(AN: The only reason this isn't rated K is that this would go straight over the heads of small children.)
S A L M O N E U S
The gods do not fall; they are eternal…
…so what was he, then? Not a god, nor a man. A monument, perhaps. Yes. A monument to the destruction by and of his desires, hopes lost in a time-haze. Merely a blur of what he once had dreamed.
But the true memorials were bathed in irony…those horrid spears of their Pillar, monolithic broken columns whose peaks had come centuries ago. Yet they still stood, grand and tall, scarred by age and not loss. Oh, they mocked him so. Emptiness was his only true possession.
He loathed them, and lusted for that with which they taunted him.
Everything had been lost so quickly, barely a millisecond between divinity and obsolescence. It was sharp and painful, this hollowness…loneliness. Where were they all? Those three? The girl? What of that was of any use to him now, though?
No…he had aimed too high, and been struck down. The ease of it sickened him. This disease—he wanted rid of it. He needed to find a beginning…
…he held onto his name and let the storm wash off the paint of his old life; a clean canvas now…