(no subject)
Life was very confusing. It hadn't always been, there had been a time not so very long ago by his shaky grasp on the passage of time that existence had been an extremely simple business. The living stayed out, the dead stayed in. That had been the extent of his world. It was small and, more often than not, lonely but he knew his place in it.
And then he'd found the other place. A place of brightness and terrifying openness, where nothing sheltered you from the vast expanse of life that rustled and breathed and grew and walked this strange alien place and never stopped not even for a second. It had been too much at first, occasionally it still was. There seemed to be a never ending stampede of situations that he did not understand. Mortals not recognizing the gods. Mortals not knowing the way things are. Mortals mingling with the dead. Gods insisting he was their equal.
Cerberus shook himself and settled back on his haunches, gazing into the swirling, misty gloom above the river.
And then the change had come. It had been a punishment. Supposedly. These days he was beginning to wonder and that frightened him because he had never wondered about anything before. Not like this! It was very disconcerting for a mind that had always asked the same question of everything ("What?") to suddenly and unexpectedly find itself consumed by a strange new concept ("Why?"). Why did the place appear the way it did? Why had he never known it was there before? Why did the creatures in it behave so strangely?
Why was this happening to him?
It had made him very appreciative of home; the certainty of it, the realness of it. The wonderful, comfortable simplicity of it. The living stay out, the dead stay in.
Somewhere, out in the dark, the water sloshed against the sides of the ferry.
And then he'd found the other place. A place of brightness and terrifying openness, where nothing sheltered you from the vast expanse of life that rustled and breathed and grew and walked this strange alien place and never stopped not even for a second. It had been too much at first, occasionally it still was. There seemed to be a never ending stampede of situations that he did not understand. Mortals not recognizing the gods. Mortals not knowing the way things are. Mortals mingling with the dead. Gods insisting he was their equal.
Cerberus shook himself and settled back on his haunches, gazing into the swirling, misty gloom above the river.
And then the change had come. It had been a punishment. Supposedly. These days he was beginning to wonder and that frightened him because he had never wondered about anything before. Not like this! It was very disconcerting for a mind that had always asked the same question of everything ("What?") to suddenly and unexpectedly find itself consumed by a strange new concept ("Why?"). Why did the place appear the way it did? Why had he never known it was there before? Why did the creatures in it behave so strangely?
Why was this happening to him?
It had made him very appreciative of home; the certainty of it, the realness of it. The wonderful, comfortable simplicity of it. The living stay out, the dead stay in.
Somewhere, out in the dark, the water sloshed against the sides of the ferry.