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AShellfishLover t1_iuf3a73 wrote

I started hiking to keep away from booze.

First, there's no bars in the woods. Second, when you finally decided you hit rock bottom and need to get clean? The guys you thought of as your friends turn out to be roaches. The Professor, this guy at my meetings? He says it's Kafkaesque. I don't know this Kafka guy, but I think he's onto something.

Out here it's just me and Spot. The old boy's been with me through it all; the marriage, the bottle, the divorce. We slept on a lot of streets together during those years, but none of them were as comfy as a good bed of pine needles up here.

We spent most of the time we had up here, but today was gonna be a send-off. Three years of sobriety meant getting clean and a good work history, and Prof knew a guy out west who needed an apprentice. Locksmith. Heh, not a bad gig, and maybe learning it legit after so many years getting away with it wasn't a bad idea.

Spot tore off into the deep woods and I started after. Spot was a big bull mastiff, and as he ran he left quite the trail. The birdsong and rustling we normally heard died as we trekked deeper, and I started to worry about getting back to the trail when my foot slipped on a small rise, sending me sliding down to a pit of soft slag rock and a quiet clearing.

The clearing was strange this far out. A cave lay just a few hundred feet away, its dark entrance carved in the style of a courthouse's steps. One man sat on a stone, petting Spot.

Another lay sprawled and tied to a large rock. Blood ran down his sides and over the stones, and a large dark bird sat on his chest, pecking at his belly.

The seated man stood and the whole clearing seemed darker, more real for a second. A few fun nights during school creeping back up? No, there was something about the man. He was fit, built like a man who took care of himself, his flannel shirt tied around his waist. Long grey-streaked black hair fell from his head, and while his smile beamed, his eyes were the cold dark of night, of deep places where secrets and treasures lie.

"I like your dog, Jason. But this is not a place for you or he to be."

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AShellfishLover t1_iuf61wr wrote

"I don't quite remember you, sir, but I think we need to talk about your friend and that bird there."

The tall dark stranger stared at me with those piercing eyes. Then he laughing, laughing hard and long, and the air shook with the thunder of it. When he stopped he turned to his captive.

"Did you hear that? We're friends, you and I. They do not teach their children well here across Atlas's sea."

"I was never much for school, sir, but I know a murder when I see it. And you best to better understand that I won't be leaving until you let that man go." I reached into my backpack as the stranger watched with those eyes, finding the machete I used to cut trails when Spot and I found ourselves too deep in the woods.

"Ahh, heroic. As is fitting your name. I fear you and I would be an unfair pairing, but I do know a more something that seems," the Stranger paused, smiling, "fitting."

From the strange cave came noises, a cross between the screams of dying women and grating metal.

"Your namesake fell them once, and so they are mine now to command. Fare well, and we shall see to my friend on the stone."

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AShellfishLover t1_iuf8n02 wrote

The monsters poured out of the cave. They were cruelly shaped, long dark wings draped around twisted shoulders. Their faces were those of women twisted in ectascy or agony, and their legs were bird-like, fat thighs extending to long curved talons.

The Stranger and his prisoner disappeared in an instance, melting into the shadows. The clearing changed then, shifting to a view somewhere high upon a mountaintop. The fading sun of mid-afternoon was replaced by a blazing noon sun, and the chill October air became hot and dry as a desert in morning.

The hills surrounding the clearing changed into a stadium, and I saw tall men and women who looked like the Stranger looking down from the stands dispassionately. The only one who looked to me with a shred of kindness was not as pretty as the other women, nor as tall. She had the kind eyes of a mother looking upon her son, and I saw a brief smile flash across her face before she hid it with a fan of peacock feathers.

The Stranger sat separated from the other watchers, his seat just above the cave's mouth. His flannel and jeans had been replaced by a long black robe, and the woman who sat at his feet wore a dingy gray shift.

The Stranger bowed his head, and muttered in a language I did not understand. The faces of the crowd broke for the first time; hungry eyes from a beautiful woman, her heavy-muscled husband seated in a gleaming bright wheelchair. A young man, dressed in a breechclout and strange hat, tilted his brim towards me. A man who could have been the Stranger's twin, dressed in a bright blue robe and wearing a shell necklace, looked to me as if I was condemned.

The Stranger lowered his hand, and the monsters attacked.

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AShellfishLover t1_iufj7p6 wrote

There were three of the beastwomen, and it was just me and Spot. Don't get me wrong, Spot is a survivor. I found him hurt years ago, and the scars on his muzzle and flank told a tale of a bad life, but he'd always been a gentle giant of a beast.

But I'd never taken him as a fighter until that day. Spot stood firmly by my side. I never knew what they meant about hackles being up until I saw my sweet little boy ready for war.

We charged the shrieking birdwomen as they started flapping their wings, and I got lucky. A swift overhead strike, like you use to chop down a thick rope, and the first one was down in a pool of inky black blood. For my trouble I took a gash to the arm, and Spot circled to my back, barking and snapping at one of the beasts while I squared against the other.

The beast in front of me swiped at my face, forcing me to back away and trip up short of Spot. I spun and swung high, and caught the monster's clawed hand on their backstroke.

With a flick of its wrist the creature snatched the blade, and I knew I was screwed. I always though the whole life flashing before your eyes thing was a lie, then I saw it all.

my father hitting me, drunk and terrible, but it was better than hitting my little sister. This was the last time, when i hit back, not like..

the first night with Angie, drunk on strawberry wine, the demon not yet in me, her hands warm and hair so soft, smelling like...

dandelions, twined into a crown. She was dressed in a shift, no, a toga, a witch, the laughter of women in my ears, the sounds of the wind chattering like...

birds, in the trees. Running away, Kerberos at my heels, hot bread in my hands. A good boy, named after the spots across his back, after the three headed hound, a monster, like a hydra, like...

harpies. Monstrous women, cursed by Zeus. I went with my sword to dispatch them, to save the King and return home, prideful like...

a peacock, her favorite, the Mother of Gods, sending me to find the Fleece, to save the kingdom, her hands pressing

A sword. The harpy flapped away from me then, baring fangs and screeching.

It felt right. I knew the blade, every nick and worry from hilt to tip. Its weight felt natural in my hand, and I knew what I had to do.

My body went into autopilot, and I went to killing the harpies with a will. Spot was my shadow, keeping the surviving shade from me, snapping in all directions. We worked together, and made quick work of the challenge. And as the last fell I heard the Stranger scream, and then those screams were replaced by moans of pain.

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AShellfishLover t1_iufss5t wrote

The Stranger's captive was no longer tied to the stone, and the bird that had been tearing at the captive's stomach had disappeared along with the arena. The wounds I had seen before were gone, replaced with a mass of scars across his chest and stomach. The captive curled into the fetal position, and I went to check on the man I just saved.

His face was rugged. While the Stranger and his watchers' faces were handsome in their perfection, the captive's features were more primitive, carved from clay rather than marble. Lines marked his mouth, as if finally relaxed after a permanent scream. I rubbed his back as I had countless friends in pain before, and the captive relaxed, turning over on his back.

"Thank you, kind sir. You cannot know how long it has been that I was held there by the Tartarean." the free man whispered. "If there is anything I can do, any gift I can offer, I'd give it gladly."

"Heh, I don't think you have much to offer, friend, but th—"

He grabbed my arm and I looked into the captive's eyes.

"Fire. Knowledge. I have much to give. So, so many things... lessons from the Gods. Your people learned to harness the power of Zeus, to sail across Poseidon's great seas, to hammer out weapons that would make Haephestus weep and Ares slaver in jealousy. You have gained a way to transfer Gnosis through nets of fine wire, but why stop there?"

Then the visions came. A world without death. A world without want. A world perfect and ablaze with the passions of intellect.

And above them all I sat, sitting in a Throne of twisted bronze. But it wasn't me. The eyes, those cruel and vicious eyes

I felt Spot licking me through my torn pants, and it was the only thing that saved me. The captive had wrapped me in his embrace, his eyes wild and staring into mine, spittle running out of the corners of his mouth.

The blade slid in clean. His eyes clouded, and I let his body fall back to the slab.

I dug the grave shallow, my small trench shovel ill-equipped for the work in this gravelly mess. I wrapped his body in the shroud he had risen in as my lantern cast strange shadows in the clearing. I saw my fate in a thousand shadows, a hundred deaths, a hundred happy endings.

But each was mine.

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Equal-Researcher-329 t1_iuftgpf wrote

I love that the dogs named spot, just makes me think Jason’s walking around with Cerberus

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AShellfishLover t1_iufv7me wrote

Yep, that was the tie-in. I liked the idea of a sort of reincarnation vibe so I went there. If I had spent more time in the sprint I would have worked more out

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cjrw32 t1_iufu6i1 wrote

That was a great read.

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AShellfishLover t1_iufucbf wrote

Thanks! If you ignore my posts in magictcg you'll find a bunch of prompts, these are some of the last before I tuck in for nanowrimo

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Gruuler t1_iug7shn wrote

No, don’t ignore the mtg posts! Join us everyone!

Great job on the story, this was excellent!

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lestairwellwit t1_iugirr4 wrote

Completely haiku-esque (is that a word? I mean it's only three syllables... )

The metaphor, simile and more is fantastic

Thank you for this

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AShellfishLover t1_iugj4zn wrote

A whole prompt written in haiku but presented in prose could be a fun one.

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lestairwellwit t1_iugl7vm wrote

In a smokey haze

Fabled and so forgotten

Stone tied and tortured

--

His crime, fire to man

Just a flame meant to protect

His fault was to uplift

--

Yes, Prometheus

We stand on smoldering stone

Us, to the future

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Grafenbrgr t1_iuh7o4z wrote

Fuck. I thoroughly enjoyed that. Great stuff.

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ThehellHound01 t1_iuihb9u wrote

So is he the reincarnation of the actual Jason?

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AShellfishLover t1_iuihgx4 wrote

I leave it open-ended as to whether it's the case but wanted to give the reincarnation vibe as a little nod to the concept of the eternal champion.

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Omen224 t1_iuj7pk5 wrote

My congratulations!

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AShellfishLover t1_iuj7vvz wrote

What am I being congratulated for? 😄

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Omen224 t1_iujb72x wrote

Sorry, it must not have gone through the first time. Hold on.

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AShellfishLover t1_iujbf0j wrote

Aww, thank you so much! If you wanna check out my other stuff I have other prompts in my profile!

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Taolan13 t1_iuj51ij wrote

Im sorry, but "dingy gray shift"?

Are you suggesting that Persephone the Bringer of Death, Goddess of Spring, and Queen of the Underworld would be wearing anything short of the finest silks?

Even in the versions of the story where Hades is as much a bastard as his baby brother, he still treated Persephone well during her time at his side and in his realm.

Or am I completely misreading this?

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AShellfishLover t1_iuj6bsh wrote

>Are you suggesting that Persephone the Bringer of Death, Goddess of Spring, and Queen of the Underworld would be wearing anything short of the finest silks?

Yes, I am. This is my telling, and how I framed it for this story. In another story she may wear silk. She may cuckold Hades with Charon, or be a skeleton animated by Hades inability to love living flesh. Perhaps she'll be a he, or not even there.

The gods, or any mythological representation, is to provide a frame. You didn't have an issue with Medea being represented with a dandelion crown, which would have a much different sociocultural meaning in Greek lore but was utilized to represent joy in spring (and would have been more fitting of Persephone). The amount of changes between the myths of the ancient Greeks and modern understanding is wide and ranging, and in some retellings the relationship is not all wine and roses.

I, as any writer not producing historical fiction, use these archetypes as needed to portray a story. It's kinda irksome when someone rushes in to correct rather than accepting that a story is a story, not a myth.

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HaikuBotStalksMe t1_iugyl90 wrote

For anyone not aware, there's a meme that Kerberos means spot in Zeusese.

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