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05-01-06 | Mythology (1 Viewer)

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Senior Member
Literary Maneuvers: Mythology

Opens: Monday, May 1st

Closes: Monday, May 15th

Judging Period: May 16th through May 23rd (scores posted on the 24th)

Anyone who knows me knows I love mythology, so here's your chance to impress us all by weaving a mythos into a short piece. For this maneuver, you may post a piece of poetry or prose that is under 500 words, but remember, you must incorporate mythology in some way.

You may utilize it in any way you choose and you may use any kind of mythology, from Greek to Native American to (if you're particularly ambitious and good with word economy) your own made up one. You may write in any genre with any setting and interpretation of the mythos you choose.

Your judges will be:

Oasis Writer

Anyone else who would like to judge, go ahead and shoot me a PM.


1) Your piece must be 500 words or less. Points will be deducted for entries that go over.

2) Your piece must have a title.

3) Grammar and spelling count, so proofread before you post.

4) One entry per person.

Here are some pieces I recommend reading if you're having trouble with the prompt or just want to read something good:

"The Goddess on the Street Corner" by Margaret St. Clair (short story)
The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams
Watership Down by Richard Adams


Senior Member
[an]If you don't know what the word Volva is...The two characters are derived from Norse mythology: one the a prophetic goddess of virgins, the other the god of trickery.[/an]

The Virgin Volva

Flaming hair and a flamboyant personality preceded the lithe man, his limbs flailing in a esoteric dance of jubilation. His body undulated to the rhythm of the flutes while his thin face contorted in a manner of excitement. This was Loki. His smooth features and cadaverous look leant to his air of trickery. Here was a man, or ‘being’ better yet, who leant the definition to the word shifty. He continued to dance while the women played their flutes, each letting the sweet cadence of music fill the air, but softly they let the sounds dwindle into nothingness.

Loki, his eyebrows lifted in bewilderment, ceased his spastic seizures and cast a befuddled look at Gefjon. Her delicate features were held in an austere pose, while her virgin eyes held an unfathomable amount of innocence. He stared into her deep brown eyes hidden beneath those auburn locks and gave voice to his dissension, “Oh, Gefjon, why have you put an end to my enjoyment. You know how I do love to dance.”

“We’ve had enough,” her simple words seemed a threat and a condolence all at once, “we’re tired, Loki.” Gefjon cast a defiant look in his direction before sparing a look for her sisters. They all seemed so dismal, eyes cast downward and hair hiding the faces of discontent. Four in all, including Gefjon, were on the wooden platform that Loki had made for just this occasion. Loki moved forward in a deftly graceful contradiction to his dancing, smiling as he slithered next to her.

“We had a deal, my virgin prioress.” His deference was unsettling.

“Please, Loki, it’s been four hours of this without a break.” Another smile settled onto his face, but each time he smiled her heart fluttered, palpitating in fear.

“Oh, dear Volva, know that you have your escape right in front of you.” He reached his hand forward and caressed her face, sliding his spidery fingers down her silky cheek, resting at her chin. “It’s your choice alone that sentences these poor virgins to suffer.”

“But you won’t like it, Loki, I promise you that.” She pleaded, appeasing to this conniving despot who held her freedom in his hands. He had cajoled her into an informal agreement through trickery and now she refused. She would have no part in divulging such an abysmal future.

“Then you shall play!” Loki prepared to dance once more, but her silence spoke for itself. He was ready to yell and demand her acquiescence until he saw that look of rapt concentration on her face. She was delving into her gift as a Volva. The seidr took her, washed her identity away and allowed her admittance into what can only be described as another realm of being. It seemed hours before her brown eyes reappeared, her pallor returning.

“What is it, what have you seen?”

“The birth of Christianity.”
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Senior Member
Nectar of the Gods

Nectar of the Gods

Hera, clutching on to Zeus,
sailed his Greek Euphrates,
cupped Olympus in her mouth
and chugged it down to Hades.
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Reality of Mythology

Tonight, Onlu promised himself, he would speak to his deity.

He was being stupid but from the moment he first glimpsed the hidden idol, mounted on the gold-laced cart, shrouded in folds of purple silk and sitting on a golden pedestal, he had wanted to touch it or speak to it.

Onlu knew he was deceiving himself. He wanted to become it. He remembered with awe the ecstatic crowd’s rush to surround the red-robed Arabs pushing the cart containing the mythological idol into the village.

He may be an insolent Egyptian peasant-boy, as his father had informed him so often, but he had one opportunity to fulfill his peasant dreams.

Tonight he would touch the stars.


Onlu waited three hours for the Arab to take a piss. He saw the robed guard’s movement through the reeds as he lay there, braving the chill night air. As he stood he wondered whether his atrophied black skin would be visible against the starless sky.

Forgetting whatever it was he was thinking about, Onlu sprinted toward the cart, his footsteps muffled by the warm stand. Jumping agilely over the side of the cart, Onlu was surprised to see a hoard of trinkets lying before the hidden figure. Ivory necklaces, silver rings, swords and even a bow that Onlu was sure was bigger than him. Onlu noticed a bronze brooch that his mother had cast toward the hidden idol, beseeching it to spare her son the mosquito plague. There were the gifts of poorer villages in the pile, horsehair brushes, hairpins and even a toothpick. All lay scattered before the raised shroud.

What does one ask a deity? Onlu would ask why he was hairless when his father was blessed like the brown hyenas that stalked the night. Onlu would beg for his mother to be spared the plague.

Onlu edged closer to the figure, realizing it must be asleep. As he remembered the Arabs telling the crowd about the wondrous miracles the deity had performed Onlu wondered what such a majestic thing would do with a toothpick.

Onlu fingers trembled as he lifted aside the purple silk.

He recoiled in horror at what he saw. Unseeing eyes stared out blankly at him. Onlu looked back at the wooden statue, carved in the image of a perched monkey with five tails and golden eyelashes. He tapped the grinning skull. The sound was hollow.

Onlu suppressed a scream of inerudite rage. The village had been tricked and his mother had been fleeced. Onlu leapt off the cart and ran into the Egyptian night, back to the village. There were startled shouts behind him but he could not care. Between all his confusions and conflicting emotions he was resolved to do one thing.

He swore to himself that he would spare his mother the truth.

It was all a myth.


Senior Member
This is an original work of mythology

Creation Myth of Leordian

The world was not always as we know it now. Once, long ago, it was empty of all things. Here is where the eight outer plains met, and where each opposed the other equally. So there was nothing.

Then the plain of Disorder shifted slightly, and threw off that perfect balance. Shockwaves coursed through the material plane, and things appeared from the nothing. The material plane became a torrent of the elements, chaotically forming and deforming.

The Gods of the outer plains held a council, knowing that something must be done about the material plane. The God of Order wanted the plane returned to its former state, but the other Gods wanted none of it. The material plane had become an extension of the elemental plains, as well as the plains of the Virtue, Disorder, and Vice. Order was only convinced to allow the plane to exist when the other Gods agreed to create a Deity for the material plane itself, and forfeit their direct control.

However, there was treachery about. The Gods of Vice and Disorder secretly manipulated the chaotic swirling of the new world after the council, ensuring their forces would have greater power in the new world. The Gods of Virtue and Order learned of this, and went before the elemental Gods, and formed a plan to punish Vice and Disorder. The six created the God of the material plane without the help of Vice and Disorder.

A great golden dragon, perfect, radiant, and beautiful emerged from the vortex. He created our world from the maelstrom, and breathed life into the plants and animals. When he saw his creation, he knew something was missing. Taking one of his mighty claws, he cut his flank until a single drop of blood fell onto the world below. It splashed over the entire continent, from the mountains of Prant and Kilrindor, to the deep harbors of Asalanaar. From the smallest flakes of that blood were born the first races of men and dwarves, elves and the lizardfolk. The latter, being closest in relation to the Great Dragon himself, retained some of his knowledge and wisdom. They would form a great empire and rule the entire continent for many centuries.

From the larger drops of blood, emerged the first race of dragons. Twelve great dragons were born that day. Six had skin that was shiny and strong, like the metals dwarves and men would mine for centuries after. These six were called the metallic dragons, Silver, Copper, Bronze, Tin, Iron, and Adamantium. The other six had scales that shone brightly and sparkled like gems that men and dwarves would prize for centuries after. These were the gemstone dragons, Diamond, Sapphire, Ruby, Emerald, Obsidian, and Starfire. To these dragons the Gold Lord gave dominion over all the creations of the world. He empowered them with his wisdom and knowledge. With these guardians in place, he watched and waited for a time when he was truly needed.

EDIT: Formatting


Senior Member
Disclaimer: I know, it's rather odd and only vaguely mythological (that being one I made up myself). Ah, well.

The Gods

This is the hour when the gods awaken and restart their complex games of dice. Somewhere, way down on earth, people are seeing lightning and two-headed calves and starting to get nervous. Maybe a few of them are already stoking up the altars and slaughtering sheep or setting aside the best fruit for the village priest.

As if the gods care.

The secret about the gods is that they couldn’t care less. The gods are just like the rest of us, really, except with larger egos, better hair, and semi-omnipotent power. Gods never sit around and wonder what it’s all about. But only because they just don’t care.

Far below, a meteor streaks into the ground and ignites a field. The farmer to whom it belonged throws himself down on his knees and tearfully prays.

Gods aren't even very good at dice. They keep fighting over whose turn it is.

Right now, it’s Shamgar’s, but that could change at any moment. He sits lounging on one elbow, whispering to the dice. “C’mon, baby, c’mon. Snake eyes…I know that you can do it….C’mon now…” He is technically the god of the underworld, but he finds that it usually sorts itself out without him. Sometimes, he sits in judgment over the souls of the dead, just to keep his hand in, but not when there is a game going. Timna, goddess of crops, yells at him to roll already or he’ll forfeit his turn.

Somewhere below, a mother in childbirth screams out a choked plea to Sikma, goddess of childbirth.

Sikma eyes Shamgar disapprovingly, because she suspects that he is cheating and wants to catch him at it. She has lost the last five games and wonders if maybe she should call it an evening now. Except that it gets so boring between the games. Eons is a long time to fill just paying attention to the mortals. Especially since they all start to look the same.

The sacred bull disappears from a small village, and the villagers start whispering about a god descending and taking it for himself. The village priest does not confirm the rumors, but he nods wisely.

Shamgar rolls snake-eyes.

And somewhere, high above the farmer, and the mother, and priest, high above Shamgar and Timna and Sikma, Something else watches. Perhaps It smiles.
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Senior Member
[an]Hey all, this is my first outing in Literary Maneuvers. This is just a made up tale using some Norse Mythology. 498 words, hells yeah! Enjoy.[/an]


Buldün Furvūhn pushed his weary body to its limits, finally cresting the cliff-face. He sighed with great relief while sprawling out upon the flat ground. After many moments of rest, he could no longer keep from looking at the face of the cave he had traveled so far to reach. Gazing upon the two entangled serpent statues on either side of the entrance, all feelings of fatigue left him.

“By the gods,” he muttered, slowly coming to his feet. The soft glow of torchlight illuminated the tunnel walls until it blurred into nothingness. A sharp wind whipped about the top of the mountain sending shivers throughout Boldun’s body. He felt naked without his armor, having chosen to abandon it for the climb. His hair and beard were soaked with sweat and his sword stained with blood from the exhausting trials he had faced thus far.

After dragging himself through the cave for what seemed an eternity, bright light began to spill onto the proud warrior. He had reached the end of the tunnel. Buldün looked in awe at the circular chamber. Stacks of treasure chests spilling over with golden coins, ancient weapons and items of immeasurable value ringed the room. But the wealth of these items paled in comparison to the treasure which Buldün had come for.

He walked down the small steps at his feet into a shallow pool that surrounded a wide pedestal. Runes were etched into the front which he read aloud.

“Only One of Valor Shall Wield the True Weapon of the Gods.”

Glowing with ethereal aura and hovering a foot above the pedestal was Buldün’s prize. Mjollnir, the mythical hammer of the thunder god Thor, sparked with electricity as his hand slowly reached out for it.

“What mortal seeks to wield the power of a god?” an ominous voice boomed. Buldün quickly backed away and knelt.

“Praise thee, Thor, god of thunder. I am Buldün Furvūhn, Champion of the Winter Wolf Tribe. I seek to wield Mjollnir for a just cause,” Buldün spoke, trying desperately to keep from trembling. An unnerving silence followed.

”Name your cause Champion.”

Buldün said, “My homeland is in peril. The Jotun Horde invades us even now. Only the power of the almighty thunder god can save us.” More silence.

“Buldün Furvūhn, Champion of the Winter Wolf Tribe, rise before me. I deem you worthy to wield Mjollnir to repel the evil Jotuns that plague your people. Go now, and vanquish your foes, in the name of Thor.”

Buldün stepped forward and clutched the smooth leather handle. Though the golden head of the hammer was massive, the weapon was light as a feather. He thrust it above his head, sending a surge of electricity down his arm. The warrior felt instantly revitalized. His limbs regained feeling and vigor and all the wounds he had suffered healed as the power of Mjollnir coursed through his body.

“Praise thee, Thor. I shall honor you this day with the power of Mjollnir.”
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Senior Member
its a crappy name..but i couldnt think of anything better.

its 635 words (sorry..i couldnt help it <insert guilty face here>)

Bitter Release

The sun was setting, painting the sky with vibrant colours, the smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air as the roar of a lawnmower dwindled to nothing. Children ran throughout the streets, playing games filled with squeals of delight.

Beneath the façade of suburbia a dark shadow ran through the streets, blending in with the long shadows of the summer eve. It paused at a hedge, gasping for breath. It looked up, the shadows recoiled from the receading light. The boys face became clear, his face was lightly sprinkled with spots, his longish hair hung limply in his face, his dark green eyes shining with fear, a film of sweat coated his upper lip and forehead. The branches dug into his arm, he didn’t care, he was safe…for the moment.

The men patrolled the picturesque streets, everyone pretending not to see. They were looking for him, their eyes ablaze with anger, one man looked as though he was about to collapse in tears, his demeanor was weak. Disappointment showed on his face, his mind was reeling, the boy should have been proud, he was the chosen, the one that was waited for. The only one who could set them free.

The boys head sprung up, his eyes alert; he could hear something moving…something trying not to be heard. The stench of sweat and pigs blood stood stagnant in the air, he suppressed gagging before diving through the hedge. A thunderous scream filled the air, hands desperately tried to hold onto his hoodie. The thud of his heart drowned out all other sound, his legs pumped up and down as he tried to evade his pursuers.
He veered to the left as a man jumped out in front of him. Too late, something flew at him. He felt hot blood run down his forehead, it stung as it entered his eyes. He went pale, his lips parted, he gasped one last breath, he tried to speak, then he collapsed.

He awoke in a dark room, figures stood around him in a circle, his eyes had not yet acclimatized to the darkness, he realised these men were his captors, soon he would meet the fate he was running from. He looked at the ground, he was sitting in the centre of a white pentagram, candles stood at each point and strange symbols were drawn in a circle around the pentagram. One of the men shouted something in a bizarre language, the writing burst into flames. A man with a sliver athame approached, the flames parting to let him through, the boy scramble backwards, but the flames grew higher and brighter, eager to taste his young flesh.

He gasped as the athame flashed towards him; blood covered the ground, pouring from his slit throat. The flames fed on the blood; they burned fiercely as the man anointed himself with the fresh blood as he uttered an incantation in which the others joined, slowly getting louder till reaching a crescendo. The man in the centre threw his arms up, darkening clouds gathered above the house and lightening flashed. It charged through his body and from his into the others, the men screamed and dropped to their knees. One by one they died, their life departing, not realising what horror they had wrought on the world.

The sea drained from the beaches as the fiery prison was opened, the water level steadily dropped, the large hole now open to the world erupted, the water spewing into the air with wretched force. Demons flew from the hole, all released, they flew to all four corners of the globe, as the earth stopped trembling the last and worse arose from the hole, Gaea’s molten core filled with glee, her children were released, the mighty Titans arose to extract their revenge.


Senior Member
I was really tempted to submit a snippet from my story XYN, but decided to write something from scratch. This is a little different from my usual work… yet oddly the same. I've used a variety of mythos from around the world... poorly.


I used to look outside, seeing all that made up my world. Deserts and forests sharing the same space, man-beasts roaming the land… corn; each as common as a blade of grass. Dragons would tussle with brave knights in playful competition, while surprisingly underclad women stared on in wide-eyed wonderment. Indeed, there used to be few things that could surprise me, and fewer still that I would actually expect. Truly, the age I love shall forever be remembered as the greatest period in history.

Unfortunately, all things change, and seldom for the best. My world died, slowly poisoned by the arrival of two demons; demons we call Science and Technology. The change was slow, but steady. One by one, each of those wonderful things which made up our lives, from flying horses, to centaurs, to sword-wielding skeletons (you know the ones I mean) were all destroyed as the demons grew in power. Many had fought the change, but their attempts were merely stalls at best. There was never any stopping it.

The more people learned about how things ‘really’ work, the more wondrous things they destroyed. I was personally much happier living on a flat world, but am now forced to stick to a spinning ball using an invisible paste called gravity. Oh, and don’t get me started on the banning of sacrifices; I used to enjoy watching many a virgin be offered to the gods in some far-off oasis, but no, the closest thing to that nowadays is not tipping a waitress in your local coffee shop.

The gods too have turned tail in the wake of these relentlessly logical demons.

As Ra, Helios, Amaterasu and Surya wrestled over the final setting of the sun, the world was thrown into eternal twilight… in the guise of ill-prepared governments. Meanwhile, Hades, Supay, Osiris and Yama closed the doors to the underworld forever, knowing that no soul could be bothered going all the way to the other side as long as their Playstation still worked. Indeed, even Thagimasadas and Ea were forced into unemployment as water was shunted aside in favour of Coca Cola and Mountain Dew. Yeah, it’s a disgrace, I know.

The only god that now exists is known to the masses as Billius Gates, Lord of the Tech-age, and Governor of the Internet… or something like that. Pollution and radiation flood the globe in all manner of forms, showing that the demons have now firmly taken hold, and shall forever grip the world in their seductive, evil hands.

Now I must leave my computer, as I phoned up for a pizza and a coke, and they’ve just been delivered. Hmm… perhaps I’ll watch my DVD of Clash of the Titans, just to relive the good old days.
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Senior Member
A New Life
(A new myth)

We’d stood against the ravening horde, a nightmare born of dreams
Where impossible is everyday, and nothing’s what it seems
At first the men of might stood firm, defeat seemed far away
They fought to standstill fleets malign, then evil had its’ day
Behind the Horsehead Nebula, a trusted friend’s base lies
Allowed the foe a sucker punch, that swept us from the skies
The word spread fast across the stars, reserves were all called in
And ragtag motley fleets set out, our future tried to win

They hid in Beta Lyrae’s veil, an ambuscade was laid
To strike across the star-flung lanes, then into background fade
And out around Orion’s sword, they built up lightspeed pace
Used light-speeds mass to sweep the fleets, tumbling them through space
But enemies from eons past, had gathered for the feast
Of those resources needed now, men’s lives were just the least
With volunteers and untrained crew, they met the foreign might
They tried so hard, they did not go, gently to the night

Eventually the line wore thin, then vanished from the sky
As starcast brought the news to us, we all prepared to die
When all was lost, dark ships came in, so few lived past that day
All trace of us to be erased, for we were in their way
Elders, women, babies too, all vanished under fire
They hunted us like we kill rats, our race on funeral pyre
So with my love, my wife on board, quite soon we are to leave
A future we are going to find; I’m Adam, this is Eve!
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Three Roses

[an]Some people might notice I borrowed one little thing at the end from another myth. I hope that's okay.[/an]

Three Roses ~ A Recreation Myth

Humans tore up the earth. They killed animals, sometimes using them, sometimes killing just for sport. They were not grateful to anyone and refused to worship any of the gods. Living only for fleshly pursuits, war and sex reigned supreme.

Four of the six gods were so angered by the behavior of the humans that they rained down their wrath, sending down balls of fire to destroy all living things and then causing floods to flow over everything before drying up completely once again.

When everything was destroyed, the four turned on Ossian and Seine, the creators of the humans, blaming them for all the humans had done and for the destruction of the earth. Ossian and Seine protested, but the others would hear none of it. They left the ruin of the earth and left Ossian and Seine with it.

Seine cried, the earth turned into what it had started out as: a barren rock. Suddenly, Ossian revealed he had saved three things from the destruction. He first presented her with a yellow rose.

“With this rose, I will recreate the sun,” she said, stroking the petals lovingly before placing the rose in the heavens. “The yellow rose will now be a symbol of friendship, for you have always been a friend to me.”
She began to cry once more. Ossian revealed the second item he had saved: a white rose.

She took the rose and said, “With this rose, I will recreate the moon. The white rose will forever be a symbol of admiration, for the way I have always admired you.”

She then placed the white rose opposite the yellow rose in the heavens.
Finally, Ossian took a deep red rose, the last item he had saved, and looked at it. This rose had been the very first rose. He did not give it to her, instead asking her to listen to him.

“The red rose will represent love, the flower the good and the thorns the bad. I love you, and with this, I will recreate the world you miss so much.”
From the water in the stem, he created the oceans, lakes, and streams. From the thorns, he formed the mountains. With the rest of the stem, he created the trees and other plants. He turned most of the petals blue and formed the sky, turning the remaining petals white and making them into clouds.

Finally, all he had left were two seeds. With one, he recreated all the animals of the earth. With the other, he created a human with four arms, four legs, and two heads. Smiling at Seine’s confusion, he split the being into two.

“Now,” he said, “humans will know love and will always look for their other half.”

Ossian and Seine loved their creation and wrapped their arms around it. Seine became day, and Ossian became night. Where they held each others hands became sunrise and sunset, and they forever on danced around the earth.


Senior Member

[ot]wow... just read through a few of the stories here... I am so getting thrashed in this competition.[/ot]
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Senior Member
The Flight of the Padhishah

“Once Vain Glorious had spoken, the Padhishah was forced to flee her Palace. With her anima, she set out to find the far side of the world, where she might set in peace once more…” - Excerpt from the Summa Chronologia, 2nd Scroll

“Locked between Earth and Heaven, the mandate of the Padhishah has always been a precarious one. One push, and it might be extinguished – but so far, the great skill of the dynasty has kept it within the prescribed limits; the light still circles around the globe.” - Royal Historian Shazahara’s The Offspring of Lilith

“Just as each city has its own customs, each land has its own pagan gods. I have found and cursed and bound them all, so that they will not disturb my rule.” - The Most Glorious Eo

“The anima lumbered through the Ju’maran jungle. We watched it leave a path of snapped tree-limbs and crushed palm-fronds. Clearly, it was foreign-born – a stranger.

Yet stranger still was the woman perched serenely upon its back. Only an Empress might be so beautiful. Her skin was slick-smooth, and her eyes dark pools. She held the grace of a forgotten dream – a perfect aesthetic accompanied her every action. Hoops and rings of light scattered through her hair.

We approached her struck near sick with awe.

“I see you, blind gods,” she said.
“We are not blind,” we replied, “for a priest gave his vision to us. It is true that the Glorious Eo cursed us with his Diktat, and forever removed our sight. Yet the priest gave us his instead, and we feel great pleasure in the exercise of his gift, especially in regards to your Grace.”

“Then you are blessed already, and there is nothing more the Padhishah can grant you,” she said. O, her voice like clear-coursing water in the desert; bright flowers and green things sprouted in our parched hearts.

“Where do you go, Goddess of the Suns?”
“I go not to, but from,” she said.

“We shall help you; we can hide the path of your anima, though it forces its way through these lands – but they are our lands, we are the spirit of the land, liege-lady, we shall hide your way as you flee,” we replied.

“I might give you my thanks. But you know this is my right as Padhishah, and required of you,” she answered, and we knew she was right. This was our duty, and its performance filled us with great pride.
And then she was gone, and all the sights of the jungle turned to salt in one moment.

So it was that we pierced out our new eyes, so again we can see no more. For what is sight without her?”

- Memoirs of the Blinded Ones


Senior Member
A Lack of Love

“Virgin” was a word she had forgotten existed. It had basically been implied that she was sexually active for most of her life, and the only period of her existence that might have involved abstinence, as far as anyone was concerned, was her time in the womb. And even then, who knows, really.

The cathedral was congested. Several gods drifted around, paying their respects to various relatives and discussing the tragedy that was Athena’s sudden peril. Everything was a shadow; a silhouette; a solemn statue. Through the stained-glass windows, light did not penetrate. Everything physical was black and white, yet everything emotional was gray.

Aphrodite sat in the last pew, staring up at the high ceiling and the pseudo-brilliant chandeliers hanging from it. Many around her were making unusual noises in an attempt to stifle their sobbing, or their perhaps lesser form of mourning, sniffling. Others were reticent. She belonged to the latter group, gazing at the event through insignificant eyes. This had been her first funeral, and the nearly tangible grief emitting from those surrounding her was very foreign. She recalled a time when one of her lovers was brutally murdered. She skipped the funeral for an affair.

Eventually everyone drifted out despondently, their heads toward their feet and their shoulders hunched. Aphrodite remained, fascinated by the previous display of emotion. She studied the husband’s movements intently. He kneeled down and spoke audibly, but she could not discern the words. As she tried to listen, it suddenly dawned on her – a god had died. No one had even known it was possible. Athena’s death sparked mass panic among the gods, for the impossible had occurred. Scholars frantically tried to formulate theories to explain the phenomenon, and after contact with certain humans, the reason was uncovered. When no one is praying to a god, the god can no longer exist. It was established that humankind kept the gods alive, not the other way around. When Aphrodite had heard the news on the day of Athena’s death (the cause of death was figured out unusually quickly), the irony stung her, but it didn’t sink in entirely until she saw the man on his knees. He was so helpless, so fragile, so hurt.

Finally he stood and walked toward the exit behind her. As he was about to pass her, he looked up and saw her, then sat beside her. She gazed into his eyes, the infamous eyes that possessed the envious color of violet, and recognized something – fear. This fear wasn’t the result of terror but the result of pain. Aphrodite had known this man for quite some time, but their conversation had never risen above small talk. Now, however, she felt herself begin to hysterically weep and grow limp, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

A few minutes passed of this emotional release until she was taken aback. Suddenly, the man embraced her warmly and spoke two simple words in her ear: “I’m sorry.”


Senior Member
The Greedy Demon

Vernal looked out the window of his two hundred-million dollar complex. The sky was flooded with flashing thunder and dancing rain. He knew Zeus wasn’t pleased with what he was doing, but it was his choice and destiny.


A little way beyond the grassland, Vernal sat down on the newly soaked bench. Aphrodite’s guard would be there to meet him. The only reason a goddess would go looking for a business agent, would only be for, well, business. And gods and goddesses were hard to please. Anyhow, Vernal never turned down the offers. Two restless minutes passed, and no one came. Suddenly, the sky shone down on a spot, and a centaur galloped vertically towards Vernal. Vernal took a deep bow, and the centaur told him his job.

“Hall hi want you to do his to retrieve the lost hemerald hof the goddess hof beauty. Rise, hand hi shall provide you hone million dollars hof cash. His this clear?” “Yes.” Vernal didn’t really like the accent, but at least he understood. The centaur’s image began to shift, and it disappeared with the light. Vernal walked back to his complex, to start finding.


Vernal had found it, and had walked back to the old meeting place. It was a bright sunny day, not a single cloud to be seen, until when he walked there, he got shot by lightning. The centaur sighed sadly, because he had no other choice, and took the bracelet, and disappeared without a trace.

The only reason the centaur had killed the man was because he was going to kill the centaur, and get the money. They

The police found the body, and buried it in front of a chapel, where the Gods were thought to be seen.

Except the man was now a ghost, and wanted revenge, and thereof, he has turned into the demon, that haunts the chapel.

(this is actually a pretty dumb story with some kind of moral. made it up real quick. :p)


The Eye's Have It

[ot] Based on an old welsh myth. 593 words after cutting a bit. Any more and I'll ruin it, sorry. [/ot]

[ot]So Chris took out the big editing stick and whacked me right in the skull. I deserved it. After supplying me with a full edit (what a guy) I re-worked it down to 500 words on the button. Thanks Chris, I'm buying [/ot]

The pub was withered by time. I opened the door and walked in. A thousand years of dust had blown in the door; the dust from the bones of a million patrons past.

The bar was full, so I sat on the one seat available beside an old man with deep lines on his face and an eye patch. His body was stooped as though gravity longed to pull him back to the dirt from which he had sprung. I ordered the local ale and tried to wash the local denizen's forefathers from my throat.

The old man turned on his stool and fixed me with his good eye, brown as a spring doeskin, but the beautiful color lost in its rheumy paste of white.

"Are you gonna ask me?"

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Are you gonna ask me how I lost me eye?"

"Yes. How did you lose it?"

"T'was a long time ago…

I've sailed ships around the world and back. Seen evil men do strange things, seen creatures alive only in men's hearts, and things that would make God almighty scratch his head in wonderment.

Once I went looking for water when the ship ran low, deep into the woods on an island green as kelp in the Sargasso.

It was there I heard a noise, keen as the hunted I listened. I heard it clear, a woman crying, sobbing like someone stole her kit and left her without shoes.

I searched the woods, until I heard her from a great thorny bush. I pushed aside the brambles, and there she was, a tiny woman with butterfly wings. Her dress was caught. Gentle as I could, I pulled her out.

She clung to my hand for a moment, crying and hugging, and then fluttered off into the sun. I must of looked into the sun a might long as I got a bit teary, so I dried my eyes with my hands. The same hand that held the fairy’s tears.

Suddenly with my eye, I could see the true nature of things, the evil in folks. It helped me outta many a jam being able to look into men's and woman's souls and see the truth in them.

One day on the docks, this new captain tried to get me to sign on his ship. I looked with my eye and saw him for what he was: red skin, horns in his head and a long forked tail.

"I ain't going nowhere with you Beelzebub."

"How can you see me?" he asked.

"With me fairy eye I see ya."

He reached out and pulled it right from my head.
"And that's how I lost me eye. Do you want to know a funny thing?"

"What's that?"

"Guess what eye he took?"

I downed the rest of my beer and put a fiver on the bar. "One or the other?"

The old man's laugher filled the bar as I headed back out and onto the long dusty road.
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