Sringara

There is a way to save a life.
A husband.
A friend.
A grandmother who has never forgotten a single birthday.

There is a way to save any life.
But no one has done it before.
Many have tried, but no one has been able to do it before.

The Gods have lived a long life and the price of a immortality is apathy.
They have experienced every wonderful thing that ever was or ever will be, and they have gotten bored. The gods, callous and crafty as they are, hang out near places where they are most likely to be needed.
Casinos.
Libraries.
Hospitals.

They roam the hallways, and wait for the most beautiful sound in the world.
A cry.
A whimper.
Even a sob.
The tears of mortals taste to the Gods as delectable as nectar. The nectar that keeps the Gods immortal is but the tears of mortals.

The Gods, diabolic and devious as they are, do not reveal their true form to anybody. So they come to you in the guise of someone you would expect to have the answers you are looking for.
A drunk old man in the bar next to you.
A librarian.
A middle-aged woman with jet-black hair and earrings made of feathers.

There is a way to save a life, she whispers to you in a voice as placid as the rising sun.
But are you willing to do what is required?, she posits to you in a voice as inquisitive as a newly adopted kitten.

She waits patiently by your side, her hands on her hips.
The carrot dangled, she waits for you to say yes so she can brandish the stick.
She waits for your eyes to light up in hope.
She waits for your mind to process what it has heard.
She waits for you to realize that the one prayer you ever had has been answered.
She waits for you to fall to your knees, and thank the Gods for their kindness.
This is the only thing that never stops being wonderful.
The hunted praying to the hunter for mercy. The prey seeking solace in the arms of the predator.

All you have to do is take the life you want to save, she says to you in a voice as polished as iron. You take the life you want to save over and over again. Every way you can imagine. You close your eyes, she says, and you imagine taking their life.

She smiles. She licks her lips. Blood-red lips for the blood-thirsty Gods. You imagine taking their life with such certainty that it will be impossible for you to believe that they are not dead.
You imagine stabbing them till your hands are wet with blood.
You imagine drowning them in the sea till you can smell the salt,
You imagine throwing them off a cliff till you will never be able to hear another thudd without being reminded of them.
You imagine poisoning them. Burning them.
You imagine their plane crashing. You imagine yourself driving the car that runs them over
And on.
And on.
The gods have been alive for too long and they have had time to come up with every day to kill a human. Do all this, she says in a voice as angry as the ocean in storm, and I’ll save the life you want.

You barely get the first word out before she raises a hand, terrible and divine.
Many have tried before, but no one has been able to do it. You can save their life, but only their life. They will live if you do this, but you will be dead to them.

So are you willing to do it? Will you do it? She almost says please, but then she stops herself. Her mouth opens like the red sea before Moses and white-hot teeth flare out. Eager and curious.
You barely nod your head yes and her voice is suddenly different, stripped of all facades. You hear the voice of the Gods now, the true voice of the Gods full of scorn and gloat. She laughs the enormous belly laughter of the Gods, thunderous and mocking. The laugh of a Being full of deceit and conniving.

You fool, she says, you should not have accepted the offer.
You fool, she says, you have saved a life but at what cost?
You fool, she vaunts, you humans are not that smart after all. You have given away too much for too little.

The god, immortal and imaginative as they are, have forgotten the most basic thing about being mortal. About being human.
That in life, there is hope.
That in hope, there is love.
And in love, there is life.

The Gods, cruel and callous as they are, cannot imagine why anyone would choose to save someone at a detriment to themselves. The gods, devious and diabolic as they are, do not understand the first thing about love. They have never had to give anything unconditionally. They have never received anything unconditionally.
It is not their fault. Please do not blame them for this.

The Gods cannot understand that loving someone doesn’t mean just loving them until death do us part.
But rather, through the death. Theirs or your own.

This is the part that the Gods can never get about us humans. That just because we no longer have something in the future, it doesn’t mean we never had it in the past. That our future miseries do not retroactively tarnish our past joys. ‘

And a thing of joy once is a thing of joy forever. Even if it is not with us anymore.