When red bled...

The rich red bled into the coconut souffle white only to be caught by a dull gold studded chain that went winding all around the ample waist of the statue. I don't know what it was, who put it there, when or why. All that I know is that they were beautiful...three huge statues...gleaming white porcelain with splashes of red and gold. They looked radiant under the dancing shadows of the towering leafy avenue trees. They illuminated the little corner of the street they occupied. Don't know why, but on the wayside, on the cold brown gravel they simply didn't look out of place. I don't think they would have looked out of place anywhere, anytime...for a thing of beauty is a joy forever, right? Wrong.

One evening, as the sun was setting over the island rain forest, streaking the heavens with gorgeous dollops of raging reds, yellows and oranges, Intolerance came raging down the street, her veil flying behind her. She picked up the largest figure...and smashed it against the roughly-hewed brown gravel. It didn't break. She swore. Hurled it, again, and again...a deep gash snaked its way up the cool white porcelain...the red splashed onto the black tarred road and the gray smeared gutter...finally...it lay broken in a million little pieces of sparkling white, red and gold, the sunlight glinting off the shattered innards of the porcelain. Intolerance smiled smugly and walked back to her accomplice, waiting at the street corner. Smiles were exchanged and they went about their different ways.

Who cares whether the porcelain Gods were of Chinese, Indian or Malay origins? Does God have an ethnic origin, anyway? As long as people shut themselves up in imagined little silos with their own little versions of the One and Only, I suppose Intolerance will get the better of them...slashing statues, spirits and souls...