Hades' Depression

There are only a few sounds in the underworld. The most common one being – by far – screaming. The air is filled with the sounds of pain and fear and when you listen close enough, you can hear the screams of rage from the deepest depths.

There is just one more thing I hear – the wind. It has no source and smells like death. It blows through the Asphodel Meadows and makes the withered trees whistle a tune of regret. A tune that would drive mortals into depression, for it carries the hopelessness of all the spirits wandering about.

I sometimes wonder, if this place would be even more maddening, if the wind drowned the screaming, the never-ending symphony of agony from Tartarus.

In all my years down here in this damned place, there was not a single hour or moment

or even second without it. Some would say one can get used to it – they’d lie. Because

they’ve never experienced it - there was no rhythm to this song, no chorus you could

adjust to. The only way is to ignore and pretend. To lock away all sympathy you have for

the suffering souls, deep down, safe and unable to escape.

I walk this land, day after day. My kingdom. My doom.

I feel bodiless hands grab something – grab me – just so they can feel again. I see the

spirits on their knees, begging to nobody to be let back, to live again.

I walk this land, day after day. Ignoring their whispers, feeling the darkness around,

reaching out to me, trying to pull me in with promises and threats.

And I feel it in my chest, clinging to the heart with sharp claws, trying to find its way in.

But I need to keep walking – I must, or I will end up like them; a lost soul.

Why me?

Why am I forced to walk the shadows, forced to not let anything in?

Why can’t I sit with the others – far above, feasting, conversing – but stare at the husks of

those who were?

The sky, the sea, the underworld – was it fate I ended up down here?

Degraded from a god to a shepherd. Instead of offerings I receive what remains, bones

and ash. Am I worth so little?

Emptiness spreads inside of me, my heart greeting the darkness like an old friend. I look at my hands – pale and smooth and veiny. They are trembling.

I see a spirit – and see myself. I am one of them.

The black sheep, the one not deserving to be up above.

My cheek feels wet. Am I crying?

My legs carry on – I don’t know where they lead me. Everything looks the same to my tired eyes. Until I see the silver water. It’s shimmering, although there is no light to cause reflection. It rolls forward, agonizingly slowly. Without waves, without a wet shore. Only a little fog hangs on the other side of the river, half hiding a lonely cypress.

Lethe.

Sweet oblivion.

I feel numb as my bare feet touch the water.

It feels neither warm nor cold on my skin. Not wet and not hard. I can’t feel the

movement. It feels like nothingness.

The nothingness I crave.

But before the sweet gift of forgetting comes the curse of remembering.

I stare ahead, seeing my castle – my golden cage – in the distance. Towers reaching high,

trying to scrape the ceiling of the monstrous cave that is this place. Like hands

reaching up in a futile attempt to escape.

I remember how I stood up there, climbing the highest roof to hear the echoes of above,

trying to feel like a part of it all. Back when instead of emptiness, there was some kind of

hope. Hope that somehow, I would belong.

The loneliness breaks free from its prison in the depths of my heart. I quickly take some of the weightless water in my cupped hands, drinking. The feeling fades, just like the memory, disappearing in a

blissful fog.

Forget it. Forget it all. For the first time.

I get deeper into the water. The sip I took was enough to wipe a mortal’s brain. But as the

water whispers to me, I realize I need more. I have not decades but centuries to forget.

The time in my father’s belly – alone in the dark, like here. I take another sip and the

memory fades.

It is intoxicating, sweet ignorance luring me deeper into the river, making me drink more.

The memories fade quickly – and with them the names, the faces, the people.

A wave of easiness sweeps over me. Gone, all gone. The sadness and sorrow of responsibility. The pain of being alone with death. The sympathy for wailing husks and pointless hopes of a live above. It all means nothing, hollow words, soon to not even be that any longer.

The calming water urges me deeper into its silky hands. I need more.

Deeper. I need to go deeper.

Forget about the moment I was sent down, my brothers waving goodbye, trying to hide how glad they am.

Forget about the stories the spirits tell - the escapades and glories of the other gods.

I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I am.

A single thought coursing through my head: More.

Drink more.

And more.

Make it all vanish, claimed by the fog that has taken my mind.

Just one more.

More…

A single sound breaks through. I hadn’t even realized that I did not hear anything

anymore.

It is… a laugh, I struggle to recognize. A laugh so beautiful and pure that even the

promises of the water seem flat in comparison.

The water drops from my hands as they fall to my side.

I stand, shoulder deep in the water, listening.

Inside of me, I feel something shift. Warmth spreads through my cold bones and

reaches my heart.

I hear it beating. Alive, strong. In rhythm with the laughter from above.

The memories return. For a second I am scared, scared of the impact they will have. But

the laughter carries them like the wind a single leaf, setting it down softly on the ground,

greeting me with pictures of my mother's warm eyes and the victorious feast on Olympus.

I realize where I am, stumbling back in shock. What have I done?

I try to listen out to the symphony of death, but all I hear is that beautiful serenade, far

above my head. It's like the summer breeze that makes the flowers and growing corn sway. Like a whisper that fills the room with warmth.

Certainty grabs me, my feet rushing over the dead ground.

I want to…

I must.

Carried by the sound, like my memories were. But I am not gentle - I rush over the meadow. Hands grasping at nothing as my gown flies by, not caring what they want, not hearing the wailing.

Get closer, hear more.

I pass the gates of Tartarus. My eyes wander over the dark glow that comes from beneath. But the screams are irrelevant. Muffled by the sweet melody that's drawing me closer.

My bare foot touches the first of the stone tiles inside the castle. It's echoing now. Off the walls. Carrying a picture of the world above. A tree, a meadow so different from the one I walk all day - green and lush. Apples begging to be eaten, making me yearn for the cousins of the cursed berries I have down here.

I climb the stairs. My mind flooded with the pictures the laughter brings. Soil, brown and soft. Seeds that promise life.

Higher. I need to go higher.

To the tower and out the window, I look up at the endless darkness.

It is louder now, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever heard. Bringing pictures of the things I'm yearning for.

I need more of it.

I need to have it.