His God is the Sun

AUTHORS NOTE: CONTAINS SUBSTANCE ABUSE AND CONTENT OF A SEXUAL NATURE

His God is the Sun 

Stage 1 Sensitisation – Contact with Allergen

It was a turbulent Thursday night when he first met the sun. A temperate night on all accounts but his own (a cold disaster of a night for him personally). The sun was staring at the moon, and he was staring at the floor, fuelled by schnapps and cocaine. On his knees, the content of his night laid bare on the ground of a parking lot, like a night-market witchdoctor spreading her bones, beads and memorabilia on her animal skin, in an attempt to sell the future to a naive believer.

He was perhaps at his lowest, and she was at her most confused. She had a compassionate heart and he had an open mind when he first felt the sun on his skin. She touched his hand and said something inaudible. When you first hear the sun speak do not expect to understand. He definitely did not. The sun willed him up by his dirty jacket and spoke in the most celestial voice. “Where are your friends?” asked the sun, dispassionately and without disdain. The sun loves to speak in questions, and loves to answer them on her own time. At your lowest your only friends are demons. He wiped his dirty mouth with the back of his jean jacket and said, “I don’t know”, but he knew that he could not allow the demons to speak to the sun. Demons don’t like the light, you see. Embarrassed, her ran.

Stage 2: Early Phase – Re-Exposed to Allergen

The days grew shorter as the sun had become quite elusive. He still lived in the cold, however, the rock he met at the bottom was not a very good host and his mind was made up about moving on. Color slowly returned to his face as he greeted the day with a pursed lip rather than a frown. Smiling was yet a pipe dream.

The library was packed with people thirsty for knowledge. Some of the scholars thought they were smart, and others knew the truth, but sought answers none the less. He was the latter. “Still wearing that jacket?” He was not sure whether any of the epistemophiles understood what she said, as the sun has a different way with words. He simply smiled and reverted to small talk about books and tales and how much she reminded him of a simple flower (only later realising he compared her to a weed). Silently, he wished that he had burnt that fucking jean jacket the first chance he got.

The sun talked, and he listened. He corrected her once, and realised swiftly that she does not need correction, she simply required that he clear the clouds so that she may shine. 

He fought clouds for days on end, forgetting the lows of the previous month. The sun was smiling and he was happy with the sun.

- - - -

It was a Friday evening when he first stared directly into the sun. They drank cheap Spanish wine, danced and laughed and almost fought. She stood in front of his bed - he was certain that his eyes were not meant to behold such beautiful lines – as she dropped the last piece of garment. It did not take long for him to understand why the ancients worshipped the sun. He made a covenant. A covenant with her body. A covenant with her soul, and a covenant with his own.

He laid there, breathless and wide-eyed. The sun in blissful sleep. “She will be mine and mine alone” he thought, eclipsed by the moment, as he watched a bead of sweat run down her face like a tear.

Stage 3: Late Phase – Allergic Response

If you can find a way to harvest the power of the sun you will be immortal. A mere man cannot contain the sun. Angrily waiting for a response, the sun had remained anonymous for three days. Withering, he wandered aimlessly only to witness the sun shining on others, sharing her light, as the sun does.

“You are a bit intense” was the explanation.

The sun was lost to him as he sought the comfort of rock bottom again. A familiar path on his way to his familiar friends.

- - - -

Weeks had possibly gone by – an impossible determination considering the sun would need to speed overhead and set in the West to account for a day – only for him to again seek answers in the confines of the library.

A complex mixture of florals wafted past him. A blend of Rose, Ylang-ylang, Lily of the valley and Jasmine, textured over a warm woody base which included sandalwood, vanilla and amber. His throat closed up, almost chocking him. Had the sun made her presence known without warning? Anxiously he looked around only to find a shy, glass-eyed freshman browsing the book selection next to him. “Fuck off” he shouted, receiving a sharp hiss from the librarian. How dare she imitate the sun? She almost killed him.

How potent, a simple reminder of her scent, instantly slowing his heartbeat to a dangerous pace and clearing the air from his lungs.

- - - -

It was a Monday morning, when the diagnosis was confirmed. He was, without any doubt of the mind, allergic to sunlight. He flew to close to the sun, scorching his wings in a busy hallway filled with students making their way to class. Unexpectedly they made direct eye contact. The light shot through the windows of her soul, and froze him in time and space. She quickly shut her eyes, directing her sight elsewhere, purposefully not acknowledging his gaze. The look, yet familiar, felt like poison on his cheeks as his face heated up to a deep claret. 

He cowered. 

Unmoved, the sun continued to shine on everyone but him. 

Some might have considered her actions selfish, yet they simply don’t understand the sun. Not everyone can understand the sun like he can. She knew that his hypersensitivity to her rays, will kill him. Unselfishly she spared him and saved him yet again. The sun is the lord and, for now, he simply is not worthy. He will have to gather himself and persist. 

He loves the sun, and he will make her love him, even if it kills him.

END