Foresight / 678
I wrote this for a project, but I missed the deadline. Since this is my first post, I'd love some constructive criticism.
You sit quietly in the cell, pondering your fate. There are no windows. There are no doors. The normal brilliance of your body is shrouded in darkness. Reminiscent of the realm of Hades, the darkness is oppressive and reflects your mood admirably. You look down at your hands, those hands that have been known to create beauty, now only hold the chains that bind you to this prison.
You are unsure exactly how many times Apollo has driven his chariot across the heavens but it feels like an eternity. You smirk at the irony of your thought. Unlike your brethren you treated them all quite civilly. In fact, you kind of supported the new guard. You thought, hoped, that they would be compassionate and supportive of their people. You were so naïve.
You open your eyes and realize that you must have passed out. It is becoming increasingly difficult to tell, given the darkness and the dull ache in your ribs and head. Whether it is the shadowy nature of the cell or the darkness of your mind, you are lord over a small, infinite space of nothing. You sense, for you cannot see, that someone is in the cell with you. Peering through the darkness you focus your attention.
“Hello, old man.” You address him in a familiar manner, and again the irony amuses you. You remember loving him at one time far, far in the past. Those feelings have long since fled, however. “How is your kingdom, now?”
He grimaces, anger lighting his beautiful features. “Not as well after you worked your wiles, brother.” His voice drips with sarcasm as he speaks the last word.
You manage a smile and look around the bare cell. “And where is your daughter, fair king? The one who assisted me in this foul treachery? Should she not also occupy a cell like mine?”
The old man snorts, face scowling, “I would not have my daughter in such a place. I assure you that she has been duly punished for her transgressions.”
You shake your head in disgust and sadness. “Punished for being loving and compassionate to those beneath her? To those that deserved to be treated fairly?”
He laughs a short, harsh laugh. “They have been treated fairly, you gave them knowledge and I showed them the consequences of that knowledge.”
The man approaches you and rests his hand under your chin, lifting it so that you are forced to look upon his countenance. “You know why I have come. Will you give me the answer to my question?”
A bemused smile forms on your lips, shaking your head, you give the same reply you gave him ages ago, “you know I will not.”
The king’s eyes grow dark, the color of a gathering storm. His grip tightens on your chin; you can almost begin to feel it buckle under the pressure of fingers. The eyes become blue once more, a forgiving smile forms on his lips as he removes his hand and steps back.
“You leave me little choice. Before Apollo rises, you will be taken to the mountains at the edge of the world where you will be chained to the mount. Every day a vulture will torment you, plucking out your liver and eating it in front of your very eyes. Every night it will regenerate so that the vulture will be able to feast again come morning.”
You look down at your bound hands and feet. Managing a weary, defiant smile, you look up at the old king. In a quiet voice you reply, “At least I will feel the sun on my brown and fresh, clean air in my lungs. I will survive this torture as I have survived every hardship you’ve wrought upon me since you put me to the question.”
The old king, his face grim with either the choice of your fate or the knowledge that he will never have his answer stares at you and disappears in golden motes of light. “Goodbye Prometheus.”
You close your tired eyes, “Goodbye Zeus.”
You sit quietly in the cell, pondering your fate. There are no windows. There are no doors. The normal brilliance of your body is shrouded in darkness. Reminiscent of the realm of Hades, the darkness is oppressive and reflects your mood admirably. You look down at your hands, those hands that have been known to create beauty, now only hold the chains that bind you to this prison.
You are unsure exactly how many times Apollo has driven his chariot across the heavens but it feels like an eternity. You smirk at the irony of your thought. Unlike your brethren you treated them all quite civilly. In fact, you kind of supported the new guard. You thought, hoped, that they would be compassionate and supportive of their people. You were so naïve.
You open your eyes and realize that you must have passed out. It is becoming increasingly difficult to tell, given the darkness and the dull ache in your ribs and head. Whether it is the shadowy nature of the cell or the darkness of your mind, you are lord over a small, infinite space of nothing. You sense, for you cannot see, that someone is in the cell with you. Peering through the darkness you focus your attention.
“Hello, old man.” You address him in a familiar manner, and again the irony amuses you. You remember loving him at one time far, far in the past. Those feelings have long since fled, however. “How is your kingdom, now?”
He grimaces, anger lighting his beautiful features. “Not as well after you worked your wiles, brother.” His voice drips with sarcasm as he speaks the last word.
You manage a smile and look around the bare cell. “And where is your daughter, fair king? The one who assisted me in this foul treachery? Should she not also occupy a cell like mine?”
The old man snorts, face scowling, “I would not have my daughter in such a place. I assure you that she has been duly punished for her transgressions.”
You shake your head in disgust and sadness. “Punished for being loving and compassionate to those beneath her? To those that deserved to be treated fairly?”
He laughs a short, harsh laugh. “They have been treated fairly, you gave them knowledge and I showed them the consequences of that knowledge.”
The man approaches you and rests his hand under your chin, lifting it so that you are forced to look upon his countenance. “You know why I have come. Will you give me the answer to my question?”
A bemused smile forms on your lips, shaking your head, you give the same reply you gave him ages ago, “you know I will not.”
The king’s eyes grow dark, the color of a gathering storm. His grip tightens on your chin; you can almost begin to feel it buckle under the pressure of fingers. The eyes become blue once more, a forgiving smile forms on his lips as he removes his hand and steps back.
“You leave me little choice. Before Apollo rises, you will be taken to the mountains at the edge of the world where you will be chained to the mount. Every day a vulture will torment you, plucking out your liver and eating it in front of your very eyes. Every night it will regenerate so that the vulture will be able to feast again come morning.”
You look down at your bound hands and feet. Managing a weary, defiant smile, you look up at the old king. In a quiet voice you reply, “At least I will feel the sun on my brown and fresh, clean air in my lungs. I will survive this torture as I have survived every hardship you’ve wrought upon me since you put me to the question.”
The old king, his face grim with either the choice of your fate or the knowledge that he will never have his answer stares at you and disappears in golden motes of light. “Goodbye Prometheus.”
You close your tired eyes, “Goodbye Zeus.”