1“We’re being led by an idiot with a crayon,” shouted a dark haired child with sharp features.
“I’m not an idiot,” roared a white haired, muscular toddler who was waving his gold crayon wildly in the air.
The dark haired child stuck her tongue out and retorted, “Yes, you are, Zeus! You made Grandmother mad and she turned us into this!”
“It’s not my fault Hera,” thundered Zeus as he pointed his crayon at her.
“Yes it is,” another squeaky voice insisted. This one had a pale blue spork in his hand and wavy sea green hair. His eye were coral pink.
“Thank you Poseidon,” Hera replied imperiously.
“He was being mean again Hera. You don’t have to thank me for that,” Poseidon pouted while banging his spork on the ground.
Hera rolled her dark eyes and stomped away from her brothers as fat crocodile tears welled up in her eyes.
A blonde haired child ran up to Hera and gave her a blue and green sea shell necklace.
Hera arched a toddler sized eyebrow and snorted, “Really, Aphrodite. Sea shells?”
Aphrodite nodded her blonde head and sweetly replied, “Love will save the day, Hera. It always does.”
Hera frowned as her crocodile tears fell. “Tell that to the gold crayon waving bully.” Hurt was obvious in her high-pitched voice as she stomped her feet.
“He’s a boy Hera. He likes to pull your hair,” Aphrodite soothed.
“He picks on all girls,” Hera cried.
“That’s what boys do,” Aphrodite tried.
Hera hiccupped before crying, “Nu-Uh! Zeus was being mean again! That’s why Grandmother Gaia turned us into kids,” she finished wailing.
“You need a nap,” a bronze haired child said from behind Hera.
“Go away Athena,” Hera snapped as her crocodile tears dried on her cheeks.
Athena cocked an eyebrow and calmly stated, “You are throwing a tantrum because of an idiot waving a gold crayon.
“Wisdom dictates you need a nap,” she finished calmly.
From across the room Zeus screamed, “I’m not an idiot!”
Hera rolled her eyes before snapping, “Nobody likes a know-it-all.”
“You’re losing your temper, another point in my favor,” Athena reasoned.
Seeing Hera’s dark features begin to cloud over in anger, Aphrodite cut in whimsically, “No one has to get mad. If we rest, surely Morpheus will guard our dreams.
“Who knows, when we wake we might be big again and then I could wear a pretty dress and sparkly sandals.”
Athena shook her head at Athena’s nonsense as she walked away to a far corner.
Hera looked at Aphrodite in shock. “Do you ever think of anything besides what to wear?”
Aphrodite smiled brightly and said, “I’ve been turned into a three-year-old. It wouldn’t be right to think about going on a date with Ares would it?”
Hera rolled her dark eyes before stomping away with the sea shell necklace she had been given. Without warning Hera screamed at the top of her lungs, “This is STUPID!” Her high-pitched shriek had the boys in the room covering their ears.
As Hera started to stomp her feet she heard a huff behind her and a wet tongue licked the back of her neck. As her shrieks of disgust filled the room, Hera turned to find herself facing a three headed dog.
“Gross! Hades tell your dogs to leave me alone,” Hera commanded.
Hades black eyes glowed the color of sulfur before he replied, “No can do. Xerxes is a boy dog and when girls are upset he gives them kisses. It’s his way of making you feel better,” Hades finished with a pale smile.
Hera scowled at this as Xerxes gave her one more body sized doggy kiss that left Hera covered in slobber. The smile on Xerxes’ face was unmistakable as he continued to watch over his youthful charges – sometimes it was good to be the pet of the God of the Dead.
Poseidon’s Daughters Looking For A Husband
1The cool waters of the seven seas rushed by a merman with inky black hair as he watched the annual Exodus of the Maids. First red, then yellow, then brown, and finally every color in between rushed past. Their colored strands of hair was almost mesmerizing. This was the greatest fair of them all. Every year his daughters rushed the air breathers for a chance at a life they had never known. Very few of them ever came back to the sea with their catch. After the last Maid has past he sighs a relieving breath. None have chosen him. He has escaped his fate for another year.
Years ago, he remembered that the Pythia at Delphi saying he would be chosen by a daughter of Poseidon. It was a fate that he was terrified of. There were several reasons for this. One was because of how fickly the princesses were rumored to be. It was a rumor that no one could verify. After all, mermen were forbidden to look on the beauty of a princess demigod. To commit such a crime was akin to taking one’s life in their own hands.
The other reason he was terrified of such a fate was because he knew the fate of any who became betrothed to the daughters of the Sea King. It was a fate the God of the seas was said to be responsible for.
Watery graves soon awaited them. Those sons are used as cannon fodder. Any son who survived the bloody ordeal disappeared soon after. Very rarely do any of them become Gods themselves. In fact the last time that happened, the Merman in question wasn’t even a son by marriage, let alone consideration. He was none other than a guard to the goddess Aphrodite through her birth from the ocean waves. To this day he still helped to protect the changing tides.
Never in all his life could the merman remember wealth, riches, or fame that awaited a married prince, not of the blood line. It was a fate he never wanted to discover.
As he continued to watch the Mermaids rush past him the young merman felt a pull on his dark green fins. As he looked down the merman felt his heart sink to the inky black depths of the ocean.
“Anaitis! You shouldn’t be out here!?”
“I won’t run the festival.”
“You’re too young run the festival.”
“When I’m older, I won’t run.”
“And why is that?”
“I won’t lose you, Stableman Achaz. Your life is worth more than my father’s wars.”
“Anaitis, you’re too young to know of such things!”
“Never the less, the sight tells me that you mean everything too our way of life. Our beliefs mean that we can’t afford to lose you.”
“That doesn’t matter Anaitis. One day you will see otherwise and on that day I will lay my seas blood down for you. This is something that the stars above have decreed.”
“And you’re someone who needs to have a little less faith in the stars and more in our humanity,” a deep baritone said from behind the stableman and child.
Descriptions
Beachball
When you think of a beach ball what do you see? Sand? A net? Sun and palm trees?
Not me. Me I see a pair of eyes in a tree. On a spooky fall night, I see someone looking at me from a tree. You know, those funny little eyes in trees on Halloween? That’s what I see.
Those eyes just go to show that the tree spirits of old are alive and well. Those old stories are what I live by. They help write my stories, but do the Judge me as well?
Feather
1It’s amazing what a feather can do.
It’s as light as air and yet can lift a bird off the ground. It can blow in the wind yet make soft pillows and mattresses. It can tickle yet make a mess when they fall to the ground. They can be used to make fans or clothes.
Mythology has even used feathers to make man fly. They can be used to send secret messages or be used to write. Of all of these I prefer the history of writing with them. Quills are a wonderful tool in the writer’s profession.
Not only are they pretty to look at, but practical tool. As long as they are clean a quill is safer to chew on than a Bic pen. No writing is quite as elegant as what comes from a quill. The ink that flows from a quill’s nib is more unique as you watch its
colors dry. I feather quill literally allows us to create the new worlds that we love. What other tool, I ask you, has that power?
November
1To me November is crisp leaves of red and gold. It is the time when chill winds harrow colder seasons. A roaring fire and the promise of seeing long absent friends and family.
November is when seasons change and we meet the flu bug head on. When noses start to sniffle and icicles start to form.
November is visiting friends and family who willingly share what they have with you. November is when Nature calls us all home.
Grey
1A simple word can mean so much. It can be cold or comforting. If your standing on a windy dock it can be powerful. Mostly though I see it as cold and dark, bordering dank and depressing.
Early in the morning the mist from the clouds covers everything so that you see only in monochrome. The color is so prevalent on this planet and yet in my opinion it really has no place. Grey sucks the life right out of you, often leaving you listless and lethargic - dead.
I have seen grey up close and personal. It is a color that I wish were not around. For grey is literally, the end. Should you not believe me, look at the corpse of a loved just before they close the casket. Grey is goodbye.
Sun
1The life giving forces of the sun are unmistakable. Without it trees don’t grow. Without trees there is no oxygen. Without oxygen there is no growth. Without growth there is no life. All because of a majestic fiery ball of gases known as the sun.
Throughout history the sun has been worshipped as one of the most powerful beings in the world. But even powerful beings need the assistance of others at times.
The sun cannot do its job alone. It needs the moon to provide gravity and balance.
Both heat and gravity provide the life that is so important to those that inhabit this planet. Life that we say is so precious; yet others tend to spill it with ease.
Chaos
1Chaos. It’s all around us and only causes problems when we try to control it. It’s where everything begins and ends. Playing with chaos is akin to playing with fire. It will char your skin you every single time. When we know what the outcome will be, why do we play with chaos? Is it for the thrill of it, or something else?
The answer is simple. Chaos is beautiful. Without it there isn’t much of anything new, and as a species we crave new frontiers. Controlled circumstances cannot create anything new, therefor we find them limiting. If you know what you have going in the end result is predictable and comforting. Chaos is change. Change is survival.
Many people dance to chaos and its perpetually changing beat. Some waltz with darker forms of chaos while others dance with the frenzy of its joy.
The rare people that follow chaos though, those are the ones to watch out for. They are actors, artists, singers, lyricists, and writers. They are the ones we often praise or condemn, for they shake the world to its core.
Book
Wanderings of a Muse: An Anthology Page 4
