(WP) Pleas to Mother Earth

(WP) Pleas to Mother Earth

               “Please, Earth Mother, we beg you! You must stop your children before they wreak any more destruction!”

               In the throne room of Mother Earth, several groups of alien races were crowded, their languages mingling together like so many different pieces of music.

               They all hated each other, and that was common knowledge. But they were all united in their hatred for the children of Mother Earth. Smooth, hairless, boorish beings were they, and they didn’t care about anyone else in all the galaxy.

Their only focus was their own advancement and destruction. And everyone in the galaxy was not happy with them, or the being that had begotten them.

For her part, Mother Earth sat on her throne, clothed in a flowing gown of churning ocean water, smirking silently. Her long hair was as brown and rich as the earth’s soil, and her eyes flitted between blue and green and back again, and they were unreadable, old and ageless all at once. She waved a hand, and silence descended upon the crowd.

One brave alien stepped forward, though she kept her eyes cast down.

“Mother Earth, you are one of the most powerful beings in the universe, and as such, we all respect you. We also know that your children, the beings who dwell on your planet, are your greatest creation.”

There was a tense, pregnant pause, then the speaker took a deep breath, soldiering on.

“However, it is at the expense of everything, and everyone, else in the universe, that they continue such, reckless, wretched behavior. We do not wish to start intergalactic war, and as such, we ask you, O Great One, to intervene on our behalf.”

Mother Earth looked down at the speaker, lips peeling back from her teeth in a snarl.

“I only created the planet and what life lives upon it,” said she, shrugging slim shoulders.

“I do not control it. I only gave them free will.”

The crowd began to hiss and boo at this unsatisfactory, blasé answer. They’d come all the way here for help, not to be taught a lesson in philosophy.

“But they won’t listen to any of us!” Someone cried, their voice rising above the roar of the crowd. “It is your responsibility to bring them to heel!”

Another alien, this one resembling an Earth ocean octopus, slithered forward to draw level with the first speaker, tentacles making a wet sucking sound on the tiled floor.

“We aren’t asking you to destroy them entirely, O Great One. Only to make certain they know the consequences of their actions.”

“And what, pray tell, would you have me do? Drown them all, as in olden times? I may have aged, but I’m no barbarian.” The goddess’s tone was indignant, thick with hurt, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “What you suggest is slaughter.”

“What difference would it make?” Someone spat. “Perhaps they deserve it after all of this time. We should go after them! Make them pay for all the blood they’ve shed of our peoples!”

A quiet roar began to overwhelm the room, and Mother Earth winced.

“Either you intercede, or we do!” Someone called over the din, to much applause.

**