Fiction: A Creation Myth

WARNING: This post contains adult language. If you are sensitive to profane language, please skip this post. This is a story written for a fiction workshop, later edited for my Fiction Writing I class at SCAD. It is cynical. You have been warned.


Ian Kingsley was not conceived out of love. He was never planned; he was never wanted. The most appropriate way to explain how Ian came to be was to say that his parents fucked.

Raised by a variety of housekeepers and babysitters, his mind hadn’t formed quite right. He didn’t like animals like other children. Some important part of him was missing, though none but Ian and God knew it. Maybe it was his soul.

The seventeen year old boy always dressed well. He wore black slacks and a green collared shirt to the beach. His feet were clad in flame boots he’d stolen from a passed-out Goth kid at the party he’d just left.

Ian passed the sea grass and stepped over a sagging span of short fence. It was tied together with some sort of wire. The sun had just set out of sight, lending warm glow to the gray sky. These late summer sunsets were the best. People used them as an excuse to get drunk before they could even see the moon.

Ian paused and walked over to the tall sea grass to take a piss. He shook himself off and zipped up, continuing on in the dark. He couldn’t care less if anyone saw him. He passed a tipped over trash can and pulled a black pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. The flavoured smoke burnt his lungs. The sky darkened.

A few couples walked along the shore. Some held hands, some stopped to touch each other’s faces as the tide brushed their ankles. It made Ian sick with sentimentality. He bet that at least one out of every couple he saw was screwing around on the side. Long walks on the beach were for personal ads posted by guys who were desperate to get laid. Nobody was ever that sincere. At least, Ian knew, he wasn’t.

When he could no longer see where he’d parked his car, he stopped. Yards ahead sat a girl, probably his age. He heard laughter in the dark. Her friends. Ian sat beside her and his eyes fell on a half empty tequila bottle. He gestured towards it.

She didn’t say anything, just nodded. Ian took a gulp from the bottle and examined it to see if he could find the worm. Satisfied that she must have drunk it already, he set the bottle back in the sand. The girl leaned her head on his shoulder. She was far too gone to wonder who he was.
Ian watched her for a minute before picking up her head and pressing his lips to her neck. She wouldn’t protest. She wouldn’t even remember him. Another child would be fucked into creation.