Prompt: You decided it would be funny to 'sacrifice' your
leftovers at the small shrine situated between highrises. Now, a god that
hasn't been bothered in two centuries is happy to find company.
#4.1 "The Shrine"
I still remember the day I first noticed the shrine in the alley on 5th Street. Granted, I did find the smell of incense preferable to the
normal "old sewer" stench that came out of most of the other alleys--but
the small plate on the plaid linen next to the smoking clove-studded orange
that never seemed to rot did intrigue me as much as it brought on the
heebie-jeebies. The more I saw it, the more I alternated between imagining a
secret disciple of some kind of sect, or a homeless vagrant looking to instill
religious-themed guilt in the hopes of some handout.
Either way, the fresh margherita pizza I had on me wasn't
going to be any good by the time I made it home, I had nowhere else to keep it,
so why let it go to waste? I left the box and a few packets of grated romano
next to the plate and walked off without a second thought.
I wasn't down in that neighborhood till three days later,
when I sat at the cafe awaiting a client who wanted to discuss an office party.
It was at least a half-hour past the time we agreed on, and I still sat alone
with my now-cold americano with cream, picking measly crumbs off my croissant
to at least make it LOOK like I hadn't been waiting long.
"Is this seat taken?"
I jumped out of my aimless musings. A man sat in the chair
across from me, but he was unlike any man I'd ever seen. His eyes were
impossibly bright, his hair impeccably styled, and the suit he wore looked like
he'd walked off the set of Mad Men with it.
"I--um, er--you..." I stammered. Was this my
client? When had he arrived? Did I miss the whole
"walk-up-and-sit-down" part?
He smiled. "The person you are waiting for is currently
sitting in the middle of a massive traffic jam, behind an unfortunate bridge
lift that could have been avoided if she had left the flat of her paramour on
time, but they had been having such a lovely evening that she nearly forgot her
appointment--you're welcome for reminding her, by the way."
My brain still short-circuited. I couldn't make a complete
sentence to save my life. "You... I'm sorry, what? Who are you?"
He brushed a piece of ash from the shoulder of his
double-breasted charcoal-grey pinstripe jacket, and I caught a whiff of
something familiar. "I'm somebody who has suffered from a lack of
acknowledgement till you came along. I
mean, oranges are all right, but they do get SO tiresome and I certainly
didn't design them as a dietary staple!"
Oranges... That's what I smelled! Oranges and--was that
cloves? Why did this man smell like mulled cider?
"I'm sorry, I don't think--"
"Oh, don't apologize," he waved his hand, reaching
for the cappuccino sitting in front of him that had definitely NOT been there
three seconds ago. "Ten thousand years, you'd think one of my devoted
sycophants would figure out how much I love a good pizza."
Pizza? The next thought that struck me was, Why would a man
who looked so well-off be swiping pizza off a dirty shrine in a random
alleyway?
I hadn't said a word, but he quirked a sleek eyebrow at me.
"Oh come, it's not that unsanitary--and one of the perks of being immortal
is a natural resistance to any of your mortal germs."
My powers of speech were slowly returning.
"Immortal?" I squeaked.
He set down his mug and blinked slowly. "Dear me, I've
broken it. Yes, child, I am Sebbastien, god of fortunate encounters--and that
shrine where you so graciously left the pizza was dedicated to me. Now, such a
marvelous sacrifice will of course not go unrequited." He folded his hands
and grinned at me. "Where shall we begin?"
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
 | |
| Prompt: "Write a story about a blind woman who falls in love with Medusa..." |
#4.2 "The Visitor"
“Hello?”
She lifted her head as the snakes dangling around her ears
scented the incoming stranger. Small, innocent, and warm—not a warrior, then. A
woman—but what was she doing here?
“I can hear you! Please, can you help me? I’ve lost my
guide...”
Alone, then. Medusa tucked back the mass of serpents and
continued waiting. Whoever it was would either go away, or come in and be
turned to stone for their curiosity.
“Please! I cannot leave this place without a guide. Will you
help me?”
Medusa shuddered as a snake whispered in her ear. The lost
woman was too trusting; it had been the Gorgon’s own downfall, trusting the wrong
people.
“Go away!” she yelled from the shadows, her words
accompanied by the mad hissing of her snakes. “You are not welcome here.”
The steps drew closer, that stench of faith and hope
increasing.
“I knew there was someone here! Where are you?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Medusa could see her shadow cast on the
wall. She felt a surge of regret; this woman did no wrong, coming here! Medusa
hater the thought of causing an innocent woman suffering and pain, as others
had caused her pain so long ago. “You are not wanted here. Get out while you
can!”
The woman stopped, and did not move.
“I cannot leave. Not unless you help me.”
“Idiot!” Medusa spat, staying well in the shadows. “Why
should I help you? Hasn’t anyone told you of the monster who lives here?”
A long silence, during which Medusa could hear nothing at
all. So deep and so profound, the Gorgon jumped and all her snakes hissed when
the voice spoke, even closer than before.
“Aye, they told me.” The woman must be standing just behind
the rock, yet her voice made Medusa’s lonely heart yearn as she leaned against
the stone.
“They told me she was once a maiden of unparalleled beauty,
a delight to everyone she met. They told me of one unfortunate night when it
came about that men had ravaged her and used her against her will. They told me
the beautiful woman disappeared from that moment onward, replaced by a being of
such terrifying visage that no one could look on her and live, thus ensuring
that such an outrage would never happen again.”
Medusa’s shoulders shook, her snakes hung limp, as the
woman’s words made her weep for the happy life she once lived, forcibly wrested
from her.
“And...” Medusa whimpered, “you came anyway?”
A pang of alarm, and Medusa felt all of her snakes rear and
stiffen in warning.
“I came.” The woman whispered.
Medusa kept her eyes fixed on the stone, so she wouldn’t see
this woman’s transformation. It wasn’t just eye contact, but even the very
sight of her that turned people to stone.
“Why?” she gasped hoarsely. “Why would you do that?”
A hand—the first touch Medusa had felt in decades—brushed
her fingertips. The snakes hissed, and she knew a few of them bit the woman,
but their fangs held no venom.
“I came because I knew such a one would be lonely. I came
because I was the only one who could.”
Medusa’s body trembled again. How was this woman not stone?
No one, not even the gods were safe from her curse! And yet here was this
woman, touching her, speaking to her!
“How?” Medusa whimpered, finally picking up her head.
Clouded, white orbs stared back. The woman smiled.
“From the first moment I heard of you, I knew that I needed
to find you. I am blind, and I love you. You cannot hurt me, and I can give you
what you long for the most: true, pure companionship. I take nothing from you
without your leave, and I give you my heart and my time.”
Medusa reached up, caressing the tender face as her heart—heavy
as stone in her chest—seemed to shatter in a million pieces, re-form into an
organ of flesh and blood, and begin beating anew as it hadn’t since she was a
young girl.
“Thank you!” she gasped, throwing her arms around her
savior. “What is your name?”
“I am called Phyllis.”
Phyllis, philos; a perfect name.
“I love you, Phyllis.”
“I love you, Medusa.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
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