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Ryan and Delmore out on a date, part 1
Published
6 ans agoon
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Do you ever have those desperation moments leading to drastic critical decisions on the hope that it’ll change the way you’re feeling? You can relate, right?
Well, that was Ryan’s case at least when he had had enough with disappointments, unwillingness to communicate and misunderstanding. He had taken it upon himself to set a goal instead and work towards achieving it. Ironically, his focus was cut off, unexpectedly, by a young beautiful female. What else could rattle a man’s concentration?
It started as a normal, why-not type of conversations on a social media website. He was slick, smooth and charming. She was intriguing, understanding, with distinguished communication skills. Her looks played the first major part into pushing him to initiate a conversation. Say what you want, but physical appearance is the main reason you’re attracted to someone. The relationship, sooner than foretold, and what could ever be anticipated with human behavior and emotions, escalated to where he asked her out on a date and she accepted his invitation wholeheartedly.
He was nervous since the idea of impressing her non-virtually was nagging at him in the back of his head. The excitability is nightmarish, believe me. He had spent the period before his big day preparing accordingly: working out every day to get back in shape and tone his long-rested body, along with a nutritious diet. He had planned the activities thoughtfully starting with movies, to bowling, to a cliche walk on the beach and finally the best part being pizza, coke and video games at his place. He picked the most elegant wardrobe clothes he possessed to grant him the aura, glow and emanation of the classiest, most handsome gentleman: light grey slacks, color-matching jacket, a black shirt and black-tainted-grey oxfords.
She, on the other hand, didn’t turn it into a big deal. It was just another date for her, just like the tons of previous ones she went through. Can you blame her for getting used to it? She must be the most desirable lady in town.
So she went with casual wear. Since it was a summer day, she wore a short, casual, navy blue sundress ornamented by shapes of wildflowers and accessorized with a beige belt, accentuating her beautiful curves. White « Pisces » sandals were her choice for footwear. She didn’t seem like a big fan of accessories. She simply went with a charcoal, MK (short for ‘ Michael Kors’) handbag and an elegant white, Olivia Burton’s wristwatch. She has long, light-brown hair straddling down from both shoulders with a few stray hairs concealing bits of her round-shaped face. A small delicate nose, small ears, thin lips and big innocent alluring brown eyes that light up like a Christmas tree when she smiles. Her milky white skin was soft and flawless. She has a thin, slender body, not the athletic type but her whole silhouette was eye-catching and mesmeric. He picked her up early on a weekend day, from her house so they could easily execute the agenda to the letter. He had garnered her a bouquet of rare black roses that he grows in his filled-with-exotic-plants roof garden.
He stood by his car rehearsing his greeting line, it was something of this sort « Hi… No no no I sound like a retard… ummm… Good evening beautiful lady… NOOO, why do I sound like an Englishman’s butler? Oh boy, I hope I don’t screw this up. I’m nervous as ffff… » and that’s when she suddenly came into view on her front door, manifesting her unmatched beauty. He stood there like a goof, jaw-dropped to the floor and he only gathered his wits when she smiled shyly at him and said casually « hey ».
He stuttered a Hi back at her and then complimented her while handing her the bouquet which she appreciatively accepted, then he opened the car door for her. He was definitely trying to impress her.
Their first stop was the cinema. He had chosen a horror movie to her liking during which he relished the way she was clinging to his arm whenever the events tensioned. He was grinning from ear to ear as if he won the lottery. It was dark and partially empty which fed some erotic thoughts that were soon dismissed out of his head. He was a respectful gentleman after all. The movie was over and it was time to use the dose of adrenaline, provided by the jump scares of the movie, for bowling.
He was a pro, with above average experience and she was a noob. He took complete advantage of that as he showed her the right movements for the execution of a good throw. He circled behind her and held both her shoulders steady with his hands. He slid his right hand on her right arm reaching the back of her hand, then he gently swung her arm using his, in slow-mo to exhibit the exact trajectory she should mimic. During the whole time, his other hand was holding her waist, his front side glued to her backside, and they were both in sync to an extent that one would swear it was choreographed. The tension between them heightened on its own for their bodies were attached to each other and you can’t control your hormones in such situations, especially when the two of them were seemingly into each other. Of course, I say seemingly because none of them have confessed to the other yet. Though, the hints, subtle as they may be for both of them, yet clear as a hot summer day for anyone else.
To the two lovebirds’ surprise, she got a perfect hit on her first try. He took it easy on her and let her win. He simply enjoyed losing purposely to her just so he could relish watching her rubbing it in his face with such childish innocence, winsomeness, and playful spirit. They captured silly selfies of each other in which they looked nothing but goofy, lame and carefree. This day was off to a matchless start for him. What a confidence boost!
Nothing was going to ruin this day for him. Not even God himself. Then he shuddered and scratched the last part off of his mind. He was a believer after all.
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Chapter 5 : Medea, A fractured halo.
Published
3 jours agoon
12 avril 2024 [simplicity-save-for-later]
The heat was unbearable to say the least, a suffocating hand squeezing the very air from my lungs. As if eternal damnation wasn’t torture enough for the inhabitants of this cursed realm.
Tartarus wasn’t for the weak. Or at least, that’s what I gathered from the looks of it. Down here, the whispers of Asphodel and Elysieum were a cruel joke. Every instinct in my body was begging me to turn and flee, until a flicker of movement in the distance snagged my attention, making me halt in my steps.
Someone was watching me.
“Mermerus?” a woman’s voice echoed through the abyss, “Mermerus, is that you?”
Words died on my tongue. Though a silver of desperation lingered in her voice, everything about the approaching figure sent chills skittering down my spine. Crimson red robes, the color of spilled blood, clung to her form, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her untamed black hair almost covered the entirety of her back. Something about her seemed disturbingly primordial. This was no benevolent spirit, no sorrowful soul. This woman was a true creature of darkness, someone who had not simply adapted to Tartarus but seemed to thrive in its haunting embrace.
As she drew closer, I could see the disappointment in her eyes slowly settle in. For I wasn’t Mermerus, nor did I know of this person she despondently wanted me to be.
Mere inches separated us now. She towered over me then reached out her hand to cup my face. Her touch wasn’t one of comfort, but far from it.
“You do look remarkably like him.” She murmured, the softness in her voice a fleeting mirage.
“Who is he?” I managed to let out as she turned around and started to make her way back.
“My child.”
“And where is he now?” I dared to ask.
The sound of her footsteps abruptly stopped. In the deafening silence, she turned, a cruel smile twisting her lips.
“Dead.” She said, her voice devoid of emotion, “I killed him.”
A minute passed, or maybe an eternity I’m not certain. Those last three words hung in the air between us, words that felt more like a boast than a regretful confession.
“Oh please, spare me the shock, I’m sick of it, Who are you boy? Did Aphrodite send you to further taunt me? Sending a boy who looks like my dead child is a wicked move I must admit.”
“No, my lady.“ I gulped, “Forgive me but I don’t even know who you are.”
A notorious laugh escaped her lips. “Gods and their twisted games.“ she spat, a flicker of something akin to boredom flashing in her eyes. “Fine then, I am Medea, Grand-daughter of the sun. Daughter of the sea, Niece to supreme sorceress Circe. Witch.” She took a step closer, forcing me to crane my neck to meet her gaze. “ A mere thread separates the bumbling foolishness of mortals and the cruel whims of the gods » she hissed, the last word dripping with venom. “ And I walk that thread fueled by powers you, child, can faintly comprehend.”
Ignoring the termance in my voice, I managed to ask “How did you end up here then? amidst this…torment?”
“Why don’t I show you?” she whispered, her voice laced with dark amusement.
Before I could protest, she reached out for my hand. She muttered something in a tongue I couldn’t quite decipher, a strange incantation. The world began to wrap and twist, the great sleep, the great forgetting, darkness, then light.
The world solidified again, I was no longer in Tartarus. My body didn’t feel like mine, Stagnant powers lurked within me, Realization dawned on me.
I wasn’t looking at Medea anymore, I was Medea.
Everything was a blur, experiencing one’s memories through their eyes was nothing short of disorienting. The visions got slightly clearer; A Flash of a golden fleece, the triumphant glint in a pair of unfamiliar eyes. A love so intense it burned. Sacrifices made, yet promises shattered, betrayal, passion morphed into a cage of raging fury, lust for revenge, bloody hands. The smell of death, A chilling satisfaction, A hollow victory, Then back to darkness.
My eyes fluttered open. I stretched my hands, relieved to feel my own body again.
“How did you do that? Doesn’t being in Tartarus stop you from casting any spells?” I breathe out, still dizzy from the lingering magic.
Medea arched an eyebrow as if I had just asked her the most nonsensical question ever.
“I am a witch, boy. Forever bound to earth. I am tied to the four elements. Tartarus is filled with one of them in all its forms, Fire. My power comes from within. Although this cursed place has tamed it, it could never quench its flames.”
The frustration in her eyes mirrored the confusion churning within me. The visions… hazy fragments that have left me reeling. “I felt them…” I stammered, meeting her gaze, “Your emotions, your rage, as if they were mine.” The weight of a story demanding to be told hung in the air. “Tell me Lady Medea, what has happened to you?”
A sigh followed by, then she began to unravel her past before me.
“Colchis was my home. Magic flowed through my veins, a birthright passed down from my ancestors. Then came Jason, a Greek hero with eyes that shimmered like the Aegean sea and a smile that promised forever. How foolish I was. For him, I defied my own blood. I won him the golden fleece, a prize named by his uncle in order to reclaim his throne. Looking back now, I realize what a waist of muscles Jason was. Without my magic and my wits, he could’ve never returned to his lands victorious AND unharmed. I vowed to protect him. I fled my home to be by his side. Bloody sacrifices on the altar of his empty ambitions. I was promised by Aphrodite an everlasting love as beautiful as dawn breaking over mount olympus if I aid him in his ‘heroic’ quest. I forgot however that while Jason was the goddess’s chosen, I was nothing but her pawn. A mere puppet that will grant her ephemeral glory once hit by Cupid’s bows. But promises made by the gods are fickle. A lesson I had yet to learn at that age.”
Medea’s fists clenched, turning her knuckles white. She glared into the distance, as if she was reliving the past.
“Another woman caught Jason’s eye upon our arrival to Greece. A princess named Glauce with royal blood and a kingdom to rule over. He cast me aside, leaving me and our children within a blink of an eye . Foolish, foolish man. He had underestimated me, like the rest of them. My grief turned into rage. Revenge became the ultimate goal, a burning ember demanding to burn all it touched. Killing him was never an option. I needed him to feel an ounce of the agony I have felt while breathing still. So I did what had to be done. I took from him what he grew to value most, his new fiancé, her father’s money, and our own offspring. And if I had to, I would do it all over again.”
A look of serenity washed over Medea’s eyes. She unclenched her fists, her shoulders relaxed. I waited in silence for her to finish her story.
“Heaven and Hell became mere words to me. I fled Corinth, cloaked in the golden chariot my grand-father Helios sent me, leaving Jason a broken shell of the man I once loved. People may call me a villain, a mad woman, the devil incarnate for some, but I call myself a hero. I was the one who won the golden fleece. I have defied dragons and armies, navigated foreign waters alongside Jason’s crew and secured his throne all by myself. I deserved the recognition. I have spent my whole life diluting myself to make it easier to be loved. I have dimmed my magic, a witch masquerading as a human for an oath of eternal happiness. I was more than content with working in the shadows and letting Jason take credit for my mastery if only it meant he would be with me. And what do I get in return? Betrayal. Tragedy is a condition to existence, and I have chosen madness as my defense against it. For the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. My guilt will not purify me. And I accepted that long ago. Let them fear my wrath, let them whisper of my madness. Let them blindly pretend that all of their favorite heroes haven’t bathed their hands in blood too. But of course, blood doesn’t taint a man’s heroism. When a man seeks vengeance, it’s a mark of strength. When a woman does the same, she’s branded a monster.”
She tipped her chin upward, as if addressing the very gods who have betrayed her.
“I am no longer a pawn of fates. I am Medea, I am my own person and I shall spend my remaining days here in Tartarus, my new found home, where I truly belong.”
I stood there, transfixed. Words failed to decipher what I felt at that moment. Medea eyed me up and down one last time.
“It’s truly incredible how much you look like Mermerus.” she softly whispered, “Be careful boy. Don’t trust anyone but yourself down here.”
My mind grew heavy with questions left unanswered. I watched as Medea disappeared in the swirling sulfurous mist just as she had emerged from it moments prior. As I started to make my way back towards the gates, I realized that by simply accepting her fate, this scorned woman has already defied the gods. I may not call her a hero, as she demanded to be called, but she definitely wasn’t a villain either. The very line between good and evil blurred before me. I left Tartarus with a heavy heart and a newfound perspective.
Written by : Fatma Ben Romdhane.
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