Flash Fiction on Lit Up
Hades on a Subway
Charon and the queen in exile
I step onto the train, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows that ripple across the faces of the passengers.
The doors slide shut with a mechanical hiss, and the subway car lurches forward.
It’s always the same, this feeling of being ferried across some invisible river, the city above a forgotten realm, the darkness around me a suffocating cloak.
I don’t know when I began to see the subway as an extension of Hades, but here I am, Charon, with a MetroCard.
She’s sitting across from me, her gaze fixed on the empty seat beside me as if it holds some deep secret.
Her hair is a cascade of shadows, her eyes twin pools of darkness that seem to absorb the dim light.
There’s something mythological about her presence, something that transcends the mundanity of the underground.
Her name is Persephone — I’ve decided that much.
She carries an aura of reluctant royalty, a queen in exile, perpetually caught between two worlds.
“Can you feel it?” she asks her voice a whisper that barely rises above the clatter of the train.
“The weight of the world, pressing down on us.”
I nod, though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to.
Her words are resonant, a truth that hums through the metal and grime.
I glance around the car at the tired faces and vacant stares, the ghosts of New York.
We are all trapped here, bound by unseen chains, our souls weighed down by the burdens we carry.
The train stops at a station, and the doors open to reveal a crowd of passengers.
Among them, I see him — a man who seems out of place, his features sharp and predatory.
Hades, I think, and my heart skips a beat.
He steps onto the train, eyes scanning the car until they land on Persephone.
A slow smile spreads across his face, and I know he sees her, too – the queen in exile, the captive goddess.
The train jerks into motion again, and Hades makes his way toward us, his presence a palpable force.
Persephone’s fingers grip the edge of her seat, her knuckles white.
I want to protect her, to stand between her and this underworld king, but I am just a spectator, a mortal caught in the web of gods.
“You can’t escape,” Hades says, his voice a low rumble.
“You belong to me.”
Persephone’s eyes flash with defiance.
“I will never belong to you,” she spits, her voice trembling with rage and fear.
“I am not your possession.”
Hades laughs, a sound that chills me to the bone.
“You can tell yourself that, but we both know the truth. You are mine, and you always will be.”
The air in the car grows heavy and thick with tension and unspoken truths.
I watch Persephone rise to her feet, her posture regal despite the terror in her eyes.
“I will find a way out,” she says, her voice steady.
“I will not be your prisoner.”
The train slows as we approach another station, and Persephone makes her move.
She bolts for the doors as they open, disappearing into the crowd.
Hades is right behind her, his expression dark with anger.
I hesitate, then follow, driven by a need to see this through, to understand the depths of their struggle. It will
We emerge onto the platform, the noise and chaos of the city assaulting my senses.
Persephone weaves through the crowd with the grace of a hunted deer, Hades hot on her heels.
I push through the crowd, my breath coming in short gasps.
This is more than a chase; it’s a battle for freedom, a fight against the chains that bind us.
When we reach the street, the blaring horns and shouts of the city create a dissonance that drowns out everything else.
Persephone turns to face Hades, her chest heaving.
“I will not bow to you,” she says, her voice ringing with conviction.
Hades steps closer, his eyes blazing.
“You cannot deny what you are,” he says.
“You are part of this world, part of me.”
For a moment, they stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills.
Then, without warning, Persephone raises her hand, and the world seems to hold its breath.
She closes her eyes, and a wave of energy pulses from her, a force that sends Hades stumbling backward.
“I choose my fate,” she says, her voice a whisper that echoes through the city.
“I am not yours to command.”
Hades regains his balance, his expression one of shock and grudging admiration.
“Very well,” he says.
“But know this — you can never truly escape me. I am a part of you, just as you are a part of me.”
With that, he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving Persephone alone on the sidewalk.
I approach her, unsure what to say, but she turns to me with a triumphant and weary smile.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For bearing witness.”
I nod, feeling the weight of the moment, the gravity of what I’ve seen.
“What now?” I ask.
She looks out at the city, the endless possibilities stretching before her.
“Now, I live,” she says.
“On my terms.”
As she walks away, I realize this is not the end of her story but the beginning.
And I am left standing there, a mortal who has glimpsed the divine, forever changed by the encounter.
I turn and head back to the subway, back to the underworld that is both prison and sanctuary.
But now, I carry a spark of her defiance, a piece of her strength.
And in the depths of the city, I find my kind of freedom.
Ani Eldritch 2024
More of my mythological fiction and poetry is available at The Aegis.
