Celebwen Telcontar: Okay, no one panic during this chapter. It does get a little frightening in the dreams, but no one major is going to die. At least not by the melting down nuclear reactors and blowing up volcano.
Balrog: Oh, dear. End of the world. Where's the big five mile long asteroid?
Celebwen Telcontar: Build yourself a bunker in Antarctica. The story's going to the volcanoes and nuclear reactors.
Balrog: Oh, I always loved the stories of Three Mile Island. What a pity it didn't blow up. That would be spectacular.
Celebwen Telcontar: Oh, help. I have a balrog on my hands that is like Eris in his ways of thinking. Someone get me a new disclaimer partner!
Balrog: Oh, by the way, nothing here belongs to you. Yellowstone belongs to Gaia, the nuclear reactors belong to… the governments, I belong to Tolkien, Agamemnon and Cassandra belong to Homer, or history, or both—
Celebwen Telcontar: We get the point. Do you want me to stuff you in Old Faithful when the volcano blows?
She was beautiful, but that beauty could be put to other things. He picked up a lock of her hair.
"Your little romance nearly cost me this war. You're going to be my slave in Mycenae. A Trojan priestess scrubbing my floors… And at night…?" He let the question hang in the air as he groped for her breasts. Suddenly, he felt an intrusive material in his neck. He gurgled in pain, and felt himself growing cold.
He saw Charon, the Boatman, who looked at him with a skeletal grin. His hands were empty of coins, and he showed the empty palms to Charon, who gave an evil cackle, shaking his head. The lank hair shuddered on the skeletal face, the laugh deep throated and evil.
"No, no! You'll find the pauper's entrance, Agamemnon King! A Pauper's entrance to Hades' land and the eternal torture of the Tartarus. I wonder what punishment Hades has in store for you, hunh? The boulder up the hill has already been taken, as has the eternity in the river with the fruit trees overhead while you can neither eat nor drink. Ah, well. What a pity. Maybe I'll send you somewhere else…?" the Boatman taunted. He cackled his bone-chilling laugh as Agamemnon wandered off to find the paupers entrance to Hades' realm.
Aaron bolted awake. "Oh, dear…" he muttered.
"What is it, Aaron?" his girlfriend, Winifred, asked. "Don't tell me the Market is going down again!"
"I hope not! The Dow's high is 1398!"
"True. What does Danielle think about the Market?"
"She thinks that Cassandra Tory is crazy. Tory's the one who writes all those articles on the cataclysmic events happening. Like the crazy one where every nuclear reactor is going to become a Three Mile Island redo? And Yellowstone National Park is going to blow up?"
"Not to mention the one she spoke to me, saying that you'll kill your own daughter. What a loon she is!"
"No kidding. Well, nothing for it but to go back to sleep." Aaron did just that, but his dreams were anything but peaceful.
He saw the people in the room go white, and then begin to panic. Someone ran into the room.
"It just dropped 98!" he cried. The people began to panic even more. A woman fainted.
"Oh, God save us!" someone cried. "The Stock Market is crashing! Far worse than the 1929 crash!" Aaron went white. All his money, the Market was crashing. Another Black Monday. Only this one was Sunday. Maybe it would be referred to as Black Sunday in the future. He felt giddy with panic. It was odd things that went through your brain at a time like this. A woman with lank grey hair, tight skin over prominent bones, a grey sack like dress, and an enigmatic golden apple appeared out of no where, cackling uncontrollably.
"Oh, what fun!" she laughed. "What absolute revelry!"
"Fun? Revelry? Are you crazy?" Aaron asked. What a crazy woman! She was even crazier than Cassandra Tory!
"Ha, ha! What a jest! Oh, Ares, come and see this!" A man with dark hair and skin appeared out of no where, like the woman had. Only the man wore bright armor, probably bronze, had a brush on his helmet, and carried a spear and shield. His face and arms were seamed with old scars, and he was undoubtedly the most handsome and dangerous looking man Aaron had ever seen.
"Oh, Eris, this is nothing compared to what is happening on a global scale!" the man laughed. His laugh seemed cruel and cold. The woman clutched her apple, and looked expectantly at her friend. Aaron felt himself go cold with dread. If a massive stock market nosedive like this would cause the woman to be gleeful, what could possibly be better?
"What is it, Ares? What is it?" she asked. The man gestured, and four women, as gaunt and ugly, if not more so, than the first appeared.
"Pain, Panic, Famine, Oblivion. You'll all get your chances in time. The nuclear reactors of power plants these silly mortals have set up will melt down. Then, the cancer, warfare over uncontaminated food supplies, and the rush for uncontaminated land will give us everything we need!" Ares crowed. Aaron felt like someone had just dunked him in a wintry Canadian lake. The woman named Eris laughed, as did the other four.
"And next step is Yellowstone Caldera!" Eris cried. Aaron fainted.
Aaron sat up, sweating and panicked.
"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!" he whimpered. He was afraid to turn on the television because of what it might tell him of the stock market. Winifred took his shoulders into her hands and began to massage away his aches. His mind was a mass of mayhem right now, and he needed to get someplace where he could dunk his head in cold water or get hopelessly drunk to forget about the terrifying nightmare.
A.N: I made this entire story up. PLEASE DO NOT PANIC! NO nuclear reactors are going to melt down in my knowledge, and the stock market is FINE! Please do not panic! I needed to have some form of crisis, and this was the best I could find. Yes, Yellowstone National Park is a giant volcano, but it won't erupt in our lifetimes! STAY WHERE YOU ARE, AND DO NOT PANIC! This is all in the insane mind of one mad writer! Please do not panic, or I'll be forced not to write again! PLEASE!
She knew this was going to happen. The War was going to come if Paris was returned to the royal family, and if he voyaged to Sparta. She tried to warn them, but they would not listen. They never did. Not since she had cheated Apollo had she ever been believed in anything. Not in that lifetime, nor in this one. Yet the gift of prophecy still rang true. She would still try to stop the oncoming cataclysm, try to warn the people, but they would just turn deaf ears on her. She saw the oncoming ships, and knew that they had ten years. Then, death would come with a scythe and a vengeance, and every man woman and child in Troy would be dead. She prayed, like she always did, not to Apollo, but to his twin, Artemis. She might be able to help. Maybe. She knew the Gods were real; as real as the veins in her hands. She also knew that she had to get someplace in the Southern hemisphere and far from any nuclear reactors if she was to survive this new crisis.
Panicking would solve nothing, she knew. She had to get away. Her and her family. She couldn't possibly warn the entire global population, it was just too big and no one would believe her anyways. A tear escaped her eyes. Where would she go? Even if she went to Antarctica, the volcanic dust cloud would find her. Light would be gone, the entire ecosystem would break down, and all large life forms, including the majority of humans, would be killed. What a time to think of global warming, when the world was going to be blown up anyways with the nuclear reactors melting down and the Yellowstone Caldera going to be blown up in a monumental eruption.
"Oh help. Not again," Cassandra said. She wrote down the dream in her journal, to publish the finer points of later in the Tabloid magazine she ran. No one believed her, but she couldn't be found at fault for trying.
Celebwen Telcontar: I hope everyone is staying in their seats and not taking the apocalyptic story at face value. It's a story, nothing more. Like I said in the A.N., none of it is real. Save the fact that Yellowstone is a volcano, but not to erupt in the near future. Thank you for your time, and I hope I didn't give you nightmares.
Balrog: (Whimpers, hiding under table that is now in flames due to his fiery nature.)
Celebwen Telcontar: Balrog, don't be a dunce. Come on out and have a nice gneiss sundae.
Balrog: (Shakes head, still whimpering )
Celebwen Telcontar: Please review. And if you say that this is completely unrealistic, I'll just say that it's not meant to be realistic. It's meant to be a story, nothing more. Don't panic, just be calm.
