text: Throughout the annals of history, many facts are long forgotten, or were never recorded at all. This can be very accurate when regarding the time us humans were only lurking in caves. Though it is quite unfortunate to think so, there are many tales of hardships in every corner of the world never going to be told. Cultures, traditions, sunk by the rising tide. Deities and beliefs comprise a major portion of these old bygones. One deity, an old deity, the first deity, was forgotten almost sixty thousand years ago in the lands of Eastern Europe. Yes, the first god. No name was given for him; people of this time had no use of names yet. Our first ever belief of a higher power, conjured up in some tiny village. It was near the beginning of winter. His village of worshippers had yet to supply enough for the season. They couldn’t hunt animals; it wasn’t the way he taught them. They were farmers, not slaughterers. So, his people, despite the dire consequences that’ll develop, will only eat the supplies of vegetation they could gather in time before winter. Many kept their hopes up, believing their god will help them in their inevitable struggle in the snow, but some in their community had their doubts. Winter came, and the harsh storms targeted their village. They snuggled inside their huts. The outside was now a trap of white blindness and frost they couldn’t enter. The people stayed in their beds, resting and eating whatever food that was supplied to them. That was their regular routine during all this season: waking, eating, then sleeping. One girl from the village woke up early. She yawned and grabbed inside the nearest basket of rations she’s had for store, and felt nothing. It was empty. She looked inside other baskets, but like that one, they had nothing inside. She had to think of a plan, so she wore the cloths of her bed around her, and headed out in the blizzard. She approached the home of her neighbors, asking for any bit of leftovers they might have. But they had nothing, just like her. For the sake of the neighbors’ child, they joined her into asking people from other homes. Once again, the next huts had no food. The entire village had nothing, they would all find out. Two months and the villagers consumed the remaining batches of provisions. Yet, the people remained vigilant, for their beloved god. But their vigilance in this belief would only further their desperation. Days and days went by. Their methods growing increasingly hopeless. Without a healthy source of food, people from the village usually had to go outside and pick anything edible from bushes and trees. Sometimes, they went outside and picked out the grass from the snow and swallow it. Other times, they’d actually swallow the snow itself. Ingesting this snow would be their main cause of sickness. They were hungry before, now they were starving. One man from the village reserved most of his meals for his younger brothers and sisters during the initial winter. He was now a pale, hungering sight of a man by the end of it. He lied motionless on his bed, he seemed almost dead. His eyes were shutting. He was using up any might he had left in his system to fight off the darkness encumbering him, but without anything to bite, sooner or later, he will pass. His siblings sob by the bedside, and meanwhile, a snow rabbit appears on their doorstep. An idea lighted up in their heads. They grab the rabbit by the neck, and look around for a pointy stick. They stabbed the rabbit in its forehead, and offered it to their dying brother. He was horrified by what he saw. At first, he refused to do such a blasphemous thing in front of what they cared so much for, a divinity whose enlightening practices made them such a wonderful and civilized people in his eyes. But the man feels the burning, excruciating pain of desire and hunger. Whether he liked it or not, or whether his god liked it or not, he had to consume the rabbit, for his own survival. He held the rabbit gently, as respect for the innocent little life his siblings took, then he munches on the rabbit like a savage with his bare teeth. From this one moment hinging on his life, he broke the codes his god applied. From a spark of miracle, perhaps from their own deity, the blizzard storm slowly but gradually waned down. It was still not a suitable terrain for farming, but it was suitable for hunting. They had to act quickly. They were no time for debating. This was the only chance they’ll get to make it through the winter. There’s no telling when the blizzard will strike again. The men, women, children, and even the elderly grabbed spears, rocks, and anything remotely resembling a weapon and moved out. They butchered every living creature stumbling in their way: rabbits, racoons, foxes, fishes, birds, and stags. Their old limited way of livelihood was futile and fruitless, they now believed. Ever since that one winter, they stroke out to never fool themselves ever again. The people despised their god for the many families they lost on that winter. In time, the memory of this deity faded, blending in with the dust. The first symbol of a higher power created and the first one forgotten. The first of many.