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OUR GODS ARE WIRES

from TRUE BELIEVERS by SCRIMSHAW CARVER

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We met the tribe as we marched. They offered us broken screens and fried hardware. Begged us to tell them about the machines of our homeland. They menaced us with motherboard blades and spears tipped with old technology, sharpened to far too many points. Under their silicone-laced masks, they chanted one thing, over and over, and it became a ferocious shout. They were not afraid. So we sat with them to avoid their wrath, and we regaled them with our tales.

We told them of the storm, of the Carver, and the perils we had faced in our crusade. We warned them of the perils that still followed us, the ones that even the storm could not purify, the ones that the Carver stared down unrelentingly in their passing but could not touch. We placed our hands upon their shuddering shoulders and pressed our heads to their masks. Our eyes met theirs and saw only fear.

At the end of our stories, the tribe fled, weeping. They did not know which way to run. Some fled to the ocean, and the Siren whispered her lullabies into their ears as they sank. Scattered across the island, none thought to follow us toward salvation, toward the storm.

I would not be saved.

The Carver awaited.

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OUR GODS ARE WIRES
IN THE CIRCUIT WE CRAWL

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from TRUE BELIEVERS, released December 11, 2017

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SCRIMSHAW CARVER Portland, Oregon

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