you're too young & eager to love

I meant to post this yesterday, but Dreamwidth was taking so long to load (probably due to my fickle internet connection) that I got impatient. Technically, I still wrote though!

Working more on the Hydra.

-

There is much you do not comprehend.

The sounds startle you. The rush of so many tongues, and your own voice a sibilant spread of water tones, no longer the multiple, threatening roar of fanged mouths. You shape gurgling words in your mouth, but they taste and sound empty.

Before, you had been a threatening force. A creature of imposing dimensions. Now, you are miniscule in comparison to so many surrounding objects. Even if you had been as you were, the height of mere buildings astonish you now. Their tops threaten to touch Olympus, and you wonder why Zeus is untroubled by the looming intrusions. He toppled the Titans for less, and you remember them as being similarly colossal.

If you knew how to cry, you might. Your body is unfit for this new age. Attacked by the elements, easily bruised and battered. You break your nails testing your strength against a pane of glass and do not understand. You recall being unleashed, but the purpose, the reason, fails you. For what? For this limited, undesirable form?

A sense of relief overcomes when you realize your speed remains. That your running steps still sound like thunder. You can climb effortlessly, the rope of muscles in your arms the same. You can stay beneath water for hours, only a mild restraint, and one that the geography of a steel city barely allows.

Zeus’ son, the slayer of beasts, the infallible demi-god, cages you once more. Places you between conventional walls and speaks to you in the old, familiar words - the Greek and Latin that you understand but cannot repeat. He teaches you language, as though he were stealing fire for your salvation. Another puzzle.

He finds that the smell of cooked meats nauseates you, so you eat raw fish wrapped in seaweed and rice. You are hungry constantly.

When another hero arrives, you stare angrily and stand taught. You remember the feel of a tail slicing the air behind you, how easy it could be to wrap talons around a muscled neck. Now, they only gaze at you, a hint of bemusement and thin pity. They bring you to a woman you both recognize and yet cannot place, but you dip your eyes naturally, your timeless soul whispering to the length of her hair.

In the dark of the night, you stir defensively. You wake, unable to forget the monotony of guarding.

I don’t much feel like writing today, and it doesn’t help that I’m at work. I keep getting distracted. But – I am trying to muster on. With the Hydra. Or my bizarre, makes-no-sense modernized version of her. With references to Hercules, because I can.


-

This new body is long but useless. The dips and curves and stretch of skin you must learn like a newborn. Your fingers end in nails that will never be sharp enough. When you touch your tongue to your teeth, they are blunt, not suited for the shred and tear of victory. You are solitary, a condition that frightens you. Inside of you, you think there are many bodies still, many necks straining for freedom. The roar and cry of something bestial, the lashing strength of a serpentine melody. The pain bursts inside of your head until you’re forced to cradle it, the light making you wince, sounds causing you to mourn for the lack of dark, watery depths.

Hunger makes you search. This body cannot hunt, and the monetary system confuses you. You steal, and then there’s a man in your way again. The same man as before, solid and full of glory. You have trouble seeing him this time though, keeping your two limited eyes focused between his footwork and the muscles of his arms. Those arms that held the strength to cage you – once. Made you a guardian of a passageway where the cries of the damned troubled your ears. Stole the venom of your spirit to use for his battles.

You wonder what he can steal now and the scars on your long throat burn with remembrance.

4 shorts. Some are shorter than others. I present: Maharet, the hydra, Reese, and a violent Addison and Mischa’s maker scene.

And pictures, because I can.  
Fly my pretties, fly!



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