Medusa

I am cursed.

The wicked Goddess I followed,

who I tended and honored

in all her greatness, has

smote me,

cursed me,

doomed me.

I was but the virgin,

handmaiden to the Goddess,

simple young maiden,

until the fateful night he came.

He told me I was beautiful,

smiled upon my plain robes and simple braided hair.

How was I to know?

He was only a handsome young man, 

a kind, gentle, handsome man,

and all he wanted was to talk.

How was I to know?

We snuck out in the middle of the night,

crept behind my Mistress’s temple.

He only wanted to talk.

He said he was troubled,

he said I could help him.

How was I to know?

Then it went too far.

I begged him to stop.

“I am not to kiss a man. I am a handmaiden!” I cried.

But he loved me, and I could not stop him.

Eventually, my Mistress discovered me pregnant,

bearing his children,

twins.

I wept and begged for mercy.

“Spare me, please, spare me!” I screamed, hysterical.

She paid me no heed.

I bear the children of a god.

The great Poseidon, 

Earth-Shaker, 

Kind of the Ocean

Lord of the Sea,

Father of Horses

chose me.

I should be honored.

I am shamed.

My Lady lashed out at me,

and smote my face,

transforming me into a monster.

I am not vain.

I could have learned to live with my new face,

but it was not enough for the cruel Goddess.

She cursed my eyes,

let no one see them again... and live.

She cursed my hair,

and let it writhe and hiss and bite.

She cursed my children, my dear babies,

and never let me give them life.

“They can be born only when you die, girl,” she snarled over her godly shoulder,

leaving me weeping in a heap on the temple floor.  

~~~

I try to warn my victims.

“Look away! Do not come closer!” I implore.

They never live long enough to hear.

I wish I could blink,

maybe save those poor souls who come seeking my head,

sentenced to an impossible task.

But my killer eyes are glued wide open.

I can never sleep.

I can scream myself into unconsciousness every night

while my babies kick and cry silently inside me.

But I have not slept in millennia.

~~~~ 

Finally, the hero has come.

He bears the blessings of the Muses,

the guidance of the Fates,

the gifts of Hermes.

He will end my sorrow.

He ducks around the ruins, hiding from me.

He needn't be.

I have waited for him.

After all these millennia my hatred, my shame, my bitterness 

have dwindled.

I can't fight any longer. 

Once I tried to murder everyone who dared come near,

those idiots trying to steal my life.

I wanted to make the gods suffer as one by one,

their heroes turned to rock.

But they are stone now,

and sometime in that angry millennia I must have realized 

that stones don't speak back, 

and will never ease the loneliness.

Melancholy despair and a broken face

are all that is left of the beautiful priestess who loved a god 

so long ago.

I stand in the center of the cavern,

perfectly still.

I will not fight. I will not scream.

My watchers,

my immortal cursed sisters,

spring from their grottos to kill him.

They mindlessly follow their singular instruction:

Stop the intruder.

They eternally act out the will of the Goddess who cursed us three,

unable to stop themselves. 

Immortal monsters are my dear sisters now,

their kindness come back to bite them

for taking part of my curse.

And it will continue to hurt them until

the day I finally die.

The boy has made it past my sisters

with his polished shield and flying sandals.

Tiny tears well up in the corners of my lidless eyes.

He is the one.

He approaches anxiously, sword ready.

I avoid his face.

“Do it quickly, child,” I whisper.

He jumps back, startled.

“What?”

I restrain myself from looking up at him.

“I am too old. I have suffered plenty. Please, end it now,” I moan.

He raises the sword.

“I hope you find peace, then,” he tells me, his voice horrified.

Why wouldn't he be horrified? 

He came expecting a monster.

He found only the victim of a curse.

“Mind my children when they come,” I mutter.

CHINK.

It is over.

I float from my body, 

turning around to look at my prison one last time.

I cry silent tears when I see my sweet babies 

born at last from my spilling blood...

a tiny foal with shimmering wings,

a boy with a miniature golden sword.

My children...

As I float to the Underworld,

towards my judgement,

I do something else I haven't done for millennia.

I smile.