Just a Short Story about Heracles and Cats ~

short story involving Greece and some cats - what the title says. enjoy~ :D

Hidekaz Himaruya ~Hetalia

... ... ...

Shovel. Shovel. Shovel...

Erecting the shovel upright on his left, Heracles swiped his right arm over his sweaty brows. The blistering heat beat hard on his scrawny body, just like it always had before and for days to come. Placing his other free hand on his back, Heracles stretched. He stretched and stretched till several 'pop' sounds could be heard as his tense muscles, sore from the morning's shovelling, gave a sigh of relief.

"Meow~" Soft cloths of fur rubbed against Heracles' legs. Slouching his shoulders back, he crouched down. The cats gave a hearty purr as he smoothed their fur of various colours – pastel beige, pale yellow, light blue, ashen grey and cream white.

"Prrr~ So good to be a cat, eh?" Heracles sighed and still petting the five cats, gazed pensively up at the blue, cloudless sky.

Letting his droopy eyelids close, Heracles casted out all exhaustion and envisioned himself as a cat. Heracles could do anything he wished to. If he were a cat, he wouldn't have to do anything against his will. He would be free, with no worries, no burden. He could saunter freely like a cloud drifting aimlessly across the sky. If he were a cat, he could take siestas anytime he liked. Life as a cat was peaceful…

Reluctantly, Heracles lifted his heavy eyelids, pulling himself back to reality. He turned to look at the cats, which stopped purring as he had unconsciously ceased running his hands through their velvety fur. Still in quite a daze, Heracles gazed at the five cats for a couple more moments before rising to his feet. Grasping the shovel firmly, he carried on shovelling. One day, he mused. One day I'll finish digging all this up. Mother will be pleased and I can then return home. Only then can I become… "A cat." Not fully aware that he had spoke the last few words out loud – giving the five cats a start – Heracles continued his shovelling.

…

"Mew~" Pausing his shovelling, Heracles glanced down at the pastel beige cat beaming up in front of him. As he inclined his ten-tonne head upwards, a wintry breeze blew past him, causing him to shiver. Night had arrived. It coated the once cerulean sky with its coal-black cloak studded with numerous twinkling stars. The shovel clanked on the ground as Heracles freed it from his sore hands. Shuffling his feet, he headed towards the hut.

The hut was Heracles' and the five cats' residence – since Mother would not let them into Her house. It was crudely constructed out of soft muddy earth, now dried up and hard, that took the shape of a dome. The entrance to the abode was a roughly carved out opening wide enough for Heracles to enter while on his four limbs. The inside was rather spacious, filled with nothing except for an ancient blanket, a worn-out jar and a tiny bucket.

Heracles proceeded towards the bucket and sat down before it. A rank odour greeted him as he removed the lid. Delving into the little bucket, he groped around its contents. He retracted his hand and divided the already scarce and yucky mess of mush in his scruffy hands among the five cats. The colourful row of cats gazed at the tacky glob of mixture with disdain and then glanced up at Heracles, all at the same time just like five clones in unison.

"Don't worry; I've got this." Said Heracles as he brought up his open palm to his mouth and licked greedily at the little bits of food – stale and unpalatable koulourakia and mouldy blue cheese at least two months old – stuck to his hand.

The cats glared at Heracles for a while, shrugged, and then savoured every bit of the horrible mushy food.

Watching them out of the corner of his weary eyes, Heracles' stomach gave a faint and weak growl.

…

As night passed and day arrived, Heracles would shovel the whole day, deplete another small portion of inedible food, hit the sacks and then day came. This routine cycle repeated itself day after day until finally… …

Gargantuan, fluffy white clouds drifted across the sky blue sky, accompanied by occasional flocks of birds. Directly overhead, the sun splayed out its glorious rays, enshrouding everywhere with light. A balmy breeze blew by – the first one in months – ruffling Heracles' unkempt hair and the sleek, velvety fur of the five cats surrounding him. Drawing in a lungful of air, Heracles held it in until its brain was telling him it lacked oxygen before letting it out slowly.

He was done. He was finally done. Done. Finished. Completed. He did not know why, but he was trembling, quivering, shaking… with what? He did not know. As he sat up and looked at his accomplished work, his cheek twitched. He felt like he was supposed to be smiling, to feel happy, to feel relieved. But, what was happiness? It felt like a foreign word.

Nevertheless, he felt light, so light that he could be blown away by the light breeze. Yes. That was what he understood how he was feeling: like he was a feather… Then Heracles suddenly realised. No! He could not be a feather. He was to be a… a… a cat. Yes! A cat, just like what the wind said. He was to be a cat. A cat. A cat he was to be. That was what he wanted in the first place. He was going to become a cat at last!

As he picked himself up, Heracles felt himself panting already. Glancing down at the five cats, he breathed out laboriously, as though it was a very difficult task to do, "wait.. for me. I need to… go find Mother… Then,.. I'll join you…"

Heracles shambled away from the obedient cats to the direction of his village. It was a mile or two from where he was but he could see a vague image in the distance and he was going to be a cat.

…

Heracles leaned against the shabby pole of the village's entrance and huffed. He was exhausted. His whole body ached, his lungs were tight and his legs felt like lead. His legs trembled and threatened to give way but he would not allow it to. He had already made it this far to the village entrance.

The village. The village… it was dead silent. Everywhere was a mess: strewn all over the ground were fallen buckets, rotten food, decomposing pieces of cloth, papyrus reeds, anything that a normal village would have. The rows of houses were dilapidated and desolate. Thatched roofs cave inwards, weather-beaten doors and windows hung limply at their hinges, and the whole house teetered on the brink of collapse. What a state the village was in.

The smell was worse. A sultry, spine-shivering draught welcomed him with a foul smell of, of… something unfamiliar. But whatever, he gave no care to whatever putrid stench challenge his nose or whatever happened to the village. All these would not deter him from seeing Mother.

... Raising a hand, Heracles knocked at the wearing door. His knock echoed inside the house, breaking the eerie silence. With an ominous creak, the door detached from its hinges and fell backwards. Afraid that Mother would beat him up for spoiling the door, Heracles hastily bent down and picked the door up, only to find it disintegrating into dust at his touch.

Heracles panicked and croaked an apology, bowing his head as he did, so that Mother was able to smack him roughly on the head. But there came no smack, replaced by a foul stench that slapped him in the face.

Heracles glanced up to see the source of the smell. And lo behold, a rotting skeleton was sitting frailly upright on Mother's bed.

"Mother?" inquired Heracles softly as he took several hesitant steps forward, afraid about disturbing her rest. While he approached closer to it, the sun emerged from behind the clouds and set its rays through the window, lighting up the place slightly.

With the aid of some light, Heracles was unfortunately able to observe more details of the skeleton. The carcass was populated with worms and flies, an absolutely disgusting view, enough to ward off the most curious onlookers – if they survived the stench – all except Heracles. He gave no shudder, no flinch, no particular reaction to what lay in front of him, for all he had was a dying wish, figuratively and literally.

"Mother." Heracles started. "I've done it. I dug it all up as you've asked me to." Not waiting for any response, if there was any, he quickly continued. "Can I become a cat now?"

There was a moment of silence, before a dry and oppressive heat wave blew through the window, causing the skull balanced precariously atop the fragile vertebrate to dip and nod with the gust.

And of course, the innocent little Heracles took it as a 'yes'. Without hesitation, he rushed out of the house despite his body threatening to break down right there and then. Ignoring his sore body and extreme exhaustion, Heracles lumbered out of the village as fast as he could. He was going to be a cat now. Finally, at last! His daily shovelling had paid off. His wish to be a cat was granted and this now he just had to reunite with the five cats.

But he never did – at least not in person anyway. Heracles had become sick. His impoverished body had been withstanding the exhaustion, pain, fatigue and hunger for far too long. It could not take it anymore.

Heracles collapsed and darkness overwhelmed him.

…

Pat. Pat. Pat.

The cat glanced down at its paws as it walked aimlessly. Its paws were adorably round and cute. Sitting down to marvel at its paws, it licked its bluish-grey fur. Velvety, soft, silky. Its fur even tasted a little sweet too. Wagging its long, sleek tail, it purred. It purred and purred, feeling all sorts of emotions surge though its veins and course throughout its body. The cat sat there for a while, admiring the vast, empty land that extended beyond its horizons. The sun was pleasantly warm and cute little fluffy clouds – though not as cute as it was – dotted the sky, giving the landscape a cosy feel to it.

"Meow!" the cat broke out of its daze and turned around. Five strangely familiar cats were waving at it, beckoning it to join them. The cat looked up at the sky again and beamed, giving the sky the honour of receiving the first smile it ever produced. The cat capered over to the five cats.

"MEOW~!"