This is something I discovered while I was rifling through my stuff. It's not complete, but it's a short story. This is the first few paragraphs. I can post more later, if you like.[/color]
Here goes...
Call me Artemis. That's who I am, after all, although I'm not quite sure how I ended up here. Maybe I'm getting forgetful in my old age. I'm pretty old. That's for sure, but they say I'm not supposed to age. I don't, either. If I did - if I was able to die - somebody would be dusting off my fossilised bones by now, but I'm still as youthful as I ever was. I don't know how things got to be this way. Or maybe I just don't care.
I think it may have started with the Romans, when they decided to set up their *** little empire. They still worshipped us, even though they didn't see fit to use my real name. Then along came some jumped up little carpenter's son with a few fancy ideas and suddenly we're no longer in the picture any more. It was sad to see my father, the once great conqueror of the Titans, wandering dejectedly around our empty palace, every footstep echoing down those great corridors like tumbling boulders.
Nobody ever takes much notice of where gods go when their worship fades. Since leaving Olympus, we've kept our heads down. If nobody bothers us, we won't bother them. That's the deal. Despite our absolute power, there's nothing much can be done when mortals decide that they're not interested in you any more. At least I've managed to stay with Apollo. We've been around the world together, many times over. It's really beginning to get a bit dull, and right now I'm even wondering whether being with Apollo is such a blessing either.
He's drunk again. Since we've managed to find a place above some seedy pub in the middle of Queensland, he's rediscovered the wine of my brother, Dionysus, and rediscovered it with a vigour. Dionysus seems to have adapted well to this new worship of consumption, which has recently come over the world. He always did have a knack for business. Last thing I saw of him was on the rusty old TV in our room. He owns a vineyard somewhere in England and calls himself Dennis. Actually, perhaps I should really call him my half brother. I have a lot of half brothers. Sisters, too. I wonder what has happened to them all.
Apollo's not my half brother. We're twins. We're also very well known to the barman, Fred Jenkins, who everyone around here calls Doc. He gives them all medicine. I'm the as yet unnamed woman who everyone calls Jill Frost, or Ice Princess because I never let any of them near me. Don't look at me like that! I'm still a sworn virgin and I've got to keep some small part of my previous dignity. Anyway, I have to take care of my brother. He's had a little too much of Doc's medicine.
I can post more later, if you like.
I like it.
No action but I liked the peacefullness and thoughtfullness.
No action but I liked the peacefullness and thoughtfullness.
Cool. Thanks. There's wasn't any action yet because it's really only the first part of a longer narrative. But here's more...
"So," says Doc, slightly condescendingly. "You're a god."
"That's right," Apollo replies, leaning on the bar and swaying a little.
"God of what?" asks a large burly man with a tattoo on his left shoulder. He takes a swig of beer. He seems to be able to handle it a lot better than my brother.
With a wobbly gesture that he probably thinks is grand, Apollo proclaims in a loud voice, "I am the one and only got of pospicy." He looks confused for a moment, then tries again. "God... of posiphy... of proscephy..." Finally, with a last giant effort, and accompanied by peals of laughter, he manages to get a word which sounds something like "prophecy."
More laughter. The large man who spoke before slaps him on the back and his tattoo jiggles. "Well, then, god of prophecy. Give us a prediction."
"Yeah," shouts someone from the corner in a high pitched, tinny voice. "Tell us the future."
Doc looks up and notices me standing surreptitiously by the door. He smiles in greeting.
Everyone is still nagging at Apollo to tell their fortunes. My brother smirks groggily to himself. "I predict that Doc will give me another drink." For added emphasis, he bangs his empty glass on the bar.
More raucous laughter. Doc shakes his head. "Sorry, mate. You've had enough for one night."
"Then I'll strike you down with plague and pestilence. I'll make your crops barren and I'll give your goats the mange..."
Time for me to intervene.
Installment Three
Apollo is still shouting curses, even as I drag him up the stairs and dump him unceremoniously on his bed. Then he starts singing while I remove his boots and place his feet on top of the mattress. The song is a bawdy sailor's shanty that he somehow still remembers after two and a half thousand years. Sitting on my own lumpy bed, I stare at him. He doesn't seem to notice my scrutiny. He's lost in his own world - the drink is a barrier obscuring everything around him. After a while he stops singing and starts snoring.
This is why I plan never to get drunk. I have heard gods snore. It's not a pleasant sound.
Apollo is lying on his back with his golden curls spread around him. I have always been slightly jealous of my twin's shiny golden hair. Mine is the same colour, but it's so damn straight. My skin is slightly tanned, and my body is thin and well-muscled. Comes from centuries of living outdoors. I'm also quite strong, which is why I can force my drunken brother away from the bar when even Greg the bouncer has given up trying.
"So," says a voice to my left. "This is where you live. I must say, the showers leave a lot to be desired."
I turn my head. The voice is that of a tall, barrel chested man who's stepped from our small bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Water drips onto the floor from his long dark hair and curly beard. I recognise him instantly. "Dad?"
The Almighty Zeus is dripping on my carpet.
...Mmm... Not a bad idea.
What I think I will do is just to share more of this on the days when I don't have to go into town. (That way I've more time than later in the evening.)
Anyway... Installment #4
...The Almighty Zeus is dripping on my carpet.
He casts his gaze around the room, and finally stares down at Apollo. "He doesn't look too brilliant."
"I've seen him worse than this. What are you doing here? If you wanted to flood the place, you could have at least conjured up a decent storm."
He catches my meaning. "Sorry," he says and disappears into the bathroom to dry his hair. I follow him to provide him with another towel - the one around his waist had better stay there! While vigorously rubbing his head with the best I can find, he looks me in the eye. "The truth is, Artemis," he tells me. "I'm hiding from your mother."
"Again?" This is hardly surprising, and I really can't blame him. Anyone who thinks Cinderella's stepmother was wicked has never met Hera! "Why is it this time?"
"We were living in the middle of a city somewhere. I told her I wanted a divorce. She's strong. She threw the sofa at me."
Some small part of what he just said has stuck in my mind. "Divorce?"
"Mortals can do it. Why can't I?"
"Don't get me wrong, Dad. I can understand why you'd want to, but..."
"Besides, I've met someone."
This I have heard before. I've also seen that doleful look many times, as Zeus pleads with one of us to - please - understand. We all know that it's only a ploy, and that he's perfectly capable of bringing down every kind of curse upon anyone who protests too loudly. "All right." This is said with a deep sigh. "You can drop the act. Who is she this time? Or is it a he?"
"She's coming over in the morning. I'll introduce you then. In the meantime, I was wondering if I could spend the night?"
"You could, but I don't really see where you would sleep..."
Zeus has fixed his gaze on my bed, which is empty. What's the point in arguing?
Well... This is turning out to be reasonably long for a short story. I guess you'd call this the start of PART II...
The morning sun shines through the grimy, cracked window on the wall of Apollo's and my flat. I roll over, feeling battered. I, a goddess, and one who is not supposed to be unused to living rough, have woken stiff and bruised from a single night on the floor. With a cynical chuckle, I tell myself that I must be growing weak in my old age. There was once a time when I was known for my outdoor prowess, but I suppose even that can change. Besides, being Goddess of the Hunt is hardly relevant in a place where everything seems to be protected and where all people's needs come ready packaged.
I stand up and stretch my aching joints before stepping into the kitchen to make myself a coffee. Probably one of the most useful things I have discovered since leaving Olympus is coffee. You may think that gods can't get addicted to things, but we can. Sometimes I mix the coffee with a little of my remaining supply of nectar and ambrosia - god food, you know -to give it a little extra kick. Today I just drink it black. There isn't even any milk.
Come to think of it, we don't have much coffee either.
Rubbing my shoulders and neck, which still ache, I survey the room. The barrel shaped mound on my bed is rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He's cacooned in a blanket so all that's visible is a mass of dark curls at the top, and two large bare feet sticking out from the bottom.
On the other bed is Apollo, lying sprawled on his back and still snoring. He's kicked the blanket onto the floor, and there it stays. He's also kept me awake half the night and made me wonder what kind of malign cosmic force could ever have considered giving me a twin. One bad thing about being a god is that you cannot simply blame the gods for all your troubles, as mortals can.
There is a groan from Apollo, who opens his eyes a little.
"Morning, Sunshine," I exclaim with false cheer. My brother cringes. I admit that it is sadistic to act so cheerful, but Apollo deserves it, and I enjoy it. His eyes are swollen and red-rimmed, his face pale. Just as I'd predicted. He rolls away from me and covers his face, mumbling something less than savoury through his hands. "And a very good morning to you too, dearest Sister." I'm putting words into his mouth, and I know it. "By the way, I've made you coffee. You should get up to welcome our guest when he awakes."
This, at least, elicits a response. Apollo turns his head. "What?" He glances over at the opposite bed, and notices Zeus' sleeping form directly in front of him. He swears, buries his head in the pillow, and suddenly leaps up and races into the bathroom. I stand on the spot and listen to the sound of my brother wretching. He really did have too much last night.
"You're cleaning that up," I call, sweetly. Apollo is too busy throwing up to reply.
After a while he returns. "What's Dad doing here?" he whispers, almost angrily.
"He's here to pick up his new girlfriend. And to get away from Hera in the process."
Apollo sits down heavily on the bed. He doesn't seem at all surprised. Meanwhile, I pour a second coffee and hand it to him. "Here."
He takes it gladly, but turns away to drink. The heavy mound that is the King of All Gods yawns, stretches, and opens his eyes. Zeus sits up, accompanied by a chorus of cracking joints. He seems a little disoriented, as he usually is on first waking, until his bleary-eyed gaze finally fixes upon my face. Then it scrolls down to the coffee in my hand. "Any of that for me?" he asks.
"Sorry. Just ran out."
We must look a pretty sight. Three pale, tousle-haired, red eyed spectres, one of whom looks like he's about to throw up any second now. To think, people once actually worshipped these poor excuses for divinity. Having only just woken up, Zeus looks little better than Apollo. He must have had a bad night's sleep as well. He can go to Hell for all I care - go and annoy that brother of his instead. I wanted to sleep on that bed. But, oh well. At least I've had coffee.
* * * * *
...Bit late with this one, but...
Installment... um... Can't remember the number of this one actually.
But anyway, who cares?
I have put on my singlet and shorts, and tied back my hair. Zeus is also fully dressed and finally looking formidable again, although I'm not sure whether a tight fitting t-shirt proudly bearing the words "Bite Me" adds to or subtracts from the intended image. When I asked him about this earlier, he just shrugged. "What did you expect me to wear? A tunic?" Come to think of it, I suppose I did.
All three of us go down to the bar together. Doc is already there, busy wiping his bar top to a reflective sheen. Even though its at least half an hour since the place opened, there is only one other person there. Looks like a young woman, short and skinny, early twenties, with straight black hair cut into a bob. She could be Chinese. The instant he sees her, Zeus' face breaks into a wide grin. "Julie."
The girl looks, spots him, and beams. "Rex!" She races to meet him, and they embrace. I'm surprised that the pressure of a hug from my father doesn't break such a tiny back, but something about the exchanged has shocked me even more.
Rex?
I glance at Apollo and raise my eyebrows. "It means 'king', you know." He seems to have read my mind.
"I know that," I hiss back at him. "I put up with the *** Romans for every bit as long as you did."
Zeus turns back to us. Looks like it's time for introductions. "Julie, this is my son, Apollo, and my daughter..."
"Jill Frost." I intercept him. As you can probably guess by now, my father has never been very skilful at thinking up false names.
I was going to put more in here last Friday, but then... um... you prob'ly know something came up and then I just... um... didn't feel like it, really. That's my excuse, anyway, and I'm sticking by it. Anyway, here's the next bit.
Julie raises her eyebrows. "Jill and Apollo, eh?" Her voice is clear and sweet, and her accent as thickly Australian as Doc's. We shake hands. She has a very firm handshake for someone so small, and a nice smile. "So - Apollo? What's that? Italian?"
"No. He's a god." says Doc from behind the bar, and snickers. Apollo looks too hung over even to glare properly.
Apollo and I prefer to sit at the corner of the bar, where we can choose whether to observe or to join in any conversations which happen to be in progress. Julie has already taken a table at the other end of the room. We sit down. Zeus puts an arm around Julie's shoulder, enfolding her like an armchair. They look so natural together, but then, so did most of his other girlfriends. Poor Julie. She probably already thinks that she can hang onto my father for more than - say - a week.
After a while, Doc comes over. There's no risk. He knows as well as I do that my brother's threats have been pretty lame recently. "So," he says. "Who're your friends?"
I carry out the introductions all over again, remembering to call Zeus by his proper pseudonym. Doc whistles through his teeth. I can guess what he's thinking. (That's your old man? But you're so damn skinny and he's so...) "Anybody want a drink?" says Julie, before Doc can open his mouth. "Don't worry. My shout." She practically leaps out of Zeus' lap. "Well? Any orders?"
"I'll have a gin and tonic." I suppose I've got nowhere else to go.
She turns to Zeus. "And... Don't tell me... You're having a lager."
"How did you guess?"
They laugh together at the shared joke. He's so smitten, it's sickening. I almost feel afraid for Julie. Zeus can handle whatever comes, but does she have any idea what she's getting herself into? Probably not - how could she?
....
....
"What about you - um - Apollo? Hey, I remembered your name? How about that?"
Apollo groans. He has his head in his hands. He looks terrible.
"Heavy night?" Julie asks me.
"You could say that," replies Doc before anyone else has a chance. He is trying his best not to laugh, but his face is red and his mouth is puffed out like a trumpeter.
"Oh well." Julie smiles. "Drink lots of water. That always helps." She bounds away towards the bar, followed by Doc. Apollo growls, and I smile quietly to myself. Julie's personality is contagious. It is quiet at out table until she returns, once more with Doc in tow. She carries a lager for Zeus and one for herself. Doc puts my drink down in front of me. Then he hands a glass to Apollo.
"Is that such a good idea?" I ask him.
"It's just water," he says, winking at Julie. "Don't worry."
"Shut up," Apollo snaps. "I know exactly what you're thinking, and it isn't funny."
"Just drink your water, O Mighty One." Doc walks away, shaking his head and clearly chuckling to himself. He waves a finger at me. "You do realise this is the last time I wait on your table, Jill Frost."
"I'm devastated."
"Touche." Doc returns to his place behind the bar.
"You know, there are so many things I could do to him..." Apollo is still scowling. With his pale, hung-over face and red rimmed eyes, he looks like something straight from Hades. I've only met my uncle once - the one who runs the place - but find myself wondering if I should tell him that one of his ghouls has escaped.
"That sounds intriguing," laughs Julie. She is back on Zeus' lap, and still looks tiny by comparison as she plays with his beard. She stares at my brother, eager for more information. "What would you do?"
I sense that he's tempted to start telling her. He's caused plagues before - killed thousands in a single week. We all have, but I don't think people nowadays would really want to know. "Nothing," I say before Apollo can open his mouth. "He won't do anything." At the same time I aim a well placed kick at my brother's shin. He shoves his elbow into my ribs, but at least he's kept his mouth shut. Besides, the last thing I want from him is more ranting about plagues and dead livestock.
"I'm going upstairs," Gulping down the rest of my drink, I stand to leave.
"Where are you going?" demands Apollo.
"Back to the apartment. I already told you, sweet brother mine." I just want to get away, and be alone. "You stay here. Drink your water. Bond with people."
"I'll come too." Julie jumps up. Before I can respond, she's already half way across the floor. "I want to see where you live."
A voice like thunderclaps rumbles from behind me. “Darling. Sweet lady. It’s been so long.”
I drop my arms back down to my side, and realise suddenly that my jaw is hanging open as if to catch insects. Zeus is more magnificent than I have seen him in many, many centuries. Every one of his curls is arrayed like a cloak over his massive shoulders. He spreads his arms wide. “My beautiful sugarplum, sister and wife…”
“So now I’m a sugarplum?” Hera folds her arms across her chest - a challenge.
“I’ve missed you,” says Zeus as he moves towards her. “Every day that we’re apart, I miss you more. I just never realised it until I saw your face.”
Hera’s dark eyes are as cold as Polar ice, but the wind has weakened to a dull breeze. But I know better than to make any kind of move. It hasn’t been long since it was buffeting against my chest, threatening to knock me over with even the slightest gust.
“None of the others have stayed by my side,” Zeus continues, closing his approach. “It was you, always you. And even now, look at how far you’ve come to search for me. That has to mean something.”
He’s putting on such a display, it’s difficult for me to believe he’s not actually genuine. “I’ve been a fool, Hera,” he says. “Will you give this old fool another chance?”
I can barely feel the wind against my skin any more. It still brushes the thin layer of down on my arms and shoulders, but I don’t have to squint to keep the dust from my eyes. My stepmother’s face is oddly thoughtful, but she steps back to get a better view of the man she’s been married to since mortals lived in makeshift huts of bone and hide.
“Keep going…” Hera frowns at her husband from the corner of her eye.
Reaching her, Zeus kneels upon the ground. The look in his eyes is one of joyful adoration. Sickening, I tell myself. Half of me wishes I could tell them the same. But for the first time since coming to this place, I am truly lost for words.
The pause that follows seems to stretch beyond the boundaries of real time. They are like a pair of temple statues - Zeus and Hera, husband and consort, each one lost in a silent contemplation of the other. A soft breeze shifts the fabric of Hera’s dress, but even this fades almost as soon as it appears. The damage wrought by her earlier gale lies quietly scattered over the ground, the only remaining testimony that there ever was such fury in her eyes.
She reaches forward. I imagine perhaps that she is going to slap my father, and for a brief, tense moment, she seems torn by possibilities. But instead her hand moves down to connect with his.
“Get yourself some new clothes,” she berates him. “That t-shirt really doesn’t suit you.”