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Description
Chaos; the ancient Greeks had believed that the world itself was derived from such a force.  Throughout time and history, the world was shown to have fallen victim to it over and over again.

Until its inhabitants could counter its unpredictability with order and law and right reason.  By such devices, they saved themselves from a burning death at the  hands of random luck.

And so Chaos was separated from Order; ripped from his side and sent spiraling to the ground to wait for mistakes to be made by the people who seemed so covetous of him, however unconscious such coveting should be.

Occasionally the two would meet.  Occasionally, they would find the bridge that separated them and they would cross it in the hopes of subduing the other.

Their encounters would always be the same, too.  Always, every time, Chaos would approach Order - like a snake he would be, crawling up to highborn Order, golden eyes glinting as he tried for disorder and death yet again - and he would smile.  He would smile that same smile every time, and he would stroke the white cheek of the fiery youth who held truth and being in his hands, protected them with all his might.

"Join me," he would say. "Become one with me, as we once were.  Then we can have everything, and this - our War - will be over."  And Order would look at him with burning red eyes - eyes that could scorch with righteous rage or warm with gentle goodness - and he would smile back and he would say, "But you can't be at peace.  You can never be at peace; you are Chaos."  And he would step back, holding out his hand, taunting, teasing the long starved Chaos with his vivacity, his youth, his existence.

Chaos would growl and lick his lips, wanting to - needing to - have that Order to balance him, to weigh against him, for without it, he was nothing.  Without it, he was nothing but an antithesis.

For it was not so simple as being just Order and Chaos.  No, they were more than that.  They were Truth and Untruth, Being and Not-being, Right and Wrong.  All in the most literal, the most abstract, the most confusing, and the simplest sense.

And Chaos would try again.  His golden eyes would flash and Death would ride on the wings of Night and Darkness, screams of agony following in his wake.  And Chaos would step closer, holding his hand out, reaching and grasping.

"Do not tease me so," he would admonish, speaking as a parent to his child. "Such behavior cuts me far deeper than you can imagine."  Order would drop his hand and stop his retreat.  His burning eyes would hold the glittering ones and he would say nothing.  Chaos would take a step closer, longing still for that Order.

"Please do not deny me this," he would say.  Somewhere up above him, a man was beating his wife.

Order would move his head once to the left, then to the right, and then he would sigh, "I do."  Somewhere down below him, a man was making love to his wife.

Chaos would halt and time would still between them.  They would look at each other, first harshly, then softly, then blankly.  And all around them, a moment of peace would be, a moment of true peace and character.

But then, Chaos would turn and go away, leaving in his wake death and destruction and imagination.  And Order would turn and glide away, leaving in his wake life and creation and reality.

And the world would sigh until next they met.

Life would continue and people would be born of Order's decision and then would die by Chaos' hand.

Now, this day, again, they found their shared bridge, and they crossed, once again, never expecting to see one another until the sight of the other's face greeted their eyes.

Order continued as he always did, right to the center of the bridge, and he lay his hand on the banister, shaming it with his beauty.

But Chaos had stopped, stopped and looked directly at that hand as it lay there on that banister and he sighed, low and mournful.  Nothing happened.  He took a step closer to Order, but nothing happened.  He reached out to Order, still nothing.  His golden eyes wept without tears and he took a step back.  Order lifted his hand and reached blindly forward.

"Where are you?" he asked to the blank darkness before him. "Why can I not see you today as I have always done?"  All around him, life was good and happy and perfect.  People were born, no one died, and none were ever angry with themselves or their loved ones.  The sun shone and the birds sang.  The weeping willow straightened its trunk and stood proud by the lakeside, providing shade for the beautiful children who ran and played beneath it.

Chaos shrank back into his nothingness, eyes on that hand still.

"I am not here," he replied. "I never was here, never before.  Even now you cannot hear me, cannot hear my call to you, and will never see me again."  Standing before him, Order's eyes grew wide and the righteous fire about him began to dwindle and fade, for nothing was wrong in the world that needed to be righted.

It was as though he heard the low whisper of defeat, the murmur of submission, and the admission of emptiness, for he moved and stumbled in his confusion.

"What?" he called. "I didn't hear you.  Yet I know you tried to speak to me, where are you?"  Even as he moved forward, towards the unpredictable Chaos, the bridge came to an end and fell abruptly from the nonexistent world of Chaos to the very real, very tangible world of Order.

Chaos waited, waited silently for Order to turn and glide away, glide back to the sky and light of the world, but the Force of Being could not see him and was frightened by it, so he did not turn, he did not leave.

For centuries, they remained there, like that, in that very limbo; unsure, afraid, and completely and totally at the will of Chaos.

Until one day, on the earth that was so blindingly beautiful, one lone boy, one child, found it in himself to question this world in which he lived; dared to imagine a life without the perfection he had come to know so well and so thoroughly.  And, in that fantasy, in that untrue thought of what might have been, the bridge was reformed, and Chaos was remade.

Feeling the splintered wood beneath his feet, and feeling the fire around him crackle and hiss back into life, he surged forward - taking with him disquiet and discord and disorder - and he reached out to Order.

And Order, seeing him reach, was moved to action as well; flying forward with peace and happiness and perfection; stretching his hand as far as it would go towards Chaos.

They met in the middle of the bridge, and together, they created harmony.  And in their most unusual embrace, there was character, in times of peace and war.  Boys became men with dreams of fame or love and girls became women with practical logic and wild fantastical minds.

Chaos would never know how long he stood at that very bridge, curling his arms tightly around Order, proclaiming to him, "Do you see?  I was right.  We have everything, now we are together."  And Order looked up at him with those burning eyes - burning with completion, satisfaction, love - and smiled.  He would never know how long he stood there with his eyes so wide and adoring.

"Everything and nothing," he responded.  And Chaos smiled back at him, as they pulled away to return to their places.

They never met on that bridge again, but it remained, a symbol of their union, and the very first thing of the world that they had ever shared with one another.

So the world turned onward, as though they had never joined, never parted, never joined again.  Her people continued to live their lives and dream their dreams, not knowing the always constant always absent presence of Chaos and Order.

Fin

Description
Chaos; the ancient Greeks had believed that the world itself was derived from such a force.  Throughout time and history, the world was shown to have fallen victim to it over and over again.

Until its inhabitants could counter its unpredictability with order and law and right reason.  By such devices, they saved themselves from a burning death at the  hands of random luck.

And so Chaos was separated from Order; ripped from his side and sent spiraling to the ground to wait for mistakes to be made by the people who seemed so covetous of him, however unconscious such coveting should be.

Occasionally the two would meet.  Occasionally, they would find the bridge that separated them and they would cross it in the hopes of subduing the other.

Their encounters would always be the same, too.  Always, every time, Chaos would approach Order - like a snake he would be, crawling up to highborn Order, golden eyes glinting as he tried for disorder and death yet again - and he would smile.  He would smile that same smile every time, and he would stroke the white cheek of the fiery youth who held truth and being in his hands, protected them with all his might.

"Join me," he would say. "Become one with me, as we once were.  Then we can have everything, and this - our War - will be over."  And Order would look at him with burning red eyes - eyes that could scorch with righteous rage or warm with gentle goodness - and he would smile back and he would say, "But you can't be at peace.  You can never be at peace; you are Chaos."  And he would step back, holding out his hand, taunting, teasing the long starved Chaos with his vivacity, his youth, his existence.

Chaos would growl and lick his lips, wanting to - needing to - have that Order to balance him, to weigh against him, for without it, he was nothing.  Without it, he was nothing but an antithesis.

For it was not so simple as being just Order and Chaos.  No, they were more than that.  They were Truth and Untruth, Being and Not-being, Right and Wrong.  All in the most literal, the most abstract, the most confusing, and the simplest sense.

And Chaos would try again.  His golden eyes would flash and Death would ride on the wings of Night and Darkness, screams of agony following in his wake.  And Chaos would step closer, holding his hand out, reaching and grasping.

"Do not tease me so," he would admonish, speaking as a parent to his child. "Such behavior cuts me far deeper than you can imagine."  Order would drop his hand and stop his retreat.  His burning eyes would hold the glittering ones and he would say nothing.  Chaos would take a step closer, longing still for that Order.

"Please do not deny me this," he would say.  Somewhere up above him, a man was beating his wife.

Order would move his head once to the left, then to the right, and then he would sigh, "I do."  Somewhere down below him, a man was making love to his wife.

Chaos would halt and time would still between them.  They would look at each other, first harshly, then softly, then blankly.  And all around them, a moment of peace would be, a moment of true peace and character.

But then, Chaos would turn and go away, leaving in his wake death and destruction and imagination.  And Order would turn and glide away, leaving in his wake life and creation and reality.

And the world would sigh until next they met.

Life would continue and people would be born of Order's decision and then would die by Chaos' hand.

Now, this day, again, they found their shared bridge, and they crossed, once again, never expecting to see one another until the sight of the other's face greeted their eyes.

Order continued as he always did, right to the center of the bridge, and he lay his hand on the banister, shaming it with his beauty.

But Chaos had stopped, stopped and looked directly at that hand as it lay there on that banister and he sighed, low and mournful.  Nothing happened.  He took a step closer to Order, but nothing happened.  He reached out to Order, still nothing.  His golden eyes wept without tears and he took a step back.  Order lifted his hand and reached blindly forward.

"Where are you?" he asked to the blank darkness before him. "Why can I not see you today as I have always done?"  All around him, life was good and happy and perfect.  People were born, no one died, and none were ever angry with themselves or their loved ones.  The sun shone and the birds sang.  The weeping willow straightened its trunk and stood proud by the lakeside, providing shade for the beautiful children who ran and played beneath it.

Chaos shrank back into his nothingness, eyes on that hand still.

"I am not here," he replied. "I never was here, never before.  Even now you cannot hear me, cannot hear my call to you, and will never see me again."  Standing before him, Order's eyes grew wide and the righteous fire about him began to dwindle and fade, for nothing was wrong in the world that needed to be righted.

It was as though he heard the low whisper of defeat, the murmur of submission, and the admission of emptiness, for he moved and stumbled in his confusion.

"What?" he called. "I didn't hear you.  Yet I know you tried to speak to me, where are you?"  Even as he moved forward, towards the unpredictable Chaos, the bridge came to an end and fell abruptly from the nonexistent world of Chaos to the very real, very tangible world of Order.

Chaos waited, waited silently for Order to turn and glide away, glide back to the sky and light of the world, but the Force of Being could not see him and was frightened by it, so he did not turn, he did not leave.

For centuries, they remained there, like that, in that very limbo; unsure, afraid, and completely and totally at the will of Chaos.

Until one day, on the earth that was so blindingly beautiful, one lone boy, one child, found it in himself to question this world in which he lived; dared to imagine a life without the perfection he had come to know so well and so thoroughly.  And, in that fantasy, in that untrue thought of what might have been, the bridge was reformed, and Chaos was remade.

Feeling the splintered wood beneath his feet, and feeling the fire around him crackle and hiss back into life, he surged forward - taking with him disquiet and discord and disorder - and he reached out to Order.

And Order, seeing him reach, was moved to action as well; flying forward with peace and happiness and perfection; stretching his hand as far as it would go towards Chaos.

They met in the middle of the bridge, and together, they created harmony.  And in their most unusual embrace, there was character, in times of peace and war.  Boys became men with dreams of fame or love and girls became women with practical logic and wild fantastical minds.

Chaos would never know how long he stood at that very bridge, curling his arms tightly around Order, proclaiming to him, "Do you see?  I was right.  We have everything, now we are together."  And Order looked up at him with those burning eyes - burning with completion, satisfaction, love - and smiled.  He would never know how long he stood there with his eyes so wide and adoring.

"Everything and nothing," he responded.  And Chaos smiled back at him, as they pulled away to return to their places.

They never met on that bridge again, but it remained, a symbol of their union, and the very first thing of the world that they had ever shared with one another.

So the world turned onward, as though they had never joined, never parted, never joined again.  Her people continued to live their lives and dream their dreams, not knowing the always constant always absent presence of Chaos and Order.

Fin