Author's Note: Everything is PURELY fictional. Has some semblance of mythological basis but everything is mixed up. I'm making this up as I go along. Comments and Criticisms are welcome. Flames too if you wish. And, characters are mostly based on the Disney movie, Hercules.
Deciphered from a collection of scrolls from the ruins of a Great City that was once believed to be Troy:
Everybody loves him now. He's famous, a hero. More popular than the great Achilles and Jason and his Argonauts. By the Gods, he even saved Mt. Olympus and Greece from the uprising of Hades and the Titans! He has become what he has always wanted to be. He has found the place where he belongs, in front of the public eye and beside the woman whom he now loves. Megara, her name, I think. She is very beautiful. He deserves her. He must really lover her greatly. He did give up his Godhood to be with her did he not? I wonder if he would have done the same for me. I don't think I'd be selfish enough to strip him of such an honor, Even if he did still love me. Does he? Does he even remember who I am? Often, I wonder what would have happened if... no, let's not dwell on that now. He's with her. Happy as he should be. And I, here, the sad and pathetic halfling creature. It was never meant to be...
Author: Unknown.
Child of a Different God
by: pOtHeAd
The sky is dark and gray. Clouds pregnant with rain about to fall into the valley below. Thunder and lightning flashes across the horizon in regular intervals. The Goddess Hera is in labor. Zeus vents his excitement on the land. His heir is about to be born. After a particularly loud clash of thunder, a cry is heard. First of a woman, then a loud wail of a new born babe fills the air. Rain starts to pour down with a vengeance.
At that very same moment another wail can be heard coming from within the shambles of a collapsing shack.. A child, female, is born to a dead woman. The pain of childbirth has robbed her of her life before she is able to take a glimpse of her daughter. Her pale skin, smooth and unblemished, covered with cold sweat serves to make her seem earthreal for in her wretched condition she still retains what could only be called sensual beauty. As if in her death she has graced the Underworld with her presence, she lies there, eyes open. Deep dark pools, glassy and empty. Her face is still, like a perfect porcelain doll. On blood red lips there is a trace of a smile. A smile not of joy, but of bitter triumph.
Her child is held by another figure hidden by the darkness of the shack. It seems to feel no regret in the loss of the woman's life. It inspects the figure of the babe who has now fallen asleep in its arms, counting fingers and toes, and limbs and tracing her face, appearing to expect something of her to be out of place. Repulsed by the normality of the child, it drops her beside the corpse of its mother and vanishes, leaving the babe for dead.
Above them, the Gods rejoice at the birth of Hercules, the heir of Zeus and Hera.
Outside, the sky has cleared and the sun rises to a beautiful new morning in Greece.
