Jealous Child of Zeus

Posted on October 20, 2012

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At her gaze strewn the mountainous wall of the city’s matchless milieu, going away within the reckless speed of her ride. On the autumn roads people traveled to the city with wheels of colorful fruits gathered from distant places. She passed the shrivelling leaves and vines and her favorite olive trees. Before long, she passed the horizon and left behind a thin orange ribbon. Close of the day and farther away, she carried on until everything was only dusts, as though she was approaching towards the dark, most unfriendly air of the arc.

Her love with the city was mutual. So why should she go somewhere else?

A largely self-taught artist with altruistic wisdom, she was inseparable with the city. Given her impalpable contributions, the city’s rise and spread was all that should have made everyone begged her to stay. All along she had done her most, regardless her best was being stoic. As the thoughts about the city she was leaving unfolded, forgotten memories came to her mind like a pang of guilt. This journey was not a trip of vacancy. It was a detour from deep denial led by a pervasive feeling of ambivalence.

She would never leave her Father. She knew it. But lately, strange things had shifted in the way she saw Him. He had been showing up late, giving uncanny decisions and distasteful judgements. He had tantrums at Dionysus for throwing his hallmark drunken parties, yet at the same time He had been sneaking into Ganymedes’ room.

It was natural to fall for the charm of a mighty, haughty, handsomely dressed man of a mature age who owned everything on heaven and earth. It was natural to comprehend His erotic escapades. She knew too well that intoxication was always subject to her father, yet to her surprise she found His intoxication towards Ganymedes disappointing. The jealousy she had never proven of escaped from her soul along with her Father’s pursuit of this Ganymedes, a young poise far prettier than her, who owned the delights of sexual rapacity. At that point, she has somehow learned Ares’ feeling.

She remembered the incident when Ares’ uncalled rage triggered their Father’s fury, and since then the two have been ignoring each other. Ares admitted he felt remorse, but knowing his nature, supposedly the anger was still with him now. She knew too much about Ares. She knew to well how to handle his offense against the dignity of the warrior prince. In any case, Ares still needed to learn to handle his vigour. In any sense, she always felt that bit of a phallic envy.

Frankly, she felt thankful being directly sprung out as a woman even without knowing a mother figure. She believed that boys do mature in some ways – one precise way is in the use of force – and she knew she couldn’t choose to be the same. However in Ares case, she was the only one who responded him with maturity. She used to look up at him with stars in her eyes and she has yet to find why Cronus, their grandfather, detested her brother and chose her to do the more esteemed duties instead. The blatant partisanship burned the fighter God with envy towards his own sister. The relationship between them became all centered around lengthy, deep bloodline that was tested and tested by jealousy and devotion.

She was a discipline individual with militant nature that excelled everyone and that was why Ares needed her. The only discipline she never learned through was to live uncompromisingly in her truth and to love her father without qualification.

Was this loving, or was this attached? She gulped bitterly with whatever miseries she endured kept concealed behind one of those inexpressive face muscles and bones that bespoke an immense dignity. She should join her brother. She wanted to be on her own and it was time to leave the town. She wanted to be just a happy epicurean. Like a malefic visitation of titans, awful pictures rushed into her mind like a lethal universe, placing both praise and condemn within a same sentence.

She was her Father’s favorite daughter once. But had there been another daughter in His mind, it would most likely was Arachne – who always sweet-talked about her tapestry skill and anything she could cling at for Him. A resentment, then a brutal contempt over herself for not being able to show her virtue. Her tears fell down and her deepest honest feeling emerged in every mortifying details. It was not about  Ganymedes, Ares, nor Arachne. She possessed jealousy.

And then she remembered, as she tried to peel away the skin of guilt, how she used to drain her life source to maximize her duty, where a good portion of her physic and psychic energy was used to be reserved for “pleasing Daddy” and before she knew it she was remaining prisoner of this behaviour.

Her phone vibrated. It wasn’t Ares.

I’m going home tonight. Late night dinner?

Nameless flutters roamed her chest.

Sure, Father.

There were times when Athena could not decide whether to be emotional or cerebral. She would then feel morbidly guilty that she should lose her incestuous goal because her notion of disobedience and revolt were already equally bad. Probably to let go, not to go, was the catharsis of her ego.

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Posted in: fiction, writing