Days Will End
Lit Up — May’s Prompt: Nostalgia
My garden was not supposed to be so. This garden, before vines captured the walls and moss showed direction, was where I first created you. All of you.
I look out onto mankind, the way a proud father should. For you I gave the world. For you, I would’ve died if my makeup was made for me to do so. But instead I am free, as are you. Two things I thought I would never see.
“Do I interrupt?” Apollo asked as he entered.
It startled me for a moment. I pointed for him to take a place before me. He looked nervous, but I just waited for him to speak.
“My friend, you are my friend correct?”
He hesitated before continuing. He has seen me often, but this time was obviously different. He struggled to meet my eyes.
“Of course we are friends,” he continued, “but I come here not as a friend, I come as I was born to. I’ve seen things, visions, and heard them speak…of you, Prometheus.”
Fear, Anger, Pain, Depression. I turned towards the great Olympian. “Tell me what they speak.”
He closed his eyes as if trying to remember. His face was still one of youth. He saw me as his elder, which I could respect, but in reality that just spoke to how far out of place I was, out of power. We were at best equals, but he will never see that, as his stature now continues to show.
“I am long out of practice, so forgive me for the broken language,” he said. “I will speak it as best I can:
The stars call just to hear him speak…sleep no more.
May lightning fall again, but this time not whole.
He is not one anymore. He is more,
For better or for worse.
His grace is not in forgiveness,
His movements not for life.
First fall the scarred, second the sun.
And it will not be enough. Let
all fall. And rise again for him.
Let him come, let him come again.”
As he finished I found myself rubbing my chest and abdomen. The world stood still no more, and suddenly I was grasping to catch a spot next to him on this stone bench as it shook me off balance. My hands rushed back to my chest and my heartbeat was racing. The scars are not there, Prometheus, the scars were never there. But the pain is, the fear is.
“I am the one scarred, am I not?” I said.
Apollo wrapped his arm around to my far shoulder, dropping his head in hurt.
“It would look like you are from my position,” he said.
How do I find myself again in this position? Zeus has taken so many years from me. And now to be held before him again.
“Tell me, why me?”
Apollo rose, knowing I should be able to figure such things out myself.
“However, we may feel, to poison Zeus, or anyone for that matter, is an injustice. And the first question in injustice is motive.”
And there I find my answer. In all these years Zeus has slept, no one has benefited. The gods have gone their separate ways, no one has dared sit upon his throne. Everyone has just behaved as usual…except for me.
“For all the years after Heracles freed you, you were no where to be found. Unknown even to me,” Apollo continued. “But now we see you often. You have made yourself known and present as if an Olympian yourself. Who else would risk stealing from Persephone’s garden for no reason.”
“I know. I know!” I stopped Apollo, stomping my feet as I rose my body once more. “Damn. Damn!”
“My friend, I am…”
“You have no reason to apologize,” I said. Closing my eyes, I took a moment to regain myself.
Somehow this is my doing, and regardless of the reasons I must pay. I must, overcome. I straightened up my body and rose my right arm holding my wrist as flat as possible. In a gust, an eagle flew over and gripped my wrist, slightly piercing the skin.
I could see Apollo smirk, impressed once more. I told him our story.
“Every day, she would tear at my ribs. Starting between the ninth and tenth, before slowly moving up. When I was freed she was the only one that could find me, no matter how far I went. I accepted her as a friend, but more importantly to remind me. To remind me of the pain, the anguish, the strength which it took to never once ask for mercy or feel regret. I question every day if I still have that strength. Could I endure it again, without once asking for mercy? Can I endure even the imprints still left in my soul?”
Apollo look me in my eyes, respecting me for the first time since he entered.
“You will not have to,” he said. “He will make it quick this time, that I’ve seen.”
“At least I know he will make haste of me,” I said as I walked back to look over the world. “But what of my people?”
He seemed surprised that in this time I would even speak of them, but truly mankind will always be my greatest creation, and more important than me.
“It will not be enough. Your sacrifice will not be enough this time.” He saw the disappointment on my face as he answered and rambled on. “What I’ve seen stretches far past you, but I have learned more than to interfere with too much. It will tire me, but the affects will be minimal at best. You like I know, what is written is written. What is coming is dark, so dark that I can’t even see it all, or do not wish to.”
We stood next to each other now, both trying not to acknowledge anymore of the situation. The moment grew more awkward until I retreated to my workshop. I came back bearing my flute, gifted from Apollo himself, and a phorminx he gifted me as well. I handed him the phorminx as I held my flute.
“I’ve been practicing,” I said. “It calms me at my worse, just as you said it would. Play. I would not miss the chance to play with you once more.”
I followed his lead as we played an ode I never heard before, a tragedy of some sort. It became ever apparent that the song we played was for me. I could see the tear holding still in his eyes, I knew he wouldn’t let them fall. I closed my eyes and played, letting my tears fall for the both of us. I could see it as the note escaped. He saw his last vision of me and passed it on, however unintentional.
We finished playing and watched the sun set over the lands below. I went to carry the instruments back to the workshop before hearing a call from within the forest. I could not see him, but it was still Apollo.
“Prometheus,” he said to me. “He has already awoken.”
The Delphic Memior
Originally finding success with slam poetry, Memoir now has expanded into short stories, fiction, and non-fiction. Building off his experiences with depression and anxiety Memoir looks to share and heal.
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