Upping the genre ante
I think this came from surfing around Yuletide fics, and the thought of Greek Mythology being a subcategory just amused me. Then I saw someone's wishlist which included "something from Persephone's perspective" (or something like that) which managed to spark this. And after one writing session, I closed the document and never opened it again, until today. You can even see where I just stopped sentences because I couldn't figure out what I was trying to say. :Dv RIP little fic of weirdness.
She asked me once if I missed her while I was away. Of course I do, I told her, willing her to believe what I too wanted to believe. But I was lying.
I miss no one in the Underworld. It is impossible for me. I remember everything: that I have a mother, that I love her, that she loves me, but I can feel none of these emotions. They require something that is ripped from me the moment I arrive, leaving me empty, blank.
Time.
The one thing given to me to miss in the Underworld is time. I've been down here one day, two months, fifteen minutes? I can't know, but I yearn to know. I live in a state of perpetual now, surrounded on both sides by nothing but another now. Yet, somehow, deep within myself I remember time. I remember change. I remember a life away from here, but have no concept of how far away it is, or was. There are nothing but palatial halls, hailing the King of Oblivion, the Guardian of Nothingness.
I wander these halls; how long, I never know. I do know they are beautiful. Dark has its shades just like light, and his palace is the pinnacle of everything one ever could want from dark's canvas. Pillars of smooth rock reaching farther than the eye can see. Intimate rooms of dark layered upon dark. I recognize the fact that, could I feel, everything would be a sensory delight. Nevertheless, all these beauties invoke nothing in me. I feel no pleasure from beauty, no pain at not being able to share it. His palace merely is - timeless, pristine, preserved, and thus meaning nothing.
He visits me during my stays. He tries to talk to me, but I can never respond. How does one talk when everything is just fact, just existence? He alone, of all the creatures in his domain, knows that time has passed. He alone can sense past and future, feel it pressing down on him pushing him towards change, so he tries to bind it, refusing to acknowledge it and forcing his subjects to exist outside its bounds.
But I remember.
I try to ask the passing souls what they remembered of the life above. They look at me mute, unaware that there is anything beyond this very instant. Time ended for them, so its imprint does not cross the great rivers of the deep. They are baptized into oblivion, taken
Because it is the one thing I crave, I will never have it. And because it is the one thing he wants to erase completely, he will always be aware of it.
I live here, day in and out, a life of blissful apathy, when suddenly Hermes appears. That is my signal to go. He will carry me back to Olympus, to the world of men and gods, of light and sense and life and change. I take his hand, bracing myself for the moment I know is coming. Hades appears before we go, offering me his hand, as he always does. I force myself not to accept, gripping my robes to keep from accepting the endless freedom. Hades looks at me, disappointed, then I am flying away, following Hermes back to Time.
It is the most exquisite pain and pleasure I have ever felt. Burning. Freezing. Torn apart, then forced back together. I stop breathing, or perhaps I breathe for the first time in six months. Sounds - repressed sounds waiting for months to be free - tear free of my aching chest. I laugh and cry and sing and scream all at once. For one eternal second, I experience every pain and pleasure, every guilt and mercy, every change and motion I would have experienced in six months. There are penalties, even for immortals, for living outside Time.
My great fear is that one day I will love the nothing more than I want the something.
Yeah, I don't even know where I was going with that one. If you figure it out, let me know?
She asked me once if I missed her while I was away. Of course I do, I told her, willing her to believe what I too wanted to believe. But I was lying.
I miss no one in the Underworld. It is impossible for me. I remember everything: that I have a mother, that I love her, that she loves me, but I can feel none of these emotions. They require something that is ripped from me the moment I arrive, leaving me empty, blank.
Time.
The one thing given to me to miss in the Underworld is time. I've been down here one day, two months, fifteen minutes? I can't know, but I yearn to know. I live in a state of perpetual now, surrounded on both sides by nothing but another now. Yet, somehow, deep within myself I remember time. I remember change. I remember a life away from here, but have no concept of how far away it is, or was. There are nothing but palatial halls, hailing the King of Oblivion, the Guardian of Nothingness.
I wander these halls; how long, I never know. I do know they are beautiful. Dark has its shades just like light, and his palace is the pinnacle of everything one ever could want from dark's canvas. Pillars of smooth rock reaching farther than the eye can see. Intimate rooms of dark layered upon dark. I recognize the fact that, could I feel, everything would be a sensory delight. Nevertheless, all these beauties invoke nothing in me. I feel no pleasure from beauty, no pain at not being able to share it. His palace merely is - timeless, pristine, preserved, and thus meaning nothing.
He visits me during my stays. He tries to talk to me, but I can never respond. How does one talk when everything is just fact, just existence? He alone, of all the creatures in his domain, knows that time has passed. He alone can sense past and future, feel it pressing down on him pushing him towards change, so he tries to bind it, refusing to acknowledge it and forcing his subjects to exist outside its bounds.
But I remember.
I try to ask the passing souls what they remembered of the life above. They look at me mute, unaware that there is anything beyond this very instant. Time ended for them, so its imprint does not cross the great rivers of the deep. They are baptized into oblivion, taken
Because it is the one thing I crave, I will never have it. And because it is the one thing he wants to erase completely, he will always be aware of it.
I live here, day in and out, a life of blissful apathy, when suddenly Hermes appears. That is my signal to go. He will carry me back to Olympus, to the world of men and gods, of light and sense and life and change. I take his hand, bracing myself for the moment I know is coming. Hades appears before we go, offering me his hand, as he always does. I force myself not to accept, gripping my robes to keep from accepting the endless freedom. Hades looks at me, disappointed, then I am flying away, following Hermes back to Time.
It is the most exquisite pain and pleasure I have ever felt. Burning. Freezing. Torn apart, then forced back together. I stop breathing, or perhaps I breathe for the first time in six months. Sounds - repressed sounds waiting for months to be free - tear free of my aching chest. I laugh and cry and sing and scream all at once. For one eternal second, I experience every pain and pleasure, every guilt and mercy, every change and motion I would have experienced in six months. There are penalties, even for immortals, for living outside Time.
My great fear is that one day I will love the nothing more than I want the something.
Yeah, I don't even know where I was going with that one. If you figure it out, let me know?