[Written in my teens. Can’t remember when exactly.]

I spoke, and my voice echoed with resonance and power.

“Let there be light,” I said, and with a single upward movement of my hand, there was light, bright and warm and beautiful. I smiled and said, “It is good.”

But I had just begun.

“Let there be water,” I said, and with a single turn of my hand, there was water, rushing and powerful and wide. I smiled and said, “It is good.”

I was not even halfway through, yet. I lifted up my hands to prepare for the next step.

“Let there be land,” I said, and I lifted one of my hands higher and slowly turned it. White snow-like substance fell from above, gently, onto the palm of my lower hand. Steadily, it fell, and eight white mountains began to form. As they grew, they formed a circular range with a deep valley in the center. I lowered my hand and smiled.

“It is good.”

Then a great pounding like thunder sounded and resounded in my ears. I turned my head.

“Yes?”

A female voice called through the barrier between the heavens and my new creation, harsh and angry.

“Are you done yet?”

Eve.

“No,” I told her. “I am not done yet.”

“Well, hurry up then. I want to get in there.”

I frowned. “I’m not done, Eve.”

“Well, get done,” Eve commanded. “Or I’ll bust through this door and make you sorry you ever laid eyes on me.”

“For God’s sake! I’m coming,” I called. With infinite patience, I stopped the flow of water.

“And,” Eve added, “I better not catch you playing with my talcum powder this time.”

I looked at the snow white mountains in my hand, now ruined, and sighed. Then, with a shrug, I rubbed the powder on my skin. Darn Eve anyway.

I hate having a big sister in a house with only one bathroom.

Copyright © mid-1980s to 2006 by April Martinez

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