Elion

It did not remember when it appeared. Did not remember – and that was that. Time did not yet know how to tick, there was nothing to measure seconds with, and it was already hiding in the folds of darkness that had not been given a name. It was not born – it simply was. Like the heat of decay, like a hum in an empty shell. The first living lumps trembled in the cooling water. They did not know what they were afraid of, but fear was already sloshing in their tiny cells. It pressed itself to that fear, drew it in – and for the first time felt a taste. Not sharp, not sweet – just warm, like milk. It wanted more. From then on, everything that could fear fed it. Fish crawling ashore trembled before birds. Birds – before the night. People – before everything at once: thunder, hunger, the silence in a house where someone had died. It drank that fear tirelessly, but never grew full. Only grew. When the atom was first split, it shuddered with delight – such concentrated panic had never existed. People had learned to fear the whole future. It was a feast. But then fears became petty, routine: work, money, quarrels, loneliness. There was enough nourishment, but the flavour faded. It grew bored. It needed a game. In one of the galaxies, at the edge of a spiral arm, spun a planet full of creatures who were afraid even of what did not exist – invented monsters. It reached out there. It chose a place for a long time, sampled the air. And then it fell. A small town in the backwoods of a state, the Fourth of July, fireworks and the smell of grilled meat. No one noticed the meteorite because the sky was already crackling with lights. Only four children, tired of the celebration, slipped into the woods and saw a green streak drawn between the pines. It was waiting for them. Not because they were special. Simply because they came first.