A modernization of the Persephone myth.
Persephone's Abduction
Wild flowers grew alongside the path that ran parallel to the cemetery and boys were often seen picking the blooms for their sweethearts. There were poppies with their blood-red petals and black hearts, orange marigolds that always brought a pretty smile and bluebells with their fragile cups. On this particular afternoon, the sun was waning and Persephone was not to be bought by flowers.
“Awww come on, Seph! Give me a break,” Mark begged. He'd thought to try his hand with Scarlet Pimpernells. "Wha' do I have to do to convince you?"
“Tut, tut, tut,” said Persephone's friend scornfully. “Anyone can pick flowers like those.”
“Yes,” agreed the other. “Anyone!”
"They're not even flowers," Seph said with a sigh, her dark eyes turned upwards. "The scarlet pimpernell is a weed."
"A weed," Naomi said, touching a hand to her apricot curls.
"Pick something else!" Olivia shrieked, the pitch of her voice on level with the heavens. Mark dropped the bundle as if they had burned his hand and snapped up a bunch of wilting bluebells.
"And these?" Mark asked. "Won't you take these, sweet Persephone?"
"No," the moon-curved beauty said simply.
“Then what am I to do?” Mark despaired. His pale eyes were sunk in sand-bag rings and his dark hair sat disgruntled on his head.
“You should pick the undertaker's flower!” decided Olivia, her body and voice bouncing in harmony.
“Yes,” agreed Naomi. “Persephone would like that.” Mark hesitated and looked toward the low hill within the graveyard where a cluster of white flowers grew. He drew his coat across his body despite the lack of wind. He shook his head vehemently.
“No...n...n...no way!” Mark said, stalking off. He threw his gathered bouquet to the ground with disgust. The two girls sighed and giggled at his retreating back.
“Ah well,” said Olivia.
“Looks like no boy will ever pick that flower for you,” sighed Naomi.
“Then I will pluck it myself,” Persephone decided, an amused smile clinging to her seductive lips. She placed her hands on the hips of her ripped jeans and kicked off the devil heels.
Ignoring the pleas of her friends, Persephone vaulted over the wooden fence and stalked toward the hill. She grabbed tufts of grass with her hands to pull her up the low rise, climbing on hands and knees like an animal. Her eyes were bright and her nails dug into the earth. There they were. The white narcissus blooms, their petals the envy of every neighbouring flower. Persephone reached out with a delicate hand, her pale fingers brushing against the stalk.
“Hey! Hey you!” a gruff voice called out. Persephone's head whipped around to see a fair haired man dressed in a fraying, black suit. It was the undertaker, carrying his watering can in one hand. “Wha' d'ya think yer doin'?”
“It looks like such a pretty flower,” Seph said. “I mean to have it. Won't you let me pick it?” Her lips curved into a smile once again and the undertaker was besotted but his flowers were very important to him.
“No, you may not,” he said firmly. “Those are my flowers, ge' away!”
“Oooops, too late,” Seph said idly with a half shrug as she pulled one of the small white flowers toward her. “He loves me... he loves me not...” The young girl began to strip the petals off the flower. The undertaker lurched forward. He dragged the girl up by her arm and pulled her back down the hill, toward a crypt.
“That's assault! Let me go!”
“No, yer my pre''y now,” the undertaker said in a grim, cold voice. Persephone stared at the ugly old man in horror and screeched, pulling away from him and at last breaking free. She ran from the crypt, through the graveyard, scrambled over the fence and stumbled all the way home.
However, when Persephone explained the situation to her father, Zeus stroked his beard and hummed and thought.
“No, there's nothing for it,” he said. “You're going to have to work off your debt to the undertaker for picking his flower.”
“What?” Seph goggled at him. “But Daddy!”
“No buts Persephone. You've been warned not to take from Hades' garden. In punishment you'll help him dig graves in the Winter and maybe you'll learn some respect."
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So. The audience is young teens, it's a short story, eat away.
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