Based On Her Beautiful Old Story...
This is a short story based on the writing prompt entitled “A writer’s fictional characters start appearing in a real-life coffee shop”. I happen to have written a tiny novel, so this particular writing prompt sounded very interesting. I decided to try it out.
Once upon a time, long ago, lived a beautiful young woman called Sarah, who was quite a mystery. Sarah was the intelligent sort, and she had a rather different way of going about things.
Sarah liked to wake up in the morning and look outside her window. She saw from her window pane the world passing by. She had a beautiful habit of waking up early in the morning and whispering a small prayer to who she thought was God. She had learned through a personal journey about who she thought he was, and bringing the reality of good and beautiful principles into her life, was one of the things that prayer in the morning helped her do.
She liked to wake up in the morning hour, and also do a little bit of morning writing. Sarah Ritten would also get herself a cup of steaming hot coffee so that she could feel more awake and energized. The Coffee was a wonderful thing in the morning, and it was the perfect addition to a bout of morning writing.
Sarah Ritten wanted to put some divine and inspiring messages into her writing, and she did this effortlessly. She was naturally the picture of innocence and budding wisdom and this showed flawlessly in her writing as well. She felt she had a message to share with the world, like many people.
So many people are born with something to say, with a mark to leave on the sands of time. It’s so wonderful when every person that ever enters into this life, fulfills the purpose for which they were born.
Sarah was good in her English language skills and when she tried to translate her abstract thoughts into words, they were indeed a beautiful picture to behold. She had written a book, a year ago, that had a couple of good reviews. This book, if promoted in full ardor, would do well she thought. Her friends thought so too.
Sarah had written a book called ‘His Lingering Perfume’ which happened to have only two main characters in it. The characters entitled ‘Him and Her’ were not named until the second chapter. The book had an intelligent narrative, that made many people fall in love with the protagonist, of the book. A wealthy young girl, but in a state of denial. Who was also a tomboy, who hated make-up. Who had a secret lover who visited her at night through a secret route only the two of them knew about?
Sarah felt in all honesty that she could relate to her character, which in part was based on the childhood version of herself. Everyone needed to read/hear/think about a relatable heroine, now and then to add color to their existence. Why did people follow the lives of pop stars and other celebrities on social media?
For the same reason that Sarah tried to bring life and meaning to the characters in her works of fiction. To Sarah, every book she wrote was like an unborn child, and the characters were indeed precious and also ‘relatable’.
That morning Sarah spent close to little more than two hours refining the blog article review she was working on. The review article was about a book she had read recently called Paradise Found. Sarah knew that being an author who liked to write about her dreams wouldn’t bring her anything substantial. She was also a content writer on the side, who wrote blogs to support herself and her way of thinking.
She decided she had worked enough on what seemed to have been an article that had great potential. She looked in her bedside table mirror and stifled a yawn. She tied her long loose hair into a messy but stylish bun with a scrunchie and decided to head out to her favourite Cafe in the city. A quaint little Cafe where many like-minded individuals, who also happened to be writers sat down for a hot beverage and something tasty to eat.
She got out of her tiny suburban apartment which was looking pretty tidy that day, because she had been following this routine of late. She was aware that many young women who lived alone might have had a messy existence because it was after all their place to start with. However, there seemed to have been some benefits to the self-love and care she was showing herself, and the routine seemed to be making things fall into place. As she locked the door, and stepped out into the pavement, she heard the birds sing.
It was a lovely day, and she seemed to feel like everything was blessed and truly beautiful. In her heart, she thanked God that “she was fearfully and wonderfully made.” She may have been an eclectic writer but she believed in Biblical wisdom and tried to apply it to her life. The more she did this, she felt that God’s blessings were manifesting in her life and everything she did.
Sarah Ritten walked fitfully to the cafe which was 10 minutes away from where she lived. Everything seemed to work in her favour that day, which is something everyone secretly wished for, she was aware. She adjusted her coat and sunglasses and bought some toasty warm bread to have along with the usual coffee which was the regular fare at the Cafe she was so acquainted with.
She reached the cafe and sat down in her favorite corner. Next to that corner was a beautiful French window, that offered a beautiful view of the world outside. She looked outside, without fear of feeling like she was staring at anyone because people on the outside could not see her.
Behind her was an ornate picture with a gold frame. A quote by Jean Jacques Rousseau that went like this “I feel an indescribable ecstasy and delirium in melting, as it were, into the system of being, in identifying myself with the whole of nature.. Nature made me happy and good, and if I am otherwise, it is society’s fault.” Beautiful words, but a mystery no doubt.
Sarah felt that it was a good thing this picture was where it was.
She didn’t want to do any more writing at the cafe, since she needed a little break. She decided instead that she would scroll through her social media feed. Being the sort of person who loved writing, her feed was eclectic, but it had relevant and beautiful things she looked at, especially on Facebook, rather than just following the lives of people she knew. These things gave her inspiration to write rewarding things even more beautifully.
She was so caught up in her scrolling that she barely noticed a tall slender woman entered the cafe and sat at the table near the other window. Sarah Ritten did not know this woman, but for some reason, the woman who seemed exotic drew her attention.
The woman though tall and slender with flowing black hair, had freckles and sipped her coffee in a manner that would make anyone wonder if something was bothering her.
She wore extremely tight skinny jeans that showed off her figure, and her nails were done. But there was an aura of youthful recklessness about her.
Sarah couldn’t help but take a liking to her. She seemed very relatable, raw, and awkward. Like the character in her book ‘His Lingering Perfume’ had come to life. If Sarah Ritten had it in her to direct a movie about her book, she would cast this woman as the lead role. Sarah wondered if she was seeing things.
Sarah tried to continue to scroll through her social media feed but was a little distracted by the unkempt but beautiful young woman. She overheard from her phone conversation that her name was ‘Ramona’ and she could tell by the way she talked that she came from a wealthy family.
Sarah Ritten may not have been wealthy but she had a writer’s mind and a writer’s thoughts. For some reason, she liked this girl from afar and felt she was a lifelike version of the character in her book. Almost as though the character had decided to step out of the book, and present herself in real life.
Sarah couldn’t help but look in the direction of this beautiful but awkward young thing. With her tight jeans and bright pink lips, it was her eyes that told a story. She seemed to be the character of her book come to life. There she was, in all her finery, the main character of ‘His Lingering Perfume’ sitting down there, being herself, waiting for her male equivalent in attractiveness to come to visit her from the window.
Sarah took a liking to her, because well, Ramona did have an intriguing personality.
Sarah spent longer than usual at the bustling cafe that day. She scrolled through social media and tried to avoid looking too much in the awkward but relatably good-looking young woman’s direction.
She suddenly saw something that could be a line in a sequel to her book. She thought that ‘His Sexy Hair’ could be an apt title for the new book. Sarah went home that day, feeling wonderful that she met someone who was potentially the lifelike version of her book’s character.
She was happy that she also got the inspiration to write another book based on this woman. She knew for sure this book had the potential to be the next big thing. Some kind of top-selling novel. But one that was based on her beautiful old story.
Psych Eval
When I was twelve my aunt taught me how murdering was different than wanting to murder someone.
She said that if wanted to kill the president that was ok, as long as you didn't do it. I don't think there is anyone I've truly opened up to. I don't know why she said that. But I look back at it now and by god I hope its true.
"Have you ever lied to a psychiatrist?"
"No."
"Have you ever lied to anyone?"
"A few times but only small things. Like, whether the milk had gone old," I shifted in my seat and smiled, "or whether I had eaten cookies on my bed." The psychiatrist sitting across from me smiled. "That's good. It makes sense. We all lie about those things. I'm asking you whether you lied to your mom or other important people in your family about... " at this he paused and bit his lip, as of not sure what he should say. "hurting them?" I finished. He head dipped to the side and he made an expression that seemed to express remorse and resolve at the same time. He had wanted to say did you ever lie about wanting to kill them, but thought it might be inappropriate because I was in a emergency psych eval for suicidal tendencies and other things…
"I'm going to go talk to your mom for a few minutes and I might speak with your dad. I was hoping he might get here soon, maybe clear things up." I nodded and smiled. When he left I curled up in a corner. I stared at the window; the only thing that wasn't black or white. I think when I'm bored, so I started thinking. This room's colors had been chosen to calm the inmates. It was green (the chair) but it was a grass green that wasn't too bright so it wouldn't be distracting.
I rehearsed what I would say in my head, not really worried about it though because I knew I could get away with anything. I replayed the scene in my head. My little sister was in the car. My mom was blaming me for hurting her. She parked in a parking lot. She was angry. I was angry. She stepped out of the car, supposedly to calm down. I saw her call my dad. His name and number showed up on the car Bluetooth. I heard every minute of what they said. My mom was concerned that I was going to hurt her. She said I was hurting Elly emotionally by having 'this conversation,' in the car in front of her. I buried my head in my hands. I knew I was hurting her, but it was worth it. I had to protect myself and I had to protect her. My mom was dangerous and I knew it. My dad mumbled about not doing anything extreme and then she started talking about taking me to a mental hospital. “Is she taking her medications?” my dad asked. “Yes,” my mom responded, “but they're not working.” Now she turned it off speaker, realizing what was going on. “I'm taking her to (a mental hospital).” she said, closing the door from which she had just unplugged the speaker from the car. A few moments later I saw her hang up. She took some time to calm down, take a few breaths. During that time my little sister asked me a question: why do you hate our mom?
"I don't hate our mom. I just have some angry feelings towards her."
"then why don't you love her anymore?"
"I do love her." I said. If I had been a more emotional person I would almost cried. Instead, I concocted a response that would help my sister understand as much as she could. "I said I hate mom. I didn't say I didn't love her. You can feel both those things at the same time." I smiled, hoping she understood I wasn't trying to be the bad guy.
That memory brought up emotions in me I couldn't comprehend, things I knew all too well: hate, fear, envy, hope, love, desperation. That last one was the worst. It made me do terrible things I didn't regret.
The man I had been talking to earlier came back in the room. "How are you doing?"
"Good," I said, nodding and showing just enough emotion for him to think I was scared. "Just been sitting here."
"Kind of boring in here, isn't it?" he smiled and half shrugged, apologizing for the inconvenience. I knew why it had to happen. I had been suicidal before. I knew anything could tip you over the edge.
"let's discuss why you're here."
"Yeah..." I said, squirming a little bit. A flash came back to me of me practicing my emotions in the mirror, learning to smile and hide my tears. I had gone outside a second later. My mom didn't notice anything was wrong. A week later I wanted to throw myself out a window. Back to the present. He was staring at me as if it was not possible to understand how I could be here if I had such a perfectly normal mom and dad. White parents, rich house, everything seemed right What was going on? Counter: I wasn't always rich. I remember arguments about what to buy us at Christmas, asking if they could afford gifts at all. I remember my dad being so tired after two days at work, no breaks. I remember him getting angry because I wan't scared enough when he yelled. He was frustrated I had left stuff on the floor. Even at seven I knew he wasn't wrong, he was just tired. I played the little girl, waited for him to stop crying. Told him I was sorry and said I just wanted him to come home, I just wanted a hug. It was all true, but it didn't match the expectation for disappointment or the plan I had when I sat myself on the couch in full view of the door. Get out of your head! I told myself, you have a job to do. Lock in. Luckily the emotion in my eyes played into the part well. Girls weren't supposed to be strong. I knew what he was already expecting. Everyone is human, even psychiatrists. I smiled to myself, knowing I could out play him, and started speaking. "My mom is wanting me to stay at her house and I want to go to my dads. I was upset because she wouldn't let me go away." I buried my head and tucked my legs against my chest. A sob (deep breath) caught in my chest. He nodded. Go on, he seemed to say. "We were in the car. So was my sister." I squeezed my eyes shut, rocking back and forth in the single, small chair I was given. "And ," (gasp/hiccup) "I was asking my mom... to let me go home. I hate being at her house. She's not a real mom. She's... she's... she's..." I buried my head deeper and started trembling for lack of a better word. He just nodded and stared at me. "What happened after that?" he asked.
"She said she would take me to a mental hospital if I didn’t stop"
"Stop what?"
"Stop..." I took a deep breath and made myself presentable again: back strait, arms by my side, voice in normal range. I took a deep breath. And then another one. I looked outside. "She wanted me to stop yelling in front of Elly."
"Why?"
"Because she didn't want me to hurt her!" I carefully let my face dissolve and show every emotion I felt. "I want to tell mom how much she's hurting me, but every time I try to Elly’s in the room and I can't! Or she finds some other excuse, like..." I waved my arms around as if searching for something. "My brother." I flopped down. He looked at me, concerned I had said I was being hurt by my mom. "It's nothing serious!" I reassured, "Just emotional stuff." Here my voice got weak, as if I didn't think I should be upset. "I just needed to change something. I can't keep just let her hurt me without say something about it." I ducked my head in shame, "even if it does hurt Elly." I stared outside the window again. He was trying to let me rant, I knew it. Get it out if your system. I heard someone say in my mind. I wasn't letting him fix me. This was a delicate game; be upset enough not to have to go back to mom's house but be sane enough not to be locked up. The man across from me shifted, fidgeting almost as much as me. I knew what this meant. He was a nerd and his text book of psych advice wasn't helping him now. It was just bare bones human emotion, my territory. I just stared at him for a while. (people get uncomfortable when you stare. I learned that one not too long ago) He asked me a few more questions. I said my mom was bad and I was just a girl trying her best in a world not meant for children's idea. He went back to my mom and dad's room. I heard mumbling through the door. I didn't want to listen. I knew they'd be arguing and worst of all: I didn't want him to think my mom was sane.
I was let out of the room after about thirty minutes. I didn't have a clock. They had taken all my devices away. Me and my dad went home. We stopped by my mom's car on the way out. My dad saw the pile of trash sitting in the passenger seat. "What happened?"
"It didn't hit her. I wanted to go to your house and said if she didn't let me I would keep putting things in the passenger seat. From a few seats back. On the highway."
"Did you tell the psychiatrist about this?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I didn't want him to know I was hurting my mom."
"Elisabeth, you didn't hit her with anything." he said, staring at the sky in bewilderment.
"Yeah, but we were on the highway and Elly was in the car."
"How does being on the highway make it dangerous?"
"I could have distracted her and made her crash. That's why I didn't hit her with anything. I think my aim is pretty good. I'm surprised I hit every shot." I surveyed the pile, noticing its height. My dad looked disgusted. "What is it?" I asked. He waved at the seat and slapped his hand to his forehead. I knew what he wanted to say. A trash pile that reached two and a half feet high. I remember my cousins making fun of me for how messy our car was: food on the floor, three week old garbage. I remember my mom getting upset at me for not cleaning it out while she 'cleaned the kitchen'. I remembered the other time she said that. I had made the yard presentable while she watched Tik Tok on the bar stool. I could see it through the window. The whole two hours of it. She asked me to help clean the kitchen when I came inside. No, I had said, disgusted. With five minutes left she was still scrolling as she put things away and yelled at me for my inadequacy. I didn't come out to talk to the guests that night. She still won't admit she did something wrong. Just a few hours ago she had denied the fact that that scene ever occurred. She denied that I was suicidal. She denied that covid was gone: keep them in the house forever! She had told me she wanted that. Said she wanted us to live with her forever, never growing old. Our husbands could move in with them and we could all sleep together. I shuttered. "Do you want some Indian food?" My dad asked. "Yes." I nodded. The thoughts were closing in; a knife to the chest. Ignore them, push them back but they keep coming anyway. Three years later and I still dreamed of the end. I still remember every day at school when scissors sucked me in. I remember the terror I felt when ever those urges wouldn’t quit.
Stories of the Gods part 4
Thanatos sighed as he got to his latest death today before he started again tomorrow. He was in a house, not particularly large or fancy but he could tell the person he came to guide had been struggling mentally, which would make sense, the young woman was just a few heartbeats away from being pronounced dead and her soul waiting for him to sever from her body.
Name: Vanessa Anne Miller
Age: 22
Cause of death: Suicide, slit wrists
Timeline: on-time
Marital status: in a committed relationship; healthy
As he read the summoned, floating paper over, he already could smell the blood. He teleported inside the room, after mentally preparing himself.
Although suicide deaths are never scared of him, it still saddens him every time he has to guide one. They always regret it, especially if they can see their family finding their body.
But that wasn’t what he was met with.
The young woman's soul was sitting on top of her body, knees curled to her chest as an inky, black shadow figure of her whispers and mutters into her ear.
The demon saw him, grinning menacingly, teeth pointed and sharp as it spoke to the young woman’s soul. “He’s going to take you to hell, you belong there, it’s where failures like you belong.”
The young woman just sobbed into her knees. “I was just so scared..”
Thanatos glared, getting his sword, more than willing to fight for this young woman’s soul, he pointed it at the demon. “You will leave this young woman alone.”
The demon just grinned at him, standing, growing taller than the God of Death, thin, wispy shadows still attached to the young woman, feeding off her suffering. “We both know you cannot fight me. You have no power other than severing souls; and you know that if you sever her soul now, I will torment her for all eternity.”
Thanatos nearly growled as he held his sword, ready to fight, even if it might be futile. “You will leave her be demon!” He swiftly sliced at the tendrils of inky black wisps but it it only went through, it did not sever. The demon laughed heartily. “Your sword only works on human souls. She is mine, and I will never let her be.”
Thanatos swallowed, it was an incredibly rare occurrence a human’s emotions and energy made an actual demon. Although these demons are vastly different than true demons.
These ones are what humans call “inner demons.” Demons that manifest from humans' darkest times but it could take years of a human going down a dark path for one to even start developing.
It was this demon that also possessed the ability to affect deities, the only one that can, although not very much, they can still make a deity weak or even sick if they manage to latch on too long, the cuts from their claws unable to heal.
The demon moved as fast as Hermes, swiping at Thanotos, leaving dark gashes across his face, ripping some of his robe open, and bleeding that should have healed in seconds but his unique demonic energy prevented that. He nearly fell backward before he transported himself to one of the few that can help fight against this threat.
He doesn’t often teleport while moving, almost never needs to.
So when he teleported while falling, he ended up falling on his ass and back, in Ares's domain on Mount Olympus with a thud and feeling like all the air he had in his lungs left on impact.
Air he technically doesn’t need but it was still an awful, uncomfortable feeling.
And the deep scratches didn’t help, they throbbed and continued to ooze red blood mixed with the inky blackness from the demon's claws, across his chest and face. His robe ripped a bit but his face caught most of it.
He heard running from the God of War, spear ready for whatever intrusion came to his domain. He stopped and nearly threw his spear to the side when he saw it was Thanotos, injured severely.
Ares went to him immediately, yelling to the small crowd of other deities that rushed around to the scene. “Hermes!” Hemes was there in a second, nearly gasping at Thanoto's injuries. Ares didn’t waste time. “Get Apollo! Now!”
Hermes couldn’t take his eyes away, Thanotos face was horrific, bleeding red and black, nearly painting his skin. they could be injured like that? But they’re gods, there should be nothing that can hurt them-
Ares gripped his tunic, making him stumble and nearly ripping it with his strength as he growled. “Get Hermes now before I make you target practice!” Hermes just nodded shakily before leaving.
Ares went back to helping the God of death. “My friend, what has happened?”
Thanatos winced as he sat up, hand on his scratched-up face, trying to dull the pain, it was so sharp and blood leaked through his fingers. “An inner demon manifested. My next soul was a suicide victim.”
“Those exist? I had only ever heard of inner demons as a metaphor.”
“That’s real, and they’re a danger to us. My sword is useless against it.”
Suddenly Hermes and Apollo were back, Apollo looking just as worried, kneeling down to him. “What..the fuck happened? We haven’t had these kinds of injuries since the Crusades.” He got to work, placing his hands over-top of the deep gashes and starting to heal them.
“A soul of mine manifested an inner demon.”
“Shit.” Apollo cursed. He knew them, he hasn’t had to fight any but he’s aware of their existence.
“Yes. I’m useless against it. My sword will only sever human souls but if I sever the soul with the demon still attached, it will torment them for eternity, no matter where they go.”
Hermes gaped. “Wait? So not even Hades would be able to detach it before sending them to their afterlife?”
Thanatos winced as the wounds healed, it wasn’t pleasant. “No. It’s why I came here; Ares, Apollo, I need your help.”
Apollo frowned as he continued to heal, a golden light coming from his hands. “Why do you need my help? You got Ares.”
Ares looked over. “Do not sell yourself short, you are a very capable and adaptable fighter. You make archery look as easy as breathing. But I do share your confusion; why do you need two fighters there? Is this demon really that powerful?”
“No. I need someone to talk to the girl's soul, the demon might be able to be taken down by your spear but it’ll be easier if she stops believing what it says. I can help but I thought Apollo's positive energy would be best suited.” Apollo moved his hands, Thanatos now totally healed as if nothing happened.
Suddenly Aphrodite was joining them, a golden goblet in hand and concern clear on her beautiful face. “Here, drink this.”
Apollo moved as Thanatos took the goblet, seeing it was simple water, ice cold. “Thank you.” As soon as the water touched his mouth he drank it down fast. The cold temperature calmed and grounded his mind.
Aphrodite frowned. “What happened? Everyone is gossiping about you.”
Ares helped Thanatos stand as he spoke. “An inner demon manifested.”
Aphrodite looked to Ares. “Wait? They’re real? I thought they were only a human’s musings on their traumas?”
“They’re very real but they’re incredibly rare,” Apollo stated, he continued, his blonde eyebrows pinched in stress. “You can go hundreds of years before one is powerful enough to manifest. But just because they’re rare doesn’t mean they can’t fight. They can hurt us and the injuries from them won’t heal on their own, they can corrupt us as well, although none have been successful in full corruption, it’s still a possibility.”
Hermes shivered at the thought. “That’s scary.” Thanatos couldn’t help but agree. “Most definitely. I attempted to fight it but it obviously didn’t work. My sword is no use, and I knew that. I was stupid.”
Ares gave a proud smile. “It’s never stupid to fight for what you believe is right. Take us to them immediately.” Thanatos just gave a nod. “Apollo, are you ready? I have to warn you, it’s messy.” Apollo gave a weak smile, not looking forward to this but can’t sit by while an inner demon is manifested. “ More than ready.”
Aphrodite came over, handing over the spear that the God of war had thrown in his worry. “Here love, you’ll need this.” Ares smiled at her, taking it gently from her. “Thank you.”
“Be careful, ok?”
Ares grinned at her, his large tan hand winding into her blonde curls. “When am I ever careful?” he said, leaning in and kissing her deeply. Apollo huffed, moving to them to gently pry them apart. “You can do that when we get back.”
Aphrodite and Ares blushed. She went to Thanatos and gently took back the goblet. “Be careful as well.” Thanatos blushed deeper, her beauty was like none other and always caused some reaction even to Hades himself. “I will. When you two are ready, touch my shoulders.”
Apollo placed his hand on his shoulder immediately. Ares followed as well on his other shoulder, his hand nearly taking over the joint as Thanatos teleported them to the soul.
They appeared in the bathroom, the smell of blood hung heavy in the air, giving it a tinge of copper.
Apollo took in the scene before seeing the demon, nearly cuddling the young woman's soul, whispering in her ear. He reacted before Ares could, getting his bow and arrow and shooting at the demon. The demon hissed in pain as it hit its head, looking over at the sun god who had another arrow prepared. “Get the fuck away from her,” He said with a growl, the energy around him nearly vibrating with his righteous anger. Thanatos and Ares taken aback by the hostility. It’s easy to forget that under his positive and sunny attitude is a God that even the most powerful on Olympus feared.
The demon just grinned, gripping the young woman's soul harder, making the soul whimper in pain. Before Apollo could shoot another arrow, Ares had already speared through it, making it cry out in pain, a weird whistling sound as Ares lifted its impaled body and threw it across from the bathroom and into the hall. “Apollo, help her now while I have him!”
Apollo and Thanatos went to the soul. Apollo had to really calm himself, seeing the soul so in pain from that demon her trauma, made him crazy with the need to protect. He placed his hands on her head gently, as if holding her head, making the girl's soul look in his eyes, his eyes faintly glowing gold.
Thanatos watched, he was using his divination to truly understand why she did this and why the demon manifested. Thanatos could hear Ares and the demon fighting, see the demon was still attached to her, even so far away from her soul, the black whisps still connected to her.
He looked back and saw Apollo look just as angry as before when he shot his arrow into the demon. Thanatos worried. “What do you see?”
“Trauma. Sexual trauma. From the church she was in.”
“Should I get Jesus for this?”
“Yes. She’s so traumatized from her church but still is devout to him. She is also pregnant. It’s why she decided this.”
Thanatos froze. “What do you mean? Why would she if she knew she carried life?”
“Because it’s out of wedlock. And her parents are still very much deeply, cult-like, religious. If they knew they would disown her, and shame her from the rest of her family and siblings. That with the purity camp she was sent to as a teen where she was molested by the very men preaching purity, it was too much, the demon has been manifesting since her childhood.”
“Can you keep her alive, until her boyfriend gets home?”
There was a sudden cry of pain from the hall, Ares crying in pain before grunts of fighting resumed. Apollo looked at him like he was out of his mind. “Are you serious? She’s a hair away from death, this is supposed to be her time. We would be in so much shit with Zeus.”
Thanatos pleaded. “Please. I know I’m asking for a lot but she doesn't deserve this, her baby doesn't deserve this. You know her boyfriend will be coming in that door, you know when, can you just keep her stable until she gets help?”
Apollo used his divination again, eyes glowing golden, seeing how long it would be. “He’ll be home in 27 minutes and 15 seconds… fine. I can do that. While I do that, you get JC, she probably would want to see him more than us.”
Thanatos smiled before standing and teleporting away.
Apollo went to her body, seeing past the soul that didn't react much to him. His hands went to her body, carefully over her chest before doing what he could to heal her. She slit her writs, sat in warm water, she bled out, her heart barely beating but it was enough for him to work with. His hands glowed as he worked on keeping her heart beating and blood clotting.
Thanatos came back, Jesus with him in his white robes. He frowned with concern. “How did this happen?” He asked softly, kneeling down by the tub to her soul that looked numb and lost. Even with the battle Ares going on, cries of pain echoing from the hall mixing with the demon's cries of pain, the other deities paid no mind.
Apollo answered first, irritated with the lord's people. “Your fucking people. They traumatized her to the point that when she got pregnant she tried to kill herself.”
Thanatos frowned at Apollo's snappish attitude. “Apollo, he cannot help what they do.”
Jesus looked back at Thanatos. “It’s alright, he is correct. Unfortunately, many of me and my father's followers are not true believers, using my word to justify their sins and hurt others.”
He walked closer to her and held the young woman's hand as her soul looked lost. “My child, can you look at me?”
The soul looked up, nearly gasping. “Jesus? My lord?”
He smiled softly. “Yes, my child.”
Her soul's eyes filled with tears. “I am not worthy. I’m a sinful, dirty person.”
“Only I can bring that judgment on you. You are not sinful or dirty; you are simply lost. Lost in your head, your trauma. you are worthy and you've been so strong, fighting off your inner demon for so long.”
“I’m going to end up in hell.”
“No, not if I have anything to say about it. You are going to live and you're going to get help.”
“But it’s too late-”
“No, do you see them helping you?” He looked over to Apollo who was less than a foot away, using his healing to keep her alive.
The soul looked over, seeing Apollo for the first time. “Who is that?”
“That's Apollo, he’s keeping your body alive until help arrives.”
“But they're false gods, aren't they?”
Apollo just gave a little glare to the soul. “Well this false god is keeping you alive.”
The soul smiled weakly at his attitude, finding it charming. Thanatos saw the wisps of darkness from the demon becoming weak as she interacted with them.
Jesus smiled as well. “And want to know something crazy? A god of death wants you alive. You must be so important that death itself wants you alive.” He pointed to Thanatos behind him. Thanatos looked, pulling his black hood back. “Hello.”
The soul just waved. “Hi. why didn’t you reap my soul?”
Thanatos walked closer to her. “When Apollo found you were with child.”
The soul looked away, not feeling worthy enough to even look death in the eyes. . “My parents are going to disown me.”
“Let them,” Jesus said. The soul gasped. “But they're my parents, I only have one set of that, my baby would grow up with grandparents, without my family."
“Your child can grow up without that and they will be fine. Your parents drove you to this. They do not speak for me.”
Thanatos heard the front door open and heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. “He's here.”
Apollo sighed. “Thank Christ.” Jesus and the soul just looked over at him. The soul just laughed, the last of the demon's wisps dissolving away as her boyfriend rushed in, seeing her barely alive body. “Oh fuck, Vanessa!”
The boyfriend felt for a pulse, feeling a weak but steady pulse. He got his phone, dialing 911.
Ares walked in, looking like he battled hell itself, gashes all over, bleeding but smiling in victory. “The demon is no more!”
Thanatos smiled. “Good, now that she's getting help we can go.”
“You can, I can’t. I move, she dies.” Apollo said. Still healing her even with exhaustion clear on his face. “When help arrives and stabilizes her, then I will leave.”
The soul watched her boyfriend, hating how panicked and grief-stricken he was. “I did that to him?”
Jesus frowned. “You did. He loves you very much. He will make a great father.”
The boyfriend ran to the nearby closet in the bathroom, throwing everything out until he found the first aid-kit. It had a tourniquet but only one. Apollo watched as the human took her arm, putting the tourniquet on, twisting it properly. He made a makeshift one with a towel and did the same to her other arm. He was impressed that the human knew such knowledge and wasn’t in any medical field as a career.
Thanatos saw how exhausted the sun god was becoming, direct healing takes a large amount of energy. “Do you need any help?’
Apollo tried to smile at him but his eyes drooped with groggyness. “I’ll be fine, not the first time I’ve done this.”
Jesus was about to move from the soul to help and give him energy when Ares knelt by him, placing a bloody hand on Apollo's shoulder. “Have some of my energy my friend.”
A white glow came from his hand, transferring to Apollo, his eyes a little less tired. “Thanks.”
The soul just watched it all. “I can’t believe you're all helping me. I should be dead.”
Jesus smiled at her. “When you come out of this, I want you to do something for me.”
She smiled over, her eyes adoring him. “Anything my lord.”
“Leave your family. If they treated you so horribly, in my name, I do not want you to stay with them.”
“But won't that hurt them?”
Jesus gave her a soft, serious look. “After all the hurt they gave you, it’s the least they deserve. Leave them, raise this child with love. They will have a good home with you.”
The soul nodded. “If you command it, I will follow it.”
There was suddenly the sound of rushed footsteps, several paramedics now on scene.
Her body was suddenly being moved, on a stretcher. Her soul followed her body to the ambulance. Once the stretcher was in the ambulace, a medic was doing chest compressions to keep her weak heartbeat going.
Only once she was in the hands of the paramedics, when chest compressions were done did Apollo stop healing. The four deities having followed the medics to make sure they would be good to go. Apollo nearly collapsed if Ares hadn’t caught him but the sun gun groaned, seeing all the gashes and lacerations the war god had all over. “Fuck, didn’t she say be careful?”
Jesus sighed. “This was certainly an interesting day. Thank you, Thanatos, for sparing her.”
Thanatos frowned. “If it was just her I could have after the inner demon was purged but with child? I couldn’t.”
Suddenly the clouds above them went dark with heavy rain, and thunder rumbling. Apollo swallowed. “We are in so much trouble.”
Jesus looked at them astonished. “You risked the wrath of Zeus to save her?”
Apollo glared weakly as he stood on weak legs, pointing to the death god. “Blame him, he talked me into it.”
“Well thank you all for your help-”
Suddenly the three Greek deities were teleported via lighting, startiling Jesus. He was about to offer to heal Ares and Apollo before they got taken by lightning bolts. He sighed, hoping they'll be alright before going back to his own domain.
The three were bolted to Mount Olympus where Zeus sat at his throne in his palace. Thanatos saw they were in the throne room, although calling it a “room” is an overstatement. It was a long corridor with golden pillars standing on clouds with no actual wall and fuck was it sunny, it was glaring off the clouds as it glares off snow.
Zeus huffed. “You have one minute to explain yourself; why did you lot interfere with a pre-determined death?” Thanatos walked closer. “They were acting on my orders. I needed them to help with an inner demon that had manifested, they were supposed to help purge the demon; Ares to battle and distract it while Apollo helped her to not believe what the demon was saying. But we found out she was pregnant and I could not take her soul, not with one so undeserving inside her. I pleaded with Apollo to help keep her alive until help arrived. He agreed to help, on MY orders. He tried to talk me out of it but I couldn’t take her soul knowing that.”
“And who told you she was?”
Apollo raised his hand and before he could tell his side of things a lighting bolt was hurled at him in less than a second.
He screamed as the electricity ran through his body, making him collapse to his knees. The other two went to him but were stopped by another lighting bolt; a warning, as Apollo cried in pain. Zeus walked closer to them with a glare, looking down at Apollo as he spoke to Thanotos. “It is not your job to decide when to take a soul, it is your job to take them, period.”
Ares stood in front of the Apollo, shield and spear in hand with a bloody glare. “I am not afraid to fight you.”
“Why fight for friends that won’t even stick by you?” Ares was confused but turned, seeing nothing, Thanotos gone. But he was back within a second, with Nyx.
Nyx glared as she walked up to Zeus. “What exactly are you doing- Apollo!’ She ran to him as the last of the lighting made its way through his body, making him collapse with a pained groan. She helped him sit up as Zeus spoke. “He helped aid your son into saving a soul he was supposed to take.”
Nyx looked back at Thanatos. “Is this true?”
He looked away, feeling ashamed. “Yes, mother.”
Nyx looked back at Zeus, standing up and standing next to Ares who had a renewed viger with Nyx here with them. “If my son did indeed not take a soul that he was supposed to, I’m sure he did so with more than enough reason.”
Zeus glared, not wanting to make her too mad. “He broke the laws of life.”
“And it will right itself, just as it always has. If it was more than a few deaths he chose not to take, I would worry but one? Really? Are you really that egotistical you cannot fathom the reason why he wouldn’t take a life?”
Zeus huffed. Nyx glared. “Go back to your throne and rule among your clouds. Leave my son to me. And if you attempt to punish my son again, I will rain an eternal night on you.” With that, Nyx got them teleported away to Hades, knowing Hermes was there and able to get a healer faster than she could.
Hades was about to feed Cerberus, Hermes chatting away about something or other when the three of them teleported in, taking in the moment before reacting. Ares looks like he came out of a war, Thanatos looks more than a little depressed and Apollo looks like he may die if he were mortal, which worries him the most. He rushed over. “What is this? What's going on?”
Nyx ignored him and saw Hermes. “Hermes, get a healer, now!”
“Who? What healer?”Hermes asked, feeling just as panicked
“Any, just whoever is closest.”
Apollo spoke weakly. “My son…Asclepius is in …Elsyuam fields.”
Hermes just nodded shakily before being gone in a second.
While he was gone Hades kneeled down to Apollo who was leaning against Nyx. “What happened?”
Nyx glared weakly. “Zeus happened. The bastard couldn’t take that Thanatos can think for himself.” Hades looked to the death god. “What happened?”
Thanatos took in a deep breath. “I had a soul to get, young woman but there was an inner demon that manifested. I got Ares and Apollos help. Ares to fight it and Apollo to talk her into not believing what the demon says but he used his divination and found she was pregnant and that was why she killed herself. Knowing there was a life inside her and she was still between life and death, I talked him into helping keep her alive until help came. Zeus was more than a little unhappy-”
The sound of the sound barrier breaking cut him off as Hermes returned with Asclepius with him. Asclepius went to his father. “Fatehr! What happened?! Ares? What is going on?”
Hades spoke. “Enough talk, heal them, please.”
The son of Apollo nodded and got to work, healing his father first. He worried, why was he unconscious? Why was Ares so hurt?
Finally, Apollo came to, groaning and able to move, his energy coming back to him. “Thank you, my son.” Once he was healed he could stand on his own. He saw Ares, starting to look wobbly on his feet and Apollo stopped him. “I got this one.” Asclepius nodded as he stood. “Now what exactly happened here?”
Thanatos groaned, he did not want to have to keep explaining it, he already felt guilty enough for what Zeus did to Apollo. Hades thankfully took over retelling the story.
Hades paced, a righteous anger filling him. “One saved soul will not bring about the end of reality,if I could I’d march up there and burn him to ash.”
Thanatos frowned. “None of this would have happened if I had just taken her soul, perhaps it was better I did.” Hades softened and walked closer. “Do not listen to that egotistical bastard, that woman was between life and death and would not disrupt any balance. He just can't stand when things don’t go according to plan. You made a decision and I believe you made the right one.”
“But at what cost? Apollo got hurt because of me.”
“Because of Zeus. did you throw the lighting bolt at him?”
“No.”
“Then that was not your fault. He got hurt because of Zeus, not you.”
Apollo walked over to them. “You really think me getting hurt was your fault?”
Thanatos looked away, crossing his arms. “Well yes. If I had not mentioned told you about her pregnancy, Zeus would not have taken it out on you. It should have been me that took that bolt.”
Nyx, Ares, and Asclepius just watched the brooding that was going on. Ares frowned, speaking to Nyx. “Is your son always so-“
“Selfless?”
“Guilt-ridden?” Ares corrected.
“Both?” Asclepius said, looking at Thanatos, Apollo, and Hades talking.
Nyx gave an amused smile. “Yes. He is. It is what makes him such a good choice for death itself; he doesn’t take souls because he wants to, but because he has to.”
Ares smiled at her. “Your son is very brave as well. He attempted to fight off an inner demon, even knowing his sword would not have worked. He felt the need to do something to help that soul, even knowing it may have been futile.”
Nyx smiled softly. “That’s my boy.”
Apollo cheerfully spoke up, his normal, vibrant energy and enthusiasm back at full force. “Enough brooding, I say we-“
“I swear if you say get drinks-“Hades started, both he and Thanatos about to roll their eyes when the sun god did suggest, just that. “Of course drinks! Think I’m not drinking after getting hit with lighting?”
Thanatos huffed. “I would rather stay in for tonight. Maybe we can have some tea here, with Hades?”
Nyx just continued to watch before speaking to Ares. “Ready to go home, big guy?”
Ares nodded with a grin. “Yes, I cannot wait to tell Aphrodite about my latest battle.”
His Last Days
1.
That morning, he woke up not hearing the sound of alarm, but because the early morning sunlight disturbed his sleep. The ceiling above his head was an unfamiliar one. Where am I? He wondered for a minute. Then slowly he came to his senses, and realized where he was and why.
He rubbed his heavy eyelids in an attempt to rub off the sleepiness. It was more out of habit than an obligation. After all, he didn’t have to wake up early in the morning from now on. He could sleep in as much as he wanted now, but now that he actually had the chance to do so, he didn’t have the urge to sleep in anymore.
When was the last time I got to enjoy a proper vacation? He hardly remembered. Honeymoon period was probably the last time. After that, he got too caught up in work and life that it left him drained out, devoid of energy. Nowadays he barely had time to sit down and think about anything, and even when he had time he lacked the energy and mood.
You are not the only one living like that, he said to himself, everyone around you is living the same way. That's how adult life is.
That belief was what held him together from falling apart. That was, until one day, something unexpected came up and gave him a loud shake.
He rolled on the other side of the empty bed. For the last fifteen years, he had been sleeping together with someone else. He forgot what it was like to sleep alone. It was one of many things he had forgotten.
It’s a beautiful day, he thought. Despite the fact that it was only morning and soon the sun would start to pour its heat mercilessly, draining people’s energy, it was still going to be a beautiful day. At least to him.
Finally, he got up from the bed. He washed up slower than other days because he wasn’t in a hurry, He thought while getting out to get a cup of coffee and breakfast.
There was a small restaurant in walking distance from his residence. He had his breakfast there while watching people in a rush. Not so long ago I was one of them. Look at me now. What's the point of rushing so much, anyway?
On his way home, he bought some groceries. He couldn’t live on takeout foods forever, and since he could cook why bother with takeouts.
Back home, he lay on the bed again with a Haruki Murakami book. Haruki Murakami was his favourite writer ever since he was nineteen. His books had a certain charm in them that never failed to draw him in. More than the contents of the book, he was a fan of Murakami's writing style. The vivid descriptions made him feel as if he was being dragged inside the book. He found the writing style very smooth and easy-to-read.
Lost in the book, he was oblivious to how much time passed. When he finally got up from the bed, it was noon. As lunch, he fried an egg for himself and ate that with rice. Then he took a nap.
In the afternoon, he went to take a walk. There was hardly anyone around his age walking around like he did. The ones who were there weren’t alone like him, they had their wives or children or both with them. He walked until the sunset, and then he returned home.
Climbing on his bed, he decided to watch a movie. After a long search, he settled on Dead Poets Society. He remembered the first time he watched the movie with a friend. That friend of him was really sensitive, and by the end of the movie he started crying. He managed to calm his friend down after putting much effort. He wondered how that friend of his was doing now. Did he have the courage to go after his dream, or did he give in to the flow of society? He sincerely hoped for the latter, his friend was quite a dreamer after all.
He wanted to call his friend and say, "Hey, you know what, I rewatched Dead Poets Society today for the first time in years and I thought of you. I wondered how you have been doing. It’s been quite a while, right? Sorry, I have been too caught up in life to check on you. I'm sure you were busy too." But he lost his friend's contact information long ago.
After watching the movie, he lay on the bed again, and contemplated about his life and life choices. He gave up on his dreams long ago. He had to when he got married and had to take responsibility his new family. Marrying her was his choice, while the choice of giving up on his dreams wasn’t entirely his. Not that he blamed his wife for that. If anything, he blamed himself. He wondered how life would turn out to be if he hadn’t fallen in love with her. He probably would pursue his dreams, but there was a chance that he would stay alone.
Well, in the end, I'm still alone, ain't I?
Being alone right now was also his choice. He was the one who decided to stay separated from his wife for time being after losing his job. Being fired wasn’t his choice, though, that was the last thing he expected. But turned out, at that moment it was the best thing that could happen to him.
After all, he got to enjoy a slow morning and a Murakami book and went for a walk and watched a movie and not to mention slept a lot for the first time in years. He forgot how those simple actions could make someone happy.
He thought of giving his wife a call, but stopped. I am enjoying my vacation. I better not call her. His wife had become a part of his hectic daily life. Calling her felt like dragging himself to that world again. He didn’t want that.
That night, it took him a little longer than usual to fall asleep. But when he slept, he slept soundly. He didn’t dream.
2.
One afternoon, he called his wife.
"Finally, you called," that was what she said upon picking up.
"Sorry it took me so long to call you. Anyway, when you get a bit free time, can you come by my place? I want to talk to you face-to-face."
"Why don't you come by instead?"
"I don't feel like leaving my place."
"Can't it be talked over phone?" she sounded tired.
"No."
"Fine, then," she gave in, "I'll come by this weekend."
He was lying on his bed when doorbell rang. He opened the door to find his wife.
"I was waiting for you. Come in, have a seat."
She sat down.
"There is something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
"It’s not your fault that we separated. The reason I decided to live separately is not because you are not good enough or you hurt me or anything like that. It’s just...a result of my selfishness."
"I am not blaming you."
"You deserve to know why I made that decision, as my partner."
"That's true indeed."
"The thing is...over the years, we have fallen out of love, don't you think?”
“It has become more like a habit, us staying together. We are not even contributing in each other's lives anymore. We live under the same roof but we live different lives. Even now...it seems like my absence isn't affecting you that much. And to be honest, your absence isn't affecting me either. Even when I miss you, it’s out of habit and not emotional attachment."
"Isn't it inevitable? Both of us are adults now, and we have a lot on our plates. Work. Finance. We don’t have room for worrying about falling in and out of love when we are at our thirties."
"But even so, don't you this we are a little, you know, too indifferent about each other at this point as partners? I decided to get separated and you aren’t even interested about why I made such a decision. I am not worrying about what kind of life you are living in my absence, either. Isn’t it abnormal for a couple who spent fifteen years together?"
"Maybe so."
"You are not even bothered by the fact that I lost my job."
"Well, I am not financially dependent on you anymore, so why would I worry about that?"
"Isn't it funny? You were the reason I decided to get a stable job. But in the end...What have I done with my life?"
She didn’t say anything in response to that.
"Tell me. Are you seeing someone?"
"I have no intention to have an affair."
"Is that so? Maybe this is your chance to find someone new and have a fresh start, now that I almost let go of you."
"I don’t want to. I like my life as it is now. If anything, you are the one who should take the chance."
"I also like my life the way it is now. I take photos and walk around the city, sleep a lot and read often. I even own a cat now."
"A cat?"
"Hmm. I bumped into a stray cat and took it in."
"Good for you."
"You should come by sometimes, you know, and we can have conversations like this is over a cup of coffee. It feels like old times but in a slightly different way."
"Hmmmm. Doesn’t sound bad."
"And just in case, the passcode of my front door is 2104."
"Our wedding date? That was such an old-fashioned way to assign a passcode."
She smiled.
"It’s easy to remember."
"It indeed is."
3.
It was just an ordinary afternoon.
He had been feeling out of sorts for last few days. The left side of his chest wouldn’t stop aching.
That day, the pain became unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, he fell on his bed, facedown. The sun was about to set.
Is this how I am going to die?
He called his wife. No answer. He attempted to call again, but stopped. She must be busy.
At that moment, wave of loneliness washed over him. He wished for someone to be by his side like never before. It wouldn’t make his pain any less, but at least he could get a glass of water or a warm hand holding onto his. He closed his eyes in pain.
When he opened them again, he felt a warm presence next to him. It was none other than his cat, the only companion in his solitary life.
“There you are,” he said in a weak voice, and gently ran his fingers through the cat’s white, fluffy fur. The cat probably sensed that something was wrong with its owner. It licked his cheek and neck, as if it was comforting him in its own way. It worked, because he felt a little less lonely.
In the faint light of dusk, he looked at the photographs hung on the wall. Those photographs were taken by him. Every single one had a story behind it. Some of them had memories associated with them. Looking at those photographs always comforted him.
Most of the pictures on his wall were of sky. He loved taking pictures of sky. He took countless photos of sky. Morning sky. Evening sky. Cloudy sky. Sunset. Sunrise. Different shades. Different angles. Different times, places and colours. He said that sky was that one thing that he never grew tired watching, as it looked different everyday.
There were also a bunch of pictures of the road and the streetlights. More than the green of the nature, the grey concrete attracted him more. He loved the city.
He wanted to hold exhibitions. An exhibition with the photos of sky. Another with the photos of concrete-grey city. But in the end, that was just a dream. A futile wish he knew wouldn’t come true.
He thought of his family. His parents were probably at one of their older son’s place. He thought of his elder brothers who were always busy with their works. Not so long ago, he was just like them. He didn’t tell his parents or brothers about his unemployment or separation from his wife. He didn’t feel like letting them know and getting bombarded with questions and judgemental remarks.
He wanted to be acknowledged. He wished his family would recognize him as who he was. In the end, it remained as just a wish.
He felt that he needed to go to hospital. He was already unable to get up from the bed and there was no way he could look after himself given the state he was in. He reached for the phone and dialled 911. Shortly after, his wife called him back.
"What's wrong? You don’t sound good."
I feel like dying, that's what he wanted to say. And I am feeling really lonely right now.
Instead, he just said,"I'm sick."
"What happened? Do you need to go to hospital? Should I come?” She said in a concerned voice.
"I have called an ambulance already. I'll call you after arriving in hospital, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
Finishing the call, he patted his cat again, ever so gently. While doing that, he talked to it, knowing all too well that cats don't understand human language, “I am sorry. I will probably have to leave you all alone and I don't know for how long. I hope someone will take care of you. If they don't, then I hope you will be able to take care of yourself.”
He kept patting the cat his fingers no longer moved. As his eyes fell shut and his breathing shortened, the cat licked him again and meowed.
By the time the ambulance arrived, he and his cat both fell asleep – while his cat was taking just a nap, he fell into eternal sleep. His breathing had stopped.
Epilogue
When the cat woke up next morning, its owner was nowhere to be found.
Later, a woman came to his apartment and packed his belongings while crying.
Soon after, the cat ran away to the street. It was a stray to begin with.
You steer with the rudder like this!
Two friends walked along the rocky coast. One had eyes that mirrored the white sun shining overhead, and was known by the name The Moth, despite being a human boy. The other had eyes as dark as the depths of the sea, and was known by no name.
"It's so wide open," The Moth said, "nothing is telling me how far I'm allowed to see."
"Do you enjoy that?" His friend asked.
"I do. Don't you?"
"I haven't thought about it."
"It feels like freedom."
"Freedom isn't something you feel, or something you're in. it's something you do."
"It can also be something that just is."
"Explain."
"You're free. As long as we've been traveling you've just been free. It's something innate about you."
"Very little is innate about me, Moth. I am what I choose to be. You chose to be free alongside me, that you must know by now."
"I suppose I've never thought about it that way. I still like the view."
"It just makes me feel exposed. I feel vulnerable."
"And you dislike that?"
"I'd say I do."
"Because you fear it?"
"I guess so."
"You know what?”
"What?"
"Fear isn't something that just is, it's something you do."
The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked. The Moth’s jeans, too long and already shredded at the hem, tore a little further with each step. He became so enraptured with the view of the waves lapping at the horizon, he jumped when his friend spoke.
“That place has seen better days.”
“Huh?” Moth mouthed before he looked over, and absorbed what he was seeing. On top of a hill overlooking the sea was a house. It was wooden, and in tatters. A small sailboat sat in its shadow on the rocks in-front of them, “oh wow. Do you think anyone still lives there?”
“It feels unlikely,” the dark eyed friend replied, “but there’s only one way to find out.”
They didn’t need to wait long, however, as a third voice soon came hollering from above, “Hey! Stop there.”
The two boys slowed but didn’t stop. They looked up to see a man standing in the doorway of the house. He looked to be in his early fifties, with a light jacket on, and thin wire framed glasses to match his equally wiry physique.
“Hi,” the black eyed friend called out, “we’re travelers. This is my companion Moth.”
“Do you have any weapons?” The man asked.
“Yes,” the friend answered, pulling his long coat aside to reveal a large knife fastened to his belt.
“Will you remove it?”
“No, I’m afraid I won’t.”
The man furrowed his brow at this, and adjusted his glasses, “come up then,” he called down, “I don’t want to yell anymore.”
The friends scrambled up the rocks to meet him at the front of the house. When they arrived, they found him to be shorter than he initially appeared, both of them loomed over him despite their own modest statures. He looked tired up close. His eyes drooped behind their lenses, and his mouth turned down at the edges, pulled by time into a permanent frown, “I’m sorry traveler. It was naive of me to ask you to remove your knife. It must be a dangerous world out there.”
“It was,” The dark eyed man replied, “it was also naive of you not to insist.”
The man laughed at this, “I suppose there was no winning, the damage is done now. Would you two like to come inside? I don’t have much to offer with respect to food unless you enjoy clams, but I can fix us some tea. It has been quite some time since I’ve talked to anyone but myself, I would love to hear your stories.”
“And us yours,” The Moth replied.
The man ushered them into the house. The inside looked somewhat more put together. The walls were still nearing the end of their life, but there was a lit wood stove, and a rug with some rocking chairs and other furniture scattered around. “Cozy,” Moth commented as the two friends sat down, not bothering to wait for their host.
“Rest your feet, I’ll heat up some water for the tea,” the man grabbed a pot that hung on the wall, and slipped outside briefly. They watched through the window as he filled the pot from a water pump out front before returning to place it atop the stove. He sat across from them on a stool as a cool breeze cut through the house.
“Do either of you smoke?” The man asked as he removed a pipe and tobacco from his pocket, packing the latter in the former. The Moth vigorously shook his head, while his friend hesitated for a moment before waving the idea away with his hand. “Suit yourselves,” the man shrugged as he struck a match and took a few puffs, the warm scent filling the air, “so what brings you all the way out here?”
“Moth here wanted to walk along the coast. He likes the sea, and the misty air.”
“What a wonderfully trivial reason to go somewhere. Or in our case, nowhere.”
“We are almost always nowhere,” The friend with black eyes replied.
“If nothing is around, why are you living out here all alone?” The Moth asked.
The man scratched his chin, “at first it was a trivial matter as well, I was born here. Well, not in this house, but nearby. There used to be a village not far from here.”
“Used to be?” The Moth wondered aloud.
“Yes, it’s all gone now, except perhaps for some planks of wood. I haven’t walked that way in a long time. My village sustained itself by fishing from the bay here. I’m a fisherman myself. But some twenty years ago, the nets started coming back empty. A pack of whales had decided to make the bay their hunting ground, you see. Without the fish, the village couldn't survive, so they packed up and moved to somewhere with more abundant waters, or so one would presume.” he paused to puff on his pipe, “I have no idea if they ever actually made it.”
“But you stayed?” Moth asked.
The water began to boil then. The fisherman set his pipe down, stood, and walked over to a cabinet on the wall opposite the stove. He pulled out three mugs and a box of tea. “What kind of tea would you like? I have green, and black.”
“Do you mind?” the friend with dark eyes asked as he reached into his backpack, and pulled out a small tin, opening it to reveal a pile of teabags, “this tea is my favorite. It’s from my hometown.”
“And where is that?” The man asked, taking the bags from him, and pouring the water.
“It’s like here.”
The man chuckled, “nowhere, then. Ever cautious.” He handed the friends their mugs of tea, and resumed sitting. “Yes, I stayed. This is because of the second, less trivial reason for my being here, if you boys would humor my telling the story. There was a girl from my village named Anne who went to my school, if you could call it that. Together we comprised twenty percent of the class size. I’m not sure either of us ever learned much there, we were always too busy laughing, and drawing on our desks. From the first day we were inseparable. Later we grew into something other than friends. I don’t know if it was just a symptom of the small size of our village, or some wonderful stroke of luck that we found such love within one another. We would come down to the sea and fail to skip rocks across the choppy water. We truly felt like nobody else in the world could understand us. We felt like two people had never known each other like we knew each other. We married after finishing school, or perhaps we finished school to marry, I can’t quite remember now. I like to tell myself I chose to fish so I could be close to the sea, and those memories, but in reality there probably just wasn’t much else to do."
The travelers sipped their tea prematurely as he continued, most of the flavor in the leaves having been washed away by time anyway, “Anne took up many jobs around the village. She was always smarter than I was, and better with her hands too. She would fix up the houses after storms marched in from the sea. Eventually, she tried her hand at building one, and we moved in here. Sadly, no matter how much I watched her, I never got any better at such things myself.
When the whales came, we had been here for a few years. I walked into the village one day to sell what few fish I had been able to catch to find carts and people all throughout the main street. I found the village chief milling around their convoy and asked what was happening, and he told me to look around. He said the villagers were thin, and hungry, and that they were leaving. He said we should come if we wanted a future for our family.”
“That was probably the smart decision,” the friend with dark eyes offered.
“I thought so too, we were growing thin ourselves, rationing what little fish we could afford not to sell. I rushed home to tell Anne we should begin to pack. I was sure one of the villagers would let us hide away what few possessions we had on their wagon. Our parents had both been well dead by that time, but we had a good relationship with our neighbors. But when I tried to explain she became upset.”
“It’s hard to leave the place you grew up, and to have that decision made for you,” The Moth said.
“Yes, “ said the man, “but it wasn’t just that. She was angry with me for even suggesting the idea. She saw leaving here like leaving those memories we shared together behind. In her mind I had betrayed her for considering it. She insisted that the whales would leave, and that if they didn’t she would hunt them herself, that I should be willing to do the same. She wanted us to fight. I pleaded with her to consider sense, I told her we could form new memories somewhere better. Ultimately, that proved a mistake.”
“That seems irrational, one cannot fight against nature,” the friend with dark eyes said solemnly.
The man just shook his head, “I see how you would think that. You are still young. You still think a battle is about winning. It isn’t. Fighting is about conviction, it’s about declaring that something is more important than your own life. She was simply more courageous than I was, and upon hearing her words I understood this. At the time, all I could do was collapse to the floor, and cry, full of pity for my own weakness. She ultimately left me there, and stormed out of our home.
When I did find enough courage to chase after her, I ran outside to find her a few dozen meters off the coast, rowing our small fishing dinghy into the open ocean with a spear laid across her lap. I yelled after her to come back, but it was just met with a smile. ‘I’ll show you, my love.’ was all she called out as I jumped into the sailboat you see down on the beach now, and set off after her.
By the time I caught up, her boat was shaking violently. The weather was bad, and the wind whipped violently, making it difficult for me to maneuver with a sail. A pod of the whales had appeared and were thrashing their bodies against the bottom of her dinghy. I was still too far to get a clear picture, but I saw her standing there, hair blowing in the wind, with one of her legs up on the dingy’s bench, and the spear in her hand. She was jabbing at the water ferociously. I had given up using the sail at this point, and as I rowed up beside her she looked at me with a soft smile that I’ll never forget. It was then that a whale smashed into the hull, and her boat rocked violently to the side. She slipped, her spear flew high as she fell between the boats. I reached out a hand to grab her, and just as her fingers skimmed my palm, a shadow grew from underneath the water. She screamed, and I reached for my knife just in time to plunge it into the whale’s right eye, but it was too late. It grabbed her between its teeth and dove, transforming my beautiful wife from a person to a fading ripple of bubbles. Her body never washed ashore, and that was the last I saw of her.”
The fisherman removed his glasses, and wiped the wet from his eyes, “I’m sorry, travelers. I wish I had a more light hearted story to tell, but that has been my life. I live here, and try my best to keep her home from collapsing, eating the clams, and fighting against nature in her spirit. That’s why I stay.”
The Moth looked down at the floor, “I’m sorry.”
“I still think it’s a waste,” said the friend with eyes the color of ash.
The old man laughed again, “maybe you’re right,” he said, his smile steady, “but I'm content here, watching her memory. I don’t want anything else. Now, enough about me. You two tell me about your journey. Let this lonely fisherman learn what’s out there in the world.”
And so they did. The boys and the fisherman sat together for a few hours as The Moth and his friend spoke about the places they had seen, and the experiences they’d had. Hearing their tales, the man laughed and cried and slapped his knees excitedly, “who knew,” he would say intermittently, or “is that really true? I can hardly believe it.”
Eventually they all grew tired as the sun set, and began communicating as much in yawns as in speech. “You can stay here for the night if you wish, it must be too late to set up camp,” the old man offered, to which the traveling friends quickly accepted. Soon they were wrapped in blankets, having laid their sleeping bags out on the floor, fighting off the chill of the night. The fisherman retired to a bedroom in the back of the house, and the friends whispered briefly to one another,
“Does the tragedy of it ever bother you,” The Moth asked.
“The tragedy of what?”
“I don’t know, living. The human condition, I guess.”
“Is it tragic?”
“Today it seems tragic.”
“Do you see tragedy in the life of that man?”
“Do you not?”
“I don’t, no.”
“What do you see?”
“Something else.”
“But what?”
“I don’t know, something that makes me glad we stopped here.”
The Moth was the last to wake. He found the old man sitting once again on the stool with his pipe in his hand, and his gaze out the window. His friend was hunched over on the floor sharpening his knife. The Moth stretched, and spoke through a yawn, “good morning.”
“Good morning,” they replied in unison.
“Now that you’re up, I suppose it is time we head out,” the friend with eyes of tar said.
The fisherman turned to them, as they began to pack their things, “I lament that you can’t stay and tell me more of your stories. But, I suppose if you did, I’d only delay you from making new ones. All I ask is that you share your tales with all those like me that wish to hear, and please travel safely.”
The boys both nodded earnestly, and made their way out of the house.
“I think it’s time we say goodbye to the sea for a while,” The Moth said, and so they wound up the hills that led away from the shore before settling down atop one to heat up some coffee. As they sipped it, they could see the house below them, now small in the distance, the waves appearing to lap right up against it in an illusion of perspective. They watched in silence for a while before an ant-sized figure emerged, heading down the path, and behind the cliff where the traveling friends knew a small sailboat hid. “I know you’re angry with the sea right now, Moth, but I wonder if perhaps she deserves a farewell,” the friend with black eyes spoke.
“You aren’t ready to leave yet, are you?”
“Not quite yet.”
—----
The fisherman pushed hard, urging the vessel into the water, his feet slipping in the sand, “would you like a hand with that,” a voice called out.
“Oh Moth, hello,” the man wiped the sweat from his brow, “I thought you two had left.”
“We figured we might want to actually meet the sea, rather than simply look at her from afar,” The Moth’s friend said.
“These waters are too dangerous, I’m afraid,” the fisherman replied, “did you not hear me last night as I told my story.”
At this the dark eyed boy laughed, “did you not hear us as we told ours?”
The fisherman opened his mouth for a moment before he shut it and gestured to the boat with a shrug. The travelers took position at either side of him then, the three of them easily pushing it into the water. They hopped in, and the fisherman unfurled the sail. A breeze caught it quickly, and soon they were gliding toward the open ocean.
“So what are we doing?” Inquired the traveler with a shadow trapped in his eyes.
“Fishing,” the fisherman aptly replied.
“I thought all the fish were gone?” Moth asked.
“I suppose it isn’t fish we are after,” the man said, “really, it is a whaling expedition.”
No further discussion necessary, the travelers left the man to tend the sail, and took to watching the waves pass by. An hour passed with the waves lapping steadily against the hull of the sailboat. The weather was clear, and the breeze light but steady,
“I could fall into a state of hypnosis,” The Moth said.
“What would the sea ask of you?” His friend replied.
“Hopefully, nothing. I’d like to be left here as I am forever.”
“That would get boring.”
“I feel as if I’ve heard that before. Everything bores you.”
“Everything stagnant.”
“The ocean isn’t stagnant, it moves. It lives”
“It moves, but it never stops. It can’t live, because it can’t die.”
“That sounds melodramatic. Must they exist relative to one another?”
“I think so.”
“I wish they didn’t.”
“I know.”
“Maybe they don’t.”
“Maybe.”
Then, the pendulum of the waves was interrupted. A break in the pattern appeared a few feet in front of the boat, and then another to its starboard side, “whales,” the old man said under his breath, as he reached down and picked up his spear from the deck. The three of them watched as the pod circled the ship, blowing water into the air as they went, their heads appearing briefly above the water line before disappearing once more. The fisherman learned from one side of the sailboat to another, his eyes narrow and jaw clenched. Then, without warning, as one of the whales reared its head from the waves, the man leaped from the side of the boat. The travelers spun their heads around just in time to spot the scar that marked the whale’s eye, and watch the old man descend upon it, spear in hand. The Moth’s nose scrunched, anticipating what was to come, but as the spear neared the whale’s exposed head it suddenly slipped, and twisted skyward. The fisherman hit the water with a slap, and the shaft of the spear bounced off of the whale’s skin uselessly. Within seconds, the fisherman’s flailing arms disappeared beneath the water, along with the whale, a dark disturbance in the waves the only indication they were ever there. A few moments passed, but nothing changed. After a few more, the whales seemed to lose interest and floated away, leaving the travelers alone.
After a timeless period of silence, Moth furled the sail and they let themselves drift aimlessly for a while. Neither of them were able to find the right words to break the silence. Eventually, The Moth gave it a stab with some that his friend had been wishing he wouldn’t hear, “the scar on the whale’s eye.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“It was –”
“The wrong one.”
“Do you think he realized?”
“The spear?”
“Yeah.”
“You think it was on purpose?”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I think it really is time to say goodbye to the sea.”
“Yes, I'm ready to leave now.”
"Do you know how to sail?"
"A traveler has to know how to do everything if he wishes to survive."
"I take that as a no."
"I will very shortly."
"I can teach you."
"How do you know how to sail?"
"It's a story for another time,” The Moth said, his face blank, “do you still think his life wasn’t tragic?”
“My opinion hasn’t changed.”
“I think mine has.”
Handsome Stranger On The Island
A short story based on the Reedsy writing prompt entitled ’Write a story that contains the words I wish we could stay here forever…”
There she was sitting on her bed, with her phone. She was scrolling away endlessly.She wondered about the world at large. She felt that people who used social media apps on their phones were indeed up-to-date. They were smart when it came to doing things like modern folks who usually made good choices.
People like that did things that were in line with trends. She was busy looking at a friend’s blog on Tumblr. She also had her blog on which she had written her thoughts about life.She prided herself on her blog and its content. She interacted with her followers and posted relatable things on her blog about her life.
She suddenly fell asleep while still on her bed and dreamed about a mysterious island.This island was indeed gorgeous and mysterious.It was a sight to behold.She found herself on the shore of the beautiful island walking all alone on its white sands.
There she was looking for habitation while it was a scorching 12 o’clock in the afternoon.There were lots of tropical birds on the branches of the trees. She decided to make herself feel at home on a nice-looking rock under the tree. The tree happened to be very tall on this secluded remote island paradise.
She happened to have her duffel bag which contained an extra change of clothes, some bubble gum, her notebook and pen, and her sunglasses down on the large rock that had enough room for her to make notes on her journal.She loved bullet journaling as It helped her prioritize and think clearly. She also loved watching the exotic birds. Since there were so many birds on this beautiful Island she wondered if she was dreaming.
She was starting to feel a little bored of making notes on the bird species on the island even though she considered herself to be a very patient person otherwise. She was so busy with her note-making that she hardly knew another human being just a few kilometres from the place where she was sitting under the shady tree.
He was indeed very tall and had brown-blonde hair and she was busy writing. When she looked up she noticed the silhouette of the tall human being coming working towards her. She looked up and saw that upon further observation the tall man was rather handsome. He had brown eyes and a warm smile.
He said his name was Desmond.“Hello” she said with a hint of shyness in her voice, to the tall man and he too sat down on the big rock next to her which was like a big sofa almost.The very sweet smiling Desmond was very happy and asked her if she was lost. She answered that she did not know how she got onto the island.
Desmond was visibly relieved when he understood that Ana was the only one on the island other than the pretty birds. To Desmond, she was also a genuine trustworthy person who spoke well, possessed an iPhone and was his only hope for getting away from the island.“Perhaps you were born for a time such as this,” he told her with a smile that accentuated his dimples, and his handsome eyes sparkled in the light.
Anna looked at Desmond wondering what those remarkable words meant. They seemed like something iconic like they were from a movie. Desmond looked into her eyes and told her that those were indeed very special words that came from the biblical story of a Jewish queen called Esther.
Desmond was busy sitting down under the shade of the looming tree in the middle of nowhere with her. He asked her if back where she came from she was happy with her life.She looked into his big brown eyes and said that where she came from life was slavery to the system of things. It was like effort felt purposeless. The culture was based on mindless chasing after the wind literally.
She did not like school but she did it to keep her most cherished close friends happy. She told Desmond everything about herself. He was starting to relate to her and become acquainted with the way she was.She admitted that previously she liked being a busybody who never cared for anyone. She found solace in her writing because it gave her a reason to exist and something interesting to do with her spare hours.
Desmond asked her again if she ever wanted to go back to where she came from. She looked at him she said, “Only if you promise to come…”Desmond looked at her and told her that it was her decision. He was the sort of kindly stranger who had a habit of saying magically philosophical things like this all the time.
These things sometimes came true like an unfulfilled prophecy because he was after all Desmond.Ana looked around her while she was sitting on the rock under the big tree. She felt very warm next to Desmond while sitting there. The both of them were alone together on that same Mysterious Island.
She looked into his eyes and asked him -” Has there never been anyone interesting in your life? Anyone who inspired you and told you nice things?” she said batting her eyelids.“Sorry, my dear but I have always been searching for that beautiful someone to make my life less lonely.”Then she did something totally unlike her and kissed him on the cheek because she wanted to.
She then asked him why “he wanted to leave the island which was such a beautiful place, when he had been living there all his life.”Desmond looked into Anna’s blue eyes and kissed her on the mouth. Anna and Desmond did more than just kiss that lucky day they also got close really long on the rock. They were in each other’s arms when he said “I wish we could stay forever…”
Anna suddenly woke up from her strange dream thinking about Desmond’s kiss. She noticed a picture of Desmond from the series Lost that she had gotten from the internet on her phone.She then posted something relatable on Tumblr about how God worked rather mysteriously in people’s lives.
People from all walks of life tried to find meaning, purpose and a sense of identity in their walks of Life.She did not know what her dream meant or how they related to her life but there was indeed a connection.
She knew that God was trying to tell her something through her experiences.She made a new blog post on Tumblr that “ we are all meant to do our best in this world which is passing -and we are passing through -it is all temporary but the truth remains that we only live once and we have a unique purpose to fulfil.”
“That is what we were called to do “ she added. She was so happy with her blog post on social media and she knew it could be a 100% hit. She fell asleep next to her phone. For Anna life was a beautiful dream that was waiting to happen…
When There Is A Will There Is A Way
A short fiction story response to a writing prompt about ‘a character finding guidance in an unlikely place’. I got the writing prompt from the weekly Reedsy Writing Prompts Challenge. I hope that people relate to the story, and like it too.
One day while I was sitting in my cubicle at my new office in the city of New Jersey where I was feeling a little out-of-place, I realized it was a good day to do lots of things. It was a strange sort of realization, because it was based more on a hunch and less on the element of routine. I usually was the type that got up and did things straightaway, but today the realization sort of dawned on me, and I was grateful even in a strange sense, that it did.
I was not usually a lazy worker that did not like doing their work. I was new to the place, and I missed my home back in the country side. While I sat there enjoying the grateful feeling, I noticed a picture on the wall. The picture said that ’If there is a will there is a way” I liked this saying for some reason, and someone from the office staff had put up the beautiful light pink poster that had an ornate golden frame.
I thought about the saying, which I had heard about back in school that was apparently 400 years old. I happened to be an HSP with empath tendencies so I had to do strange things to overcome some strange sort of jetlag that seemed to accompany everything I did. There was something to do that morning, and I was taking all my time, finding good enough reasons to be motivated enough to do it!
I seemed to have some sort of a photographic memory, so idioms like this stayed with me. They even gave me a strange sort of sense of direction. I felt lost at work usually even though I was very intelligent, and capable. I realized that this was a job that I might like doing, if I might find good enough reasons to do it, while putting in my best.
Suddenly reality dawned on me, and I started to type the letter that needed to be completed as requested by my boss. I noticed there were lots of typos in the original document, and I had to proofread and edit all the stuff I was asked to redo for him. I also suddenly realized that my cell phone was ringing, and it seemed to be a call from someone I met at a coffee shop recently. A guy.
“Hello,” I said,
“Hi” came back the beaming voice.
“Aren’t you that guy I met at the coffee shop the other day?” I asked as though I didn’t know who he was.
“Yes, I’m also an artist, and those sketches you showed me the other day were remarkable” he replied with great admiration in his voice.
“Great, I can leave work early, as it’s the weekend, would you like to catch up ? ” he said again.
“Sure,” I replied with a tinge of happiness in my voice.
I got back to my desk job and prepped myself to do as much as I could as fast as I could. Given that I was going to leave early, I started to think of ways to type quickly never mind that there was indeed a lot to do. The boss knew I was good at proofreading, so he usually entrusted me with the usual load of paperwork.
Again I looked at the picture on the wall. I typed what I could and had completed nearly 70% of the days paperwork. I then, like the funny empath that I was took a notepad that was close by and started to doodle. Given that I was a good artist, I thought about what my new date had said on the phone.
I had a black marker pen that I carried with me every where. I usually liked doodling, and I doodled like a 5 year old, every where, on the books I read, on the wall, like teeny tiny doodles, and even liked to draw fake tattoos on my hand.
I decided to draw one of the fake tattoos that I had drawn on a female friend ages ago.
The tattoo was that of a cute but easy-to-recreate yatch in the middle of the sea that looked pretty cute on her actually. She later went on to get a real ink tattoo of the same drawing with her boyfriends name underneath it.
I easily recreated the same drawing, and this time I wrote the text that was on the wall beneath it. The beautiful rough sketch looked resplendent with the words “When there is a will there is a way” written so eloquently underneath.
I got back to the paperwork, and completed my daily office routine, but left early as it was the weekend. I called up the guy I was supposed to be meeting, and he said he was in the vicinity. We caught up, at the same coffee shop that we were so used to visiting, because of its beautiful aura and authentically Asian menu.
There he was in the restaurant, being himself, the last time I remember him. His hair was auburn, and his eyes were blue. He looked every bit the artist that “loved what they did, and hence did not really work a day in their life” I sat down opposite him at the table and noticed that he had already ordered a tall glass of mocha latte for me.
“You are new to the City of New Jersey, that’s what you told me the last time we met” he said in one long sentence without stopping.
“Yes, and I feel like the City is giving me great vibes, but its taking me a while to get used to things!” I replied with an honest look on my face.
He saw the sketch I made on the notebook I got from work, and was amazed.
“I think the drawing has captured the essence of the phrase very well” I think you would make a great artist too, by the way. I want to get this framed. I will put it up in my home, in my drawing room. Also, don’t feel as lost as you do in the city of New Jersey! That’s coz “When There is a Will there is a way” and you have found a friend in me as well!
That day I went home, and thought about the reason for liking the 400 year old idiom. I was the type ‘that never got around’ and I always had to start things from scratch to get them to work. I thought about the kindly artists words, and the fact that he simply adored my doodle, and wanted to get it framed. For now, things were going somewhere, and I had found a friend, in the big city. Probably the saying was true.
And if I had a will to do things, there would be a way to do them.
A Different Sort Of Selfie
This is a short story based on the writing prompt by Reedsy about Beginning or ending your story with a character taking a selfie. The story is about someone who talks to her friend about a selfie she took that shows what is different in her life...
Charlene Newman happened to be with her friends whom she trusted so much of late. She knew they were different because they hung out at Church prayer meetings on Sundays very near to where she lived in the Boston suburbs and read the bible a lot.
She took a selfie of herself next to a picture of a biblical quote with an archaic wooden frame; She knew it would be a different sort of post on Instagram. One of those posts about God and heaven above that made you think. About Life.
It had the words “If God delights in a man’s way he will never let him fall ” in cursive lettering, which meant a lot if you thought deeply about their meaning.
She planned on posting this picture on her social media. She knew that her other friends would post pictures of themselves trying on a new outfit or lipstick. But Charlene here, was trying to be different.
Charlene was trying to make the sort of friends that she knew would inevitably do something good. She, of course, wanted the world to know about it, like anyone who ever posted updates about their life on social media.
She was done with the sort of temporal friends who only hung out with you for what you could do for them, who did drugs, or had weird boyfriends.
She happened to be with one such friend, who called herself Petunia. Petunia Charles was someone who loved attending church prayer meetings a lot and seemed to do a lot of things right.
If there was anything good about their friendship, it was that Charlene felt Petunia was good at giving advice. Charlene was the quiet sort, who relied heavily on what other people had to say about literally everything.
But there was a growing sense of responsibility, and what one would call a maturity of sorts that could be seen in Charlene. She knew she wanted more from her life.
She didn’t want to be someone who did just about anything with her time, and her life. She wanted more people like Petunia around her who could guide her toward becoming a better version of herself. They left the prayer meeting they were so used to going to on Sundays, and went to a coffee shop just to relax.
Charlene and Petunia hung out at the coffee shop for a little while. There was beautiful relaxing music playing there in the background that made this particular coffee shop a favorite among many people who visited it.
Charlene thought about the picture of herself that she was about to post on Instagram. She sat down at a table opposite Petunia and looked at the selfie she had taken a little while ago.
She knew it was going to be a very different sort of social media post. Instead of posting typical selfies that were the kind young women usually would generally post on Instagram, here she was posting something very different.
Charlene was aware that hers was a post with a theme. A different sort of Instagram post which wasn’t all about her, but about the beautiful words of the painting behind her.
After Charlene had applied a beautiful pink filter to the picture, and trimmed it a little to avoid something unnecessary in the background, she decided to post it on Instagram.
She wondered whether she should ask Petunia about her thoughts on the picture before posting it. She felt it would be better to as a sort of surprise, and she posted it anyway.
Petunia somehow didn’t notice that Charlene had posted this picture, and they continued talking about other things. Petunia was a level-headed young lady, and that was a quality that Charlene particularly liked about her.
Petunia and Charlene talked about many things over coffee, and they discussed love as well. Charlene however seemed to like that Petunia never made any reckless decisions in her life ever. She seemed to think very hard and deliberated over every decision she ever made in her life.
After they were done with their outing, Charlene walked home from the cafe which was close to her apartment in the city. She was indeed still thinking about many of the things that she and Petunia had spoken about in the cafe, where they hung out.
When Charlene finally reached home, she opened the door of her apartment and walked in. She sat down in the corner on the pale blue couch that she loved so much next to the window.
The window was open and a light breeze could be felt. It was nearly 7:30 p.m., late in the evening, and Charlene had made a habit of sleeping early. Charlene usually went to bed at 9:00 p.m. She decided that she would do all of the things she was so used to doing until it was time for her to call it a night.
The awesome calm and serene aura that could be felt in the room was indeed intense. She knew that God worked in mysterious ways, which is something folks like Charlene, and the others at the prayer meetings she was attending had impressed on her.
Charlene used to be a reckless noisy type that never had a moment to spare. But these days the things she had been meditating on had been playing on her mind.
All the things she had been reading in scripture were coming back to her. All the thoughts she was having about being spiritual about anything in this otherwise empty world.
All the times she had pushed the empty calorie-laden treats away, and chosen to spend her money wisely. All the times she had chosen to call her mother, back home in Alabama, in the countryside, who was now aged.
She remembered how her mother loved that her daughter was taking the trouble to call and that it was a wise thing according to Church standards too. She decided to call her up and ask her how she was doing.
She realized that all of this was better than Netflix! She told her mother all about the so-called informed choices she was trying to make, choosing wise friends, and choosing wise past times.
She did not forget to tell her mother about the peculiar selfie she had recently posted on social media, which no one seemed to take note of because there was nothing too great about it. Her mother told her it was okay to tag her, which she did.
Charlene went to bed that night with a different sort of happiness. It was a weird feeling, that she couldn’t explain. She had held on to some feeling of goodness that dwelled inside her. The beauty of a quiet life seemed to take on a new glamour.
No longer was she the old Charlene who hung out at wild parties, and had many lovers as she chose.
She was now Charlene Newman who tried to be ‘that girl’ who was on a journey towards realizing her higher purpose, instead of being some sort of ‘it girl’ that would be celebrated in literally every catchy selfie she ever posted.
She slept soundly that night thinking about The One who sees all things. She wondered about her selfie and what people would say, about it the next day. Sure she had worn her best outfit, and done her hair and makeup. But what was so great about this particular post was the picture in the background.
She woke up in the morning with that same peaceful feeling. She got a message in the morning from her mother who had seen the photo. Her mother had been the first one to comment, that the picture in the background was what made her stand out.
Charlene’s photo went viral, even though many people did not think too deeply about the well-meaning words of God in the background. There were many other comments made by old friends from the old days saying things like ‘awesome selfie’ and ‘looking cute’ beneath her Instagram post.
But there was one thing that rang true about this particular post that Petunia also noticed, ‘If God delighted in a man’s way, he made his steps firm’ and this was a truth that made sense only to people seeking it.
Charlene was doing something right according to someone, and the fact that the photo went viral proved it. Probably to God, and everyone that liked that particular post.
The Immortal Ox Rider - part 3
The old man had become a thoroughly lonely old man. A drowning man will clutch a straw, a lonely man will befriend a beast. He called out to the ox, his helper over the past few months, and bayed the beast to come over.
The ox, firm and gentle, and black as night, shining in the glow of the fire, slowly walked over to the old man in the snow. A blanket was laid over its great back, providing some defence against the chill of winter. It was far warmer than the old man, at any rate, and after letting out a few low grunts, blasting the old man’s face with the cloud of hot breath and vapour, it folded its legs to lay down. The old man was three parts surprised and seven parts delighted with this. What a kindly young ox! The old man tentatively reached out a shaking hand to stroke the ox’s neck, which was easily twice as thick as the old man’s entire body.
Content that the ox was comfortable with the contact, the old man relaxed his shoulders and leaned against that warm animal. The ox slowly moved its head, apparently not wanting to disturb the old man, who had been working so hard for such a small creature, and took a corner of its blanket in its teeth, tugging it up to drape over that frail shivering body which leaned against him. The old man’s body was warmed, and so too had the little crystals of frost in his heart been melted away by this act of kindness.
“Say, old chum,” the old man spoke to the ox. This felt much more comfortable than talking to himself, though there still wouldn't be any response. Or so he thought, but the ox did make a single small huff at the address. “You’ve been such a great help to this old one these past few months. Truly, thank you for all the hard work.”
There was another small huff.
“The town is so quiet now.”
There was a slightly louder huff.
“Ha ha, yes. We can make some noise ourselves, I’m sure. But I wonder if there is any reason to stay here now.”
The ox’s tail swatted lazily but he did not huff.
The old man had assumed that staying in the same place would make it easier for his friends to find him in their next lives, but not one had come. He reasoned that it was perhaps time for him to go look elsewhere. Take the initiative.
Also, by now, having been the only survivor of a plague, the old man was finally starting to think it was odd that he had lived so long. He had ignored this curiosity for a while, convincing himself that he was perhaps just very healthy because he had been so active as a young man, but now things were a bit too obvious to ignore. It was undeniably odd. Maybe he could find answers if he searched for them.
He did not tell this to the ox. Instead, he said, “I would like to travel. If you have no objections, then please accompany me. I can’t say how long it will take, but I promise to treat you well if you are willing to stay by my side.”
The ox seemed to contemplate the offer, and at last let out a small huff.
The two set out the following day. One old man, and one young beast. Being a draft animal, the ox was happy to pull along a large cart with all they could carry and thought they might need. It was filled with bales of hay for the animal and reserves of food for the man, as well as blankets and some odd tools, including a spare cane. Stocked as it was, this presented a problem. There was nowhere for the old man to sit.
No matter, he thought, for he could still walk with his cane. It would take longer, and there was still a covering of snow underfoot which might make him slower still, but they would be able to travel.
The ox did not agree. Its tail whipped back and forth fiercely and it refused to move a step.
“Come, now, I won’t slow you down that much,” the old man tried to coax.
They were at a stalemate and hadn't even left the town square.
Bovines were notorious for their stubborn natures, so the old man had no chance of winning this battle of wills.
“Very well,” the old man sighed at last. “What would you have me do? Ride your back?”
It seemed that was exactly what the ox would have him do, and it lowered its giant neck in a low bow, bending its front legs as it did so. Still, it was quite an ask for the old man to climb up there, even lowered as the ox was. It was a combined effort that got him up eventually, holding one of the ox’s large horns for support as the animal slowly lifted and turned its head, while the old man used what leg strength he had to fling one of the limbs over that enormous back. There were no stirrups, for there was no saddle, but the old man got some purchase for his feet on the frame that hung over the beast’s shoulders, the frame being then attached to whatever the animal was tasked with pulling by lengths of rope.
The ox gave a few huffs once the old man was settled, apparently being appeased at last, and so began walking out of the town.
The town was near the sea, built atop a cliff overlooking the water. The main street wound all the way down that cliff and to the shore, where there was once a bustling fish market. It was empty now.
The pair were not going to the sea, so they made a turn in the road and headed south. “There is a place I haven't been in a very long time,” the old man told his companion. “I would like to go there first. I was still a young man when I was last there.” The old man patted the ox’s back, and the sheen of its coat only proved to exaggerated the rippling muscles of a working animal underneath. The old man smiled. “You know, good chum, when I was a young man, I looked much like yourself.”
The ox turned its head back slightly to look at its rider.
“I don’t mean to say I was an ox in my youth!” the old man explained, laughing and giving the beast a little scratch behind the ears. “I was very strong. Your muscles have reminded me of the ones I used to have. Aiyah, I have been complacent since becoming an old man and my body has become like this. No matter.” The old man thought for a while. “Listen, my friend, you must not be complacent as I have. You are still young now. It would be best if you could stay young and strong for as long as you live - avoid becoming an old ox if possible.”
The old man didn't think this request was something the ox could fulfil, but he had said it anyway because he was talking to an animal. The old man wondered, though, how long would it take for the ox to become an old ox? How long did an ox usually live? Was it longer than a human, or shorter? The thought worried him quite a bit. “Ah, friend, you had really better live a long life, eh? That would be best. This old one humbly requests that you live until we finish our journey,” he fretted. The old man closed his hands in prayer, muttering to himself. If he were to lose even the ox, he really wouldn't know what to do.
The ox only gave a small huff.
“Do you enjoy stories?” the old man asked suddenly.
The ox huffed.
“Excellent, excellent! You see, all I can do well these days is tell stories. I’ll tell you one as you walk. Let me tell you about where we are going, and what I was doing there as a young man.”
The old man began his story. He talked about a kingdom he had fought for. A knighthood he was granted. The lessons he took in the arts of music and war. He did not neglect to boast about his once-mighty physique.
He spoke of the comrades in arms he had, and which weapon they each preferred, but explained that these were not true friends. No, his first true friend was the young man he would speak of next. A young man he first met in the place they were walking to now.
That place was a battlefield at the time. The young man was an opposing warrior, and the two had fought briefly before a white flag was raised. He spoke of how the young man had pierced him with a blade at that moment of declared peace, but he spoke with unconcealed mirth.
“Do you know what I said to him then? I said ‘all is forgiven after a stabbing!’ and then ‘please remove the sword, it’s time for lunch’.” The old man laughed heartily in recollection, finding the follies of his own youth as much hilarious as ridiculous.
He went on to explain how the two had found a quiet spot to sit, where they had broken bread and drank from the same cup.
“He asked me ‘do you always bring bread to the battlefield?’ and so I told him ‘of course! Ever since I was a child I knew that I wanted my last meal to be this bread!’ and I handed him the bigger piece.”
The old man explained that the young man was good humoured, and seemed to enjoy his candour. The two spoke for a long time, and the old man (who was a young man himself at the time) had talked at length about his views of the world, of its cycles, of the infinite rebirth that all were a part of. “No one had ever cared so much when I spoke of these things before, you see. They would nod along for a minute or two and then politely ask me to stop. But that young man seemed to completely understand, and would join in rather than just listen.”
And after discussing the workings of the world, they had chatted about their young lives. “I think he liked my stories as much as you do, friend,” the old man said, giving the ox another round of scratches and pats. “That, or he was insulting my abilities from our little skirmish, because he told me ‘the sword suits you well, but you might find more pleasure in the pen’ by way of telling me to write these stories down.”
The two young men had met often after that, and spoke freely. The bonds of men are often fortified through bouts of violence. They would have friendly sparring matches, and discuss the world, and eat bread. They had grown so close, into truly inseparable friends, and the young man asked one day if the other had anything he wanted.
“I was confused at the time, because the question seemed to come from nowhere. I didn't give it much thought, so all I could say was something quite bland: ‘well, I only want what everyone wants: to live a long life’. He had nodded at that but pressed ‘no more?’ and I could only shrug. ‘I rarely want for anything’ I confessed. ‘It’s hard to think of something on the spot. What brought this on?’ but he avoided my question, saying ‘well, if you ever think of anything, just say it. You’ve given me so much: all this bread and friendship, for example. I want to repay you. I’ll give you anything you ask for, it doesn't have to be right now’ and then changed the subject and asked me to spar.”
But he had never been able to ask the young man for anything else. A week later, a new war between their kingdoms broke out, and they found themselves on opposing sides of a battlefield again. It was even the same field. But this time, they would not see each other. Not until one of them was already dead.
The old man didn’t seem to dwell on this section of the story as much as he had with others. He was very brief in recounting how he eventually found his friend’s body, and had given him a burial in the place they first broke bread.
The old man realised they still had a ways to go before they reached their first destination, so started telling other stories to kill the time.
It took some days before they arrived. Over those days, the pair had perfected the art of getting the old man on and off of the ox’s back, though several of his joins still made cracking sounds with the movement.
They did not spend a long time here, for the old man simply wished to pay respects to the grave of his friend. Convinced as he was that the young man must have cycled through many more lives since then, this was as close as the old man could get to his friend without finding a reincarnation. The ox grazed mildly while the old man ate some of the bread he had brought for the journey, which was slightly stale now.
The kingdom the old man had once fought for no longer existed. It had been invaded and taken over some hundred years ago, they learned as they walked around to gather more supplies.
And then they moved on.
Conversing with the ox had become very easy. He was a straightforward creature, and did not need any formal language to respond to the old man. A huff indicated a positive, either affirmation or a pleasure response. When it swatted its tail, this was a negative, either disagreement or displeasure. Finally, the old man noticed that the ox seemed to have given him a name. It would quickly scratch its back foot on the ground three times when trying to get the old man's attention, either to wake him or show some sight to him.
The two travelled to many places together, and those three simple gestures were enough.
For everything else, the old man would talk. The ox liked to listen. At nights, they would share a blanket. Sometimes the ox would simply stand watch and graze as the old man slept, because the animal did not tire as easily.
The old man didn't dare think about how long they had been travelling, because he did not want to think about his companion ageing and dying, but the ox never showed signs of this at all. It remained strong and gentle.
When times were tough and the old man had no food, he would resort to eating grass or roots with the ox, never once considering butchering the beast to stave his own hunger.
When times were cold, the old man would go to great lengths to find or make shelter for the ox, insisting it be wrapped with all of their blankets first, and take only his old robes for himself. He would never think to sell the ox for shelter or supplies.
Several times people had tried to buy or steal the ox, and in these instances the old man’s cloudy eyes would flash with the light of a former knight as he beat people back with his cane and chastised them in the irate way only the elderly can pull off without consequence.
But likewise, so the ox cared for him.
Times had been tough for food, and the ox seemed to know that the old man should not really be eating grass. Similarly, it knew that the old man was far too small of a creature to hunt anything for himself. The ox was of course herbivorous, but herbivores are just as capable of killing. It stepped on a rabbit, breaking its back, and pierced the creature with one of its horns to bring back for the old man. His rider was delighted with rabbit stew that night.
When there were cold nights, the ox remembered that day the old man had first asked it to travel with him. It had been snowing then, and the old man enjoyed the beast’s warmth. After the old man had piled blankets on its back, it would always lift a corner of the stack for the old man to curl under.
Many times on their travels they had encountered the nefarious sort. The old man had no weapons, but the ox certainly did. Those horns and the rippling muscles made short work of any pests.
The old man knew his goals with travelling, and looked in every place they went for both the souls of his friends and answers to his life. He never found either.
The pair had walked the world over. They had even sailed the seas several times, on crafts large enough for the ox. Somehow, the ox had an easier time on the sea than the old man did, and never experienced motion sickness.
The old man had told all of his stories, and resorted to inventing new ones. The only one who could understand him was the ox. Not because his mind ever faltered or his stories didn't make sense, but because the language the old man spoke had died out by then. They had been travelling for so long, afterall, and languages are evolving things. Thus, the old man, who had not been able to hold a pen in so long, and was unable to write these stories down, could now no longer even tell these stories to people, for no one would understand.
Little did he know, that stories were in fact being written ABOUT him. This pair had been seen the whole world over, and each region made their own legends, so the titles differed slightly, but they would all translate to something like ’The Immortal Ox Rider'.
The old man had not been keeping track of the time, so he didn’t even notice that it had been a thousand years.
Though he did not find what he was initially looking for, the old man had found so much more. And one day it seemed to click for him.
“I have seen this world, now, with these old eyes of mine. I don't need to speculate, for I have all the evidence in these very eyes. The cycles truly are everywhere. Completely inescapable to all. Though, I think I have fallen outside of these cycles somehow. Why, I do not know, but I believe I have a plan. Will you indulge me, my friend?”
The ox huffed.
“You always do.”
Another huff.
“Three more bales of hay for supper.”
A round of excited huffs.
“My plan, then, I will tell you now. My plan is thus: if I, and by association even your good self, have fallen outside of the cycles of nature, then it stands to reason that we can simply manufacture our own cycles! How does that sound?”
The ox was silent.
“Ah, I have not explained well. My first plan is quite simple. Just to test things, really. This journey of ours really has been quite long, hasn't it?”
The ox huffed.
“Indeed. But, longer cycles than this exist in the world. For example, the erosion of cliffs to nourish the sea and form new lands. My plan is to finish the cycle of this journey. I suggest we return to the old town. All good adventures should finish where they started, I think. Maybe this intentional cycle will have some effect! At any rate, we can't know unless we try. Shall we set off after supper?”
The ox looked at the old man for a long time, apparently mulling over the plan. At last, there was a very quiet huff.
Stories of the Gods part 3
Thanatos never hated his job.
Even if he did, he can’t change it any more than Hades can change his position as king of the underworld; a somewhat reluctant title.
But some days he wished he wasn’t so feared. Some days he wishes people were happy to see him to guide their souls to Charon.
Unfortunately, the spot he was needed at today bordered on another deity group and he had to try to work with them. Which they were not making easy, it was boarding the Catholic territories and they tended to be territorial.
He tried to stay away from the closest area to them, putting his focus on the people that are clearly within his territory.
It was a small, man-made disaster, thankfully. He did not want to help clean up another one of his owns mess like last time. It at least means the death toll is comparatively smaller, maybe a few hundred to a thousand unlike the 40,000 they had during the last disaster.
There was some protest gone wrong, resulting in a small explosion that collapsed a 10-story office building.
And every single person he went to, to lead them to Charon was terrified of him. Their soul backed away in fear.
He even put his hood down to show his face but what he symbolized outweighed his human appearance.
There was a middle-aged man who died when the building collapsed, crushing his body. His soul was sitting up, transparent and numb. Wondering if this was just an out-of-body experience, he would be fine.
Thanatos appeared, kneeling to him but the man knew exactly what was going on.
The man shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “No, no please, I don’t want to die, it’s not my time, please.”
He started to back away but barely moved two feet, his soul still attached to his body.
Thanatos frowned, reaching out softly. “I’m sorry my soul, but your time has come.”
“But I have a family! I have kids “
“I’m aware.” He said gently.
The man sobbed. “Please don’t take me, please.”
Thanatos stayed silent as he stood, getting his sword and severing the soul from the body. “You are not the only one here who left families behind. Come, I will see you to your proper judgment.”
The man backed away from the hand. “No! No, it’s just an out-of-body experience.” Now that he was disconnected from his body he started to run.
Thanotos hated this part.
He appeared instantly in front of the running man who barely got 12 feet away from him, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Please do not run. You cannot outrun me.”
Before the man could try and run again he transported him the the underworld, leaving him with Charon and soon Hades.
It was like that for most of the souls he retrieved. He knew it was likely because many of the deaths were so quick, the building crushing most, killing them instantly. He understands why they feel so shocked, blindsided and terrified.
It doesn’t help the hurt he feels when they try to run from him.
Once his area was cleared, for now, many paramedics were on the scene and helping retrieve and help those trapped.
Artemis and Apollo were helping the medical workers as much as they could, there were many other deities there helping as well. Thanatos could see the exhaustion on Apollo's face as he helped guide minds and hands, and calm those injured.
Apollo sighed with a tired smile, that was all there was for now until more could be retrieved. He saw Thanotos watching him. Artemis saw him as well. Apollo looked over to her, silently asking permission to see him. Artemis nodded. “Go on. He looks like he could use a friend.”
He smiled. “Thank you!”
He gave a big smile to the death god, waving to him before running over to him. “Hey! How you been?”
“I have been better Apollo.” He said softly, sadly.
The sun god frowned, concern clear in his eyes. “Oh no, did you have to retrieve children? I know how that upsets you with disasters.”
“No. They all…fear me. I’ve had several attempt to run away. So many pleaded for me not to take them. Told me about the families they’re leaving behind. It weighs heavy on me today.”
Apollo frowned, looking away, thinking of anything he could do to help, “Would you mind if I played a song?” He got his lyre, seemingly out of thin air.
Thanatos gave a tired look to the god of sunlight. “I will not stop you but I have to see to the border area, there are still souls. And I don’t think you’re work is done.”
There was suddenly a cry of elation. “We found more survivors!”
Apollo looked over and smiled, seeing people being rescued.
“I guess I don’t have time for a song. But let’s meet when this is over, with Dionysus.”
“I will see you then.”
Apollo gave a little salute before going back to the medics to help.
Thanatos sighed, using the ability to instantly transport to get to the border area.
There he saw Azreil, already at work,
Azreil was a tall figure, taller than Thanotos, by at least three feet, with six wings on each side of him, eyes dotting his dark wings all the way to the base, a large golden halo was around his bald head, it also had eyes. He wore dark robes and a hood, as seemed standard for any god of death. But his hood was down, he wonders if for the same reason, he pulled his down; to attempt to calm those who feared him.
But the person whose soul he severed with his own sword wasn’t scared, in fact, seemed to welcome him.
The angel spoke, surprisingly soft to Thanatos, all the eyes on his wings and halo looking at him now, even if he didn’t turn his head; it was unsettling and Thanatos is not one to be easily unsettled. “Hello, Thanatos. You’ve done good work today.”
“I see you have been at work as well. Not often we work in the same territory. I hope I’m not overstepping.”
Azeril turned his body, the soul went into the afterlife. He got his book that was hanging by a belt on his waist, looking for and scratching off a name with a black feather quill. “Not at all. It is not your fault death happened on our borders.”
Thanatos gave a bow to him, giving a look of the area as he righted himself. He saw Samael there as well which was not good for him.
Saael was towering, just like Azreial but with more wings, if that was possible. Twelve black wings came from his back, thankfully there was less eyes dotting down his wings to the base but he had two golden halos, crossing over his head with eyes on them, and two dark horns that came from his head. He didn’t seem to notice Thanotos which was good. He was known for being as territorial as a cat.
He instantly arrived to a soul, doing his best to push away the hurt from the fear so many seemed to feel. But why were they not so scared of Azreial? They all seemed calm and followed.
Once all souls were retrieved he looked around the area, seeing more medics and another angel, Micheal.
He felt dread settle in his stomach. He’s rarely ever had to face the archangel. Micheal was just as tall and unsettling as Azreial but less wings, only four on each side, white wings with the same eyes dotting down to the base, a large, golden halo that also had eyes but he looked ready for war as he helped heal the injured and guide the medics. Fully armed with a sword and shield on his back, armor plating covering his chest as well.
Thanatos felt they got the last of the souls, all that was left was for the healers to do what they could.
Micheal healed similarly to Apollo, petting the injured one’s hair, keeping them calm, and using their abilities to aid in healing.
When Micheal was done he saw Thanotos and gave a weak glare, flying over quickly to stand in front of him. “This is our territory, what are you doing here?”
Thanatos glared weakly as he looked up at him, why were all the angels so tall? “It is a border, I cannot help people died on the border.”
“Well your job is done, you can leave.”
Azreial was suddenly next to his fellow angel. “Micheal, it is alright. He is not here to harm anyone. He is only doing his job, just as we are.”
Micheal just continued to glare down at him, with every single eye on him. “He is from the underworld. He can’t be trusted.”
Suddenly Samael was involved, probably just getting done retrieving his own souls. “Micheal is right. The Underworld cannot be trusted, it is just a short walk away from Hell.”
Thanatos glared but all the angels were so much taller and stronger than him. As he is a God of death, the only power he possesses is being able to freely go between the underworld and the living world.
But Thanatos thought of his dear friend Hades, of how caring and gentle he is with every soul. And the thought of someone calling the underworld Hell struck a nerve. “The Underworld and Hell are nothing alike!”
He didn’t mean to raise his voice but his mental energy was too low to handle this properly. The day had taken its toll on him and his patience was thin as hair.
Apollo must have heard or was already on his way to aid the medics when he was suddenly by Thanotos' side. “Whoa, what’s going on? Thanatos, are you ok?”
Thanatos was about to tell him he was fine when Samael grinned. “We were just having a conversation, little god.”
Apollo huffed. “Little?”
Samael smiled, hands on his hips, his 8ft frame towering over them both. “Yes. Little. I was just telling Micheal that he is right not to trust anyone from The Underworld; it’s just a short stop away from Hell.”
Apollo glared this time but Sameal continued. “And everyone knows that anyone that comes from the underworld are monsters. And the world has no place for monsters.”
Before Thantos or Azrael could say anything or step between them, Apollo already had his golden bow and arrow, glaring at the tall angel with righteous anger, his long blonde hair floating with his growing energy.
Sameal reacted as well, energy swirling around him. Both Thanatos and Azrael stepped in to stop their fellow deities.
“Apollo stand down!”
“Samael STOP!” The angel's voice boomed.
Apollo and Sameal just stared at each other in a stalemate through the blank space of Azrael wings that separated them.
Azrael spoke to Samaell first, Micheal had his hand on the hilt of his sword on his back, ready if needed.
“Samael, stop. He is only here to do his job. Just as we are. If you do not stand down I will ask Micheal to stop you.”
Samael glared weakly, his anger going down before leaving. “Fine.” He said before turning.
Thanatos did the same with Apollo. “Apollo, come along, we are done here.”
Apollo lowered his weapon before glaring softly to Thanatos, his earlier energy leaving him. “He called you and Hades monsters.”
“I know.”
“He deserves it.”
“I know Apollo. I’m just as infuriated but we cannot start a war simply because he’s rude. Let’s go home.”
Apollo sighed, starting to walk alongside Thanatos. “How fast can you get us to the underworld.”
“Three seconds-“
Apollo got his bow and arrow with lightning speed and shot at Samael, hitting him square in the ass.
The angel yelped in pain as Thanatos shoved Apollo into the portal to go home.
Apollo was laughing as they arrived in the underworld, outside of Nyxs home, Thanotos not wanting to bother any of the souls that might still be waiting for judgment.
Thanatos nearly growled, he was so angry. “That was so immature, there are consequences, you can’t just shoot an angel.”
Apollo waved his hand. “It wasn’t anything damaging, just enough to hurt.”
“That’s not the point. You risk starting a war with the archangels just because he was rude.”
Apollo glared back. “He also can’t be allowed to behave that way. Azrael didn’t stop him properly so I did. I may not be Hades' favorite person and he’s not my favorite but I’m not about to let some guy with eyeballs on his feathers call him a monster. Or you! At least now he knows we won’t take his shit.”
Thanatos sighed. “I think you are hanging around your humans too much.”
“Or not enough,” Apollo said with a smile.
Thanatos looked away. Apollo did have a point, even Angels need consequences for their behavior. He can only hope they don’t cross paths anytime soon. “Thank you, for defending me and my home. You didn’t have to do that.”
Apollo smiled. “Corse I did, I wasn’t gonna let him bully you. Now let’s get that drink, I think we really need one.”
They arrived to the temple in Elsuyam, already there were a few others there, Dioynous of course, Thanatos thinks he lives here sometimes, the wine god is there so often.
Dioynous saw them, coming over with a smile, and giving Apollo a big hug. “Glad you guys made it! How did the soul searching go?”
Dioynous gave a hug to Thanatos as well. He barely returned it, not quite sure what to do. “Uh, it could have gone better. But the souls are where they need to be, that’s all that matters.”
Apollo gave him a look. “So you’re not going to tell him about the angels?”
Thanatos gave him a stern look. Apollo shrugged. “What?”
Dionysus summoned two glasses of wine, handing one to Apollo. “You two have had a day.” Before Thanatos could get the other wine, Dionysus started summoning different herbs into it before handing it over.
Thanatos looked at it suspiciously, carefully taking the wine glass. “What did you put on mine?”
“Just some relaxing herbs; chamomile, lavender, marijuana-“
“You put drugs on my drink?” Thanatos exclaimed.
“It’s not a drug to us, and even so, it’s not like we have any drug test to pass to continue working. I can feel how tense you are and have been all day; please drink this and relax. You are among friends.”
Thanatos couldn’t argue with that logic, he just despised the idea of not being in complete control of himself. But he is among friends and Dioynous has always been a phenomenal host, making sure everyone was safe as they had a good time. He took a few sips, finding the flavor was exactly how he liked his drinks; sweet.
The wine god brought a steady hand to his back, gently ushering them to a cozy couch. “Now tell me everything, how did your day go?” He said, summoning his own wine as he sat on the grassy ground, carefree and casual.
Thanatos sighed. “I want to state I do not hate my destiny as the God of Death but some days, I wish I wasn’t.” His voice became quiet as he finished his statement, making Dioynous look worried and Apollo giving a knowing, sympathetic look, sitting cross-legged on the sofa next to him.
Thanatos continued. “So many souls are terrified of me. A few even ran away, pleading with me not to take them, telling me of the families they’re leaving behind.”
He felt the heaviness of what happened finally come down upon him. He didn’t want to be seen as emotional so he hid it by taking a few large gulps of his wine. It helped lighten the load, his emotions were already a little lighter.
“And then the angels were there.”
Apollo huffed. “Bunch of conceited assholes, they called me a little god.”
“Azrael is alright. He’s always respectful to us. It’s the others that take Umbridge with others, not from his sect.”
Apollo swallowed the wine he had in his mouth. “No, it’s Samael and Micheal who are the troublemakers. Especially Samael, the way he talked down to you.”
Dionysus frowned. “What did he say?”
Thanatos looked at the deep red of the wine in his glass. “He said all those from the underworld are monsters; a short step away from Hell. I raised my voice to him.”
Even Dioynous, as carefree as he is, had a certain anger in his eyes. “What happened then?”
Thanatos looked toward Apollo who had a guilty but smug smile. Dionouys saw this, raising an eyebrow with a growing smile. “Apollo, what did you do?”
Apollo took in a breath. “I was about to shoot him but both Thanotos and Azrael broke it up. Which, fair. Not sure we could take on Archangels without Athena or Ares. But before we left I shot an arrow at his ass, it hit and-”
“And it was very risky. We don’t know what the angels plan to do if they choose to retaliate.” Thanatos said, looking over at the blonde with a tired look.
Dionouys summoned a wine decanter, having it pour into Thanoto's glass mid air. Thanatos just gave him a weak look. “You're still stressed.”
“How can I not be? We might have triggered a war, those angels are always more than willing to start a war; remember the crusades?”
“Yes and we handled it then, we’ll handle it now, if that happens,” Apollo said, continuing. “But I doubt they'll do anything, Jesus is super chill but would probably throw another fit if his archangels got out of hand. They're probably already getting a lecture about respect.”
Thanatos smiled weakly. “I suppose you're right.”
Suddenly cheers erupted from the center. Apollo smiled, seeing Athena in the middle of it with a wine glass and a smile. “What's going on there?”
Dionysus smiled, looking over his shoulder. “Oh, she wanted a celebration. A patron of hers graduated medical school.”
Apollo stood quickly. “Wait really? I was helping with that too! How could I forget?” He said, frowning, nearly ready to run over. Thanotos tried to reason with his panic. “We also had a disaster to see to.”
Apollo frowned, feeling awful for forgetting. “I know, but her Patron, Sophia was working with me as well, I’ve been helping her for years alongside Athena.”
Thanatos smiled, the only real smile he’s had all day. “Go on then. It’s ok to forget, you were helping save lives today and I’m sure Athena and Sophia would understand.”
Apollo smiled back. “Alright. I’ll be back in a bit.”
He said, running over to greet Athena who smiled, greeting him with the excitement of seeing an old friend.
“Brother! Glad you made it.” She said as she hugged him. Apollo smiled sheepishly. “Same, I nearly forgot.”
“You’re here now, that’s what counts.” She said with a smile. “Now celebrate with us, our girl graduated and is now a licensed surgeon.”
Thanatos watched Apollo and Athena greet each other, celebrating their believer and her accomplishments with their shared help. But one question nagged at his mind.
Dioynous sensed his change in mood. “I can hear you thinking.”
Thanatos looked to the large blonde. “I’m just wondering; why we’re all the people I went to get scared of me but the ones the angels got seemed to calm and embraced them? Do they not see what we see?”
“Oh, that. The angels have some abilities we don’t have, or at least other Gods of death don’t have; they can instantly calm a soul. They don’t always have to use it but you know how they tell the souls do not be afraid. It’s some sort of incantation to calm those they go to.”
Thanatos nodded. “Makes sense now. All those eyes are unsettling.”
“That’s putting it nicely. Those aren’t even their actual forms, that’s just their forms for humans. They’re even more unsettling and bigger.”
Thanatos huffed. “Great. And Apollo just risked a war with them.”
Elsewhere in Heaven, Azrael stood next to Jesus, at attention as their king and commander lectured Micheal and Sameal, mostly Samael.
Jesus wasn’t often angry or upset, most of the time he was soft-spoken and the personification of peace, but not today.
Not today when Samael was so blatantly rude to boarding deities.
He stood, white robs and arms crossed. “Do you know how close you were to starting a war, over nothing? Thanatos was just doing his job!”
Sameal glared back, Micheal watching his fellow angel with shock.
“He is from the underworld,” Samael said.
“So?” Jesus said, staring right back, even if he was a good few feet shorter than the tall angels. “He’s not from Hell and even if he is, you do not start fighting unless I or Micheal say so, is that clear?”
Samael looked away, hands fisted. “His little friend shot me.”
“You deserved it and you’re lucky Apollo didn’t mean actual harm. Now leave, I have to send apologies to them, on your behalf.”
Samael grumbled, turning away sharply and leaving. Micheal frowned, fearing he may be in trouble. Jesus calmed, his posture softening. “You are not in trouble Micheal, although I would like you to trust the other deities more, I cannot force you to. If you see Thanatos again, just say hello. I promise you, he means no harm.”
Micheal bowed. “Thank you, you’re holiness.” He said before leaving the room.
Azrael sighed. “I apologize again for not handling my fellow angels properly.”
“It’s not your job to, Micheal should have been the one to step in and stop it before things escalated. But I’m happy someone did. You did no wrongdoing and are free to go.” Azrael bowed as he left as well.
Jesus sighed, summoning paper and a pen, sitting down at his white desk and writing an apology letter and makeing sure they know no war will come of this and that it was only a bad day.
The next day, when Thanotos was done with his work, he stopped to see Hades, he always made sure to visit as often as possible during the time his queen has left. He knew how lonely it was for Hades.
While Hades poured him a dark coffee, a drink he preferred over wine, a scroll came flying through the window that oversaw the dark canyons and lava-like rivers of the underworld.
The golden, floating scroll floated in front of Thanatos. Hades looked curious as he sat, his own mug of coffee in hand. “You have a letter from Jesus?”
Thanatos frowned, feeling anxious seeing it floating, wondering what might be on it. “Yes, and I’m not sure why.”
Hades sensed the anxiety in his friend. “Open it.” He gave a command, gently.
Thanatos reached out and gently grabbed it, unfurling it with both hands and reading over the golden lettering.
“He’s…apologizing for his angel's behavior. He promises no war will come of Apollo's behavior as it was justified defending his friends.”
Hades gave a small smile. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”
Thanatos almost rolled his eyes. “I’m aware. I can’t believe he actually wrote me an apology.”
“Jesus is one of the better ones of that sect. He’s always been nothing but respectful toward others.” Hades said as he sat down on the couch across from his friend.
Thanktos filled the paper back up. “It was very kind of him to do.”
“Do you feel better now?”
Thanatos smiled. “I do. Now that I have peace of mind nothing will come of Apollo's actions.”
“Good. Now relax, as you tell me so often.”