The Musician was angry.
Brother Zachary winced at the sound piercing his ears as he hurried to the Musician. Picking up a can of oil and a brush, he rushed to his appointed spot at the Altar of the Musician. Diligently, he scrubbed away with the other acolytes until the Musician's wrath was appeased. Only then could it perform for the God.
Once the Musician was calmed and had returned to its music, Brother Zachary returned to his daily task of attending to the Musician. With a screwdriver in one hand and a rag in the other, he checked and rechecked that each aspect of the Musician was working and ready for the return of the Broken God.
As he surveyed the work of the Brothers and Sisters diligently repairing and building the Musician, he noticed something was wrong. A single gear was refusing to turn with its brethren, causing a backup. A close examination showed that the gear was covered in rust, inhibiting its movement. Already, he could hear the Musician becoming displeased.
Frantically, he grabbed a bottle of oil and a cloth and started to remove the rust. However, the gear remained stubbornly still. Brother Zachary could hear the grinding of gears up ahead, the mutterings of the other acolytes, the rumbling, ominous grumble of the Musician…
The oil wasn't working. Nothing was working. The rust wouldn't clear, the gear wouldn't move, the Musician couldn't sing. The sound ground deeper and deeper into Brother Zachary's ears, deeper and deeper as he worked harder and harder and harder to remove the rust. After an eternity, the rust came off and the gears turned and the Musician returned to its song. All was right in the world.
Except something was wrong. The Musician was screaming again. Louder and louder and louder and louder, commanding Brother Zachary and all his Brothers and Sisters to stop them, stop them at all costs, they were coming for it, and without it the God could not rise, could not become whole from the parts again…
As Zachary ran outside, he saw his Brothers and Sisters be shot down by the men, the men come to take away the Musician and ensure the God could not rise again. He ran at them, screaming, trying to make them understand. Didn't they understand? That the God must rise, that they were all his children, bound together by His parts, His blood, His machinations?
As the bullets whistled through his body, and he fell to the ground as the darkness closed in, the wailing of the Musician in his ears, he wondered.
Didn't they understand?