We gathered it. We gathered it all. Or as much as we could muster. I put all I had into it. My entire life went towards filling that void. Yet it remained an empty table. Worn, homely, wooden it would look right near the hearth of any of us. It’s planks full of grooves and chips, the paint long gone, but it was clear someone had once used a table. Or one like it. And yet the gods had placed it before us asking for more.
The table consumed all we placed upon it. Never in a devourous rage. Things simply disappeared. A rune sat there, balanced delicate on the edge and then it was no more. We could not see what happened. We only knew that the table offered us a means of serving the gods.
We were afraid. I can say that now. We never asked which of the gods we collected for. Nor what we should get in return. Awe, fear, vanity all drove us to serve. To offer more. To accept what was before us. And forgo any questions, let alone demands.
Then one brought a child.
We dared not ask who’s. And that child was placed upon the table.
I, I did nothing to stop it.
And the table took it, as was its want.
I looked for some sign, some clarity in the wilds around our shrine that the gods will had been done. That they’d accepted what we had gathered for them/
I saw none.
And so I left.
Today’s art is courtesy of Tomas Honz from Prague, Czech Republic.