now her next creation wasn’t genocide, it would be an apple pie for dinner, before the next strongest entity would make it impossible for her.