Prometheus

Prometheus was compassionate; brought fire to the people who needed it most: his creations. When they were hungry and needed protection and help, his heart went out to them. When they froze and were killed, tears were produced from his eyes. When they died, a part of his soul was also killed.

When they cried out for help, he wished he had no ears so that he would not be able to hear their pitiful voices. When they cursed him, he felt glad that they hated him. When they prayed, he wished he were one of them.

And so he gave in. The will of the people had stormed the barricades of his heart and set ablaze his soul. He gave them fire.

And they were warm.


Prometheus was a traitor and received a traitor's punishment. Chained to a rock, his insides would be eaten by a giant bird; only to undergo that same torture each day as consequence to immortality.

Sometimes it's a blessing to be able to die.

I see all these things when I look at her; her hair a sleek brown waterfall spilling out from her ponytail, her eyes bright and alive, her body straight and in the prime of youth. She oozes strength and sexuality at the same time. She could have anything or anyone she wanted.

She would have anything she wanted. But I still see it. The pain that eats at her soul, tears away at her peace like peeling away the layers of onion. She is strong, I can see how strong she is; her core will not be touched for a long time to come.

But she feels it. Finally, she feels the weight on her shoulders and it only makes her stand straighter. She hears the sounds of her body proclaiming its exhaustion yet it only makes her double her energy. She sees the wounds covering her body yet it only makes her more determined to be a better adversary.

I marvel at her endurance, her ability to keep going, her never-ending strength and courage.

But sometimes, it's a blessing to be able to die.

For in her, I see myself, young and full of power, holding the knowledge that I am formidable and that I can fend for myself. Knowing that if I wanted, I could turn the entire world upside down. Feeling the content that comes with the knowledge than I am what no one thinks I could be.

Holding that notion of my own impact on the world around me like a heart; I have done what no one believed I could do. And that has made all the difference.

But I look at her and I do not feel the same feelings.  I see myself in her; the strength is still there, the power, the longing, the victory. It is emotion that is the excess feeling in her body. Emotion which she possesses in surplus; emotion which I never had enough of.

Even as she is driven by what she knows and she is taught, she is trained by the own feelings that govern her very existence.

I am proud of that. But I see what toll it takes on her. She is fragile even as she is mighty.

And I worry about the outcome of her life.

END