This is the second chapter of The Wolf, and boy, was it a joy to write. There were several times that I just burst out laughing.
And yes, from here on out, my author's notes will be underlined rather than bold. The reason for this is going to be apparent immediately. Thank you all for your support of the first chapter. Enjoy this one.
Zeus: So the date was July 4, 201X when you attended the symposium. Is that correct?
Defendant: Yes, it is.
Zeus: My understanding is that in your United States, July 4 is a national holiday. And you celebrate…what do you celebrate again?
Defendant: Independence, my lord. It's Independence Day.
Zeus: Ah, yes, Independence Day. An excuse for Americans to overeat, play loud music, and celebrate anything they can think of. How very American of you all.
Defendant: I didn't…I still don't feel very patriotic most of the time.
Zeus: Whatever. It's not important. Please continue.
In July 201X, I was an eighteen-year-old rising freshman at UCLA, having just graduated high school. Given that I'd indicated my intention to study journalism, the school had saddled me with an assignment for the summer. This assignment was related to my intended major.
I'd paid lip service to all of their instructions, of course; it was incredibly irresponsible not to. And the assignment itself was nothing remarkable, though I still remember the instructions I was given.
"You will be assigned to cover an event somewhere in Los Angeles this summer, Mr. St. Lawrence. And you'll have to write a five-page essay on what you learned from the event, as well as a two-page article about it. That will be your first grade of the semester."
When I asked if I could choose the event I'd be covering, my professor-to-be shook her head. "I'm afraid we can't let you choose. It just wouldn't be fair. So now, you should go back home and await news of your specific assignment, sent via email."
I did as I was told, and eventually my email turned up with the specified event: I would have to cover a local symposium on ancient mythology.
Well, that doesn't sound too crazy, I thought. Of course, ancient mythology is crazy, but only if you believe that stuff actually happened. And I certainly don't.
Given that Los Angeles isn't the most walkable city, I drove to the event through heavy Fourth of July traffic. The parade making its way through town created much noise pollution and traffic congestion, and several times I wanted to cover my ears. Of course, I couldn't do this, given that at least one hand, preferably both, had to be on the wheel.
Additionally, given the intense heat, my shirt was stuck to my body before long. The car's air conditioning and fan had been turned to the max level, but they didn't work. Not well enough.
By the time I finally reached the parking garage outside the Dignity Health Sports Park, I craved nothing more than a cold drink. I just wanted to guzzle it down and forget about the drive.
Hey, at least I'll get to learn about mythology here. Isn't that always fun, thinking about all those stories people told themselves thousands of years ago?
I carried my backpack through the parking garage and to the complex's entrance. Not surprisingly, there were multiple metal detectors outside of it, just like you see at an airport.
"I've got nothing to hide, guys" I told the police officers. "My backpack has nothing but a notebook and a laptop."
One of the cops looked at me sternly. "I still have to look through it, unfortunately. We can't bend the rules, not for an event that's bound to be ridiculed."
"What?" I exclaimed, eyes widening.
Another policeman snorted with laughter. "Kid, glance at the other attendees. Do they look like sane people to you?"
That's when I noticed that most of the people in line beside me were wearing either an orange T-shirt with a winged horse on it, or a purple one with the letters SPQR, whatever that meant. Additionally, there were some bearded men wearing red baseball hats and black T-shirts with slogans such as "WWG1WGA" and "Don't Tread On Me!" Still others had crystal earrings, the kind you'd associate with a New Age movement.
I didn't know what to make of this. Most outsiders would look at me and think that I was the white sheep, the only person in the crowd who didn't buy into some cultish bullshit. And yet, here I was.
"I'm not here because I believe that crap," I replied. "I'm here because I have to be. Believe me, I'd much rather be playing video games right now."
One of the cops rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just put your bag there and walk on through."
Once I was through the metal detector, I saw that the people in line weren't the only visible weirdos. I genuinely felt like I was at some ancient cosplay convention; many people wore togas or wreaths around their heads.
Zeus: What did you think of the people at the convention? Be honest with us, for we can tell if you're lying.
Defendant: I guess they were just random crazies who had decided to attend a mythology symposium. It wasn't my concern why they were there, for I had a job to do.
Zeus: (grumbles) Well, thank you for being honest.
I had been to this stadium several times before this. Normally the stands would be selling hot dogs, lemonade, soft pretzels, and T-shirts. This time, they were still selling shirts, but the food and drink was alien to me.
Apple juice and lemon squares were all well and good, and that's what the food looked like, but they were labeled as "nectar" and "ambrosia" respectively. Those words made no sense to me.
I took my notebook out of my backpack and started jotting down some notes about what I was witnessing. I'd use these notes to write my essay later; at least, that was the plan.
"Hello, young man, would you like a music lesson on a lyre?"
I frowned. "A…what, now?"
I turned to find a man in an orange T-shirt. He held what looked like a sort of harp in his hands, only it was significantly smaller than what I envisioned a harp would look like.
"Uh, no thanks" I replied. "I'm not very musical."
The man's face fell like a freight elevator whose chains had been cut. "Your loss. But if you ever change your mind, just stop right on by. Mr. Weldworth is expected to speak soon."
My eyelashes fluttered. "Mr. Weldworth? Who's that?"
The man holding the instrument stared at me as though I were from another planet. "You honestly don't know who Charles Weldworth is?"
"No?"
"Well, I don't believe you. He's the main speaker at this symposium, and he's convinced that the ancient stories are true. Really, it's quite fascinating to listen to him."
Well, at least this guy seems to have a tight grip on reality. I'm glad I'm not the only such person at this convention.
"I didn't come here because I believe the stories. I came here because it was my assignment. I have to write an essay about the event."
"Good luck to you, then" the man replied. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of material to discuss!"
After that, the loudspeakers beeped loudly, and a male voice came on the intercom. Everyone in the stadium's lobby stopped what they were doing to listen.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the big event is starting! Please proceed to the football field, where Charles Weldworth, known by his critics as 'Upchuck' Weldworth, will be delivering a speech on the veracity of Ancient Greek and Roman myths. Unless you want to stay here and consume ambrosia and nectar; that's perfectly fine too."
Remaining in the lobby wasn't "perfectly fine" with me. I found myself laughing internally at the fact that there existed someone nicknamed Upchuck.
Hopefully this speech doesn't make me want to upchuck. Or maybe it'll make me laugh so hard that I end up puking.
Within seconds, the lobby had turned into a veritable river of people. There would be no swimming against this current; it seemed that the other convention-goers were just as determined as I to see the man in the flesh.
So Charles Weldworth, also known as Upchuck, is going to speak. Is he a professor of ancient history at a local university? Dear God, don't let him be a professor at UCLA, that would ruin everything.
The lobby had been a welcome reprieve from the hot summer sun, but I was immediately thrust out into it again as we walked through a tennis court. And then, on the other end of the tunnel, there was the football stadium.
A stage had been set up on one side, much like what you'd see at a concert, and a man stood there, holding a microphone. He did not look like a musician.
The man was overweight, though not extraordinarily so, wearing a navy blue jacket, white shirt, and bright red tie. His thin brown hair and mustache made him look almost like a less athletic Mario, though he couldn't be a plumber, because plumbers don't wear ties.
I take it this is Mr. Weldworth. Well, I just have to get through his speech and try not to hurl, and then I'll be free. No pressure.
As the crowd began piling into the stadium, Mr. Weldworth cleared his throat. "Well, well, well, it seems that most of the people who said they were gonna be here, are here. So it seems that I can begin!"
I held my pen above my notepad, ready to write down everything the man said. It needs to be said that I've often had difficulty taking notes the proper way. I always end up either writing too much or too little.
"As all of you surely know by now, we are here to discuss the ancient myths. Of course, I use the word myth very loosely, because they really aren't myths at all. Anybody who claims these stories are false...well, they're disseminating alternative facts!"
Alternative facts? Huh, that's a new one.
Mr. Weldworth continued bellowing into his microphone. "I can assure you all that I have absolute proof. These stories are true. And if you doubt me, well, you belong in the loony bin!"
I took notes at a feverish pace, jotting down anything that felt worthy of inclusion. It was going to be quite a long list, I knew that much.
Mr. Weldworth talks about ancient myths as though they're true; says he has "absolute proof." Also claims that we belong in the loony bin if we don't believe him.
"The Ancient Greeks, well over two thousand years ago, worshiped a number of gods and goddesses. At the start, there were the Big Three deities; that'd be Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. After the defeat of Kronos in the First Titan War, the three brothers drew lots to determine who would rule over what realm.
"Hades became the Lord of the Dead, who presided, and still presides, over the Underworld. Everybody's gotta die someday, and when you die, you'll be ferried over the River Styx to be judged. Those who have lived sufficiently virtuous lives will be sent to the Elysian Fields, while those who have committed many grave sins will spend all of eternity in the Fields of Punishment."
I continued writing haphazard words on my notepad, but it wasn't easy; this guy was speaking rather fast.
Big Three - Zeus, Poseidon, Hades. I remember some of this from Ancient Civilizations class back in, like, 7th grade.
"Poseidon became the Sea God. If you think hurricanes are caused by climate change, ha ha, that's a hoax! That hoax was invented by the skeptics to make you think this stuff is mythology! Really, whenever a major storm comes from the sea, that's Poseidon's wrath!"
This guy's such a clown. But I'll give him this, he really seems to believe what he's selling us.
"Zeus became the Lord of the Sky. Now, what you've all gotta remember is that World War II, the deadliest and most destructive conflict in human history, was a conflict between the children of Hades on one side and Zeus' and Poseidon's kids on the other. The winning side, Zeus and Poseidon, forced the Hades side into a pact."
What kind of conspiracy theory BS is this? World War II was fought between the Allies and the Axis powers, not the children of Greek deities! Isn't there ample evidence of that?
The way "Upchuck" Weldworth spoke sounded like he had a bad cold; it was a very nasal voice. If he hadn't been at a stadium in front of hundreds if not thousands of people, nobody would be taking him seriously. I certainly wasn't.
"This pact was that the Big Three deities wouldn't have any more children with mortals. It simply wasn't worth risking World War III. If you live in the mortal world, you'd be forgiven for thinking that the geopolitical situation has been remarkably stable the last seventy-odd years."
I mean, there was the Cold War and all that. But he's right, in essence. There hasn't been World War III.
"Well, as I would say, that's all a bunch of baloney! It's alternative facts!"
No, I wanted to say. You are alternative facts. But, contrary to my normal impulsivity, I was able to resist this urge.
"I've got absolute proof that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades exist. And I'm going to demonstrate that right here, right now!"
Mr. Weldworth snapped his fingers. "Zeus, if you're listening, send a lightning bolt onto the football field! Don't hurt any of us, just burn some of the grass to show that you're there!"
The crowd went wild; at least, most of them did. I rolled my eyes as I processed the sheer number of insane people here.
I mean, they really thought that the Ancient Greek Lord of the Sky existed. Not only that, but they believed Zeus would have nothing better to do than to burn a hole in the astroturf of the stadium, just to prove he was actually there.
And I was surrounded by thousands of these true believers.
Nothing happened; at least, nothing supernatural. There was no lightning bolt cascading from the heavens. There was no thunder, either. There wasn't even a cloud in the sky.
Nothing changed. And still, nothing changed. This went on for several minutes, during which time I saw Mr. Weldworth's face turn the color of a tomato as he scratched his mustache.
"See?" the man exclaimed. "The lightning was right there!"
Uh, no. It wasn't.
"Of course, if you can't see through the Mist, you wouldn't know. I suppose I should explain what the Mist is."
Remembering that I was supposed to be taking notes, I wrote down a few lines about how Mr. Weldworth believed in some sort of magical fog. To me, that's what it was.
"The Mist, of course, is that barrier between the mortal and the immortal. Most mortals, including those in attendance at the symposium, can't comprehend that sort of thing, but I can assure you that there was indeed lightning in this stadium! I have absolute proof!"
This guy's not a grifter. He really thinks he can see things others can't. And that's potentially dangerous.
Mr. Weldworth continued ranting and raving about how Ancient Greek and Roman monsters existed all over the globe, about how the gods and goddesses were all over America thanks to my country being the pinnacle of Western Civilization, and all sorts of conspiracy theory bullshit. With every sentence, the man seemed to grow more unhinged.
Is he going to incite these people to do something illegal? Like, I hope there isn't going to be a terrorist organization based on Hellenic polytheism. But this guy's crazy, regardless of what he does or doesn't do.
The man went on and on about all sorts of names, like Peter Johnson, Annie Bell, and others that sounded innocuous. I didn't care who these people were, only that the plain-sounding names served as more evidence, if it were even needed, that Mr. Weldworth had completely lost his mind.
I'll admit it: Although this was poor form for a journalism student, I tuned much of the rest of his speech out. At some points, it seemed like he was saying the same thing over and over again, and yet the rest of the crowd ate it up.
By the time the speech was over several hours later, many of the true believers had curled up on the astroturf. Whether they were resting, asleep, or blackout drunk, I didn't know or care. (Okay, it probably wasn't the last one.)
I excused myself as politely as I could, carrying my notebook with me out of the stadium. My notes weren't as comprehensive as they could've been, but I was sure I could find more to write about in my essay, even if it was largely fluff.
"Excuse me, young man?" I heard a female voice ask. "Can you spare a moment for an interview?"
I'm a journalist; or at least, I want to be. I'll give it a shot.
"Sure" I replied, turning in the would-be interviewer's direction. "What about?"
"What did you think of the symposium? Is there anything you would do differently for next year's event?"
I snorted. "There'll be a symposium next year?"
The female reporter frowned. "Yes, there will be. This event is held every year at this location; I presume this is your first time attending?"
"Yes, and it's also my last. Upchuck Weldworth belongs in the loony bin for all I care. He didn't make any sense today, and it's a shame that I'm the only one who thinks so."
"Could you be a bit more polite towards our featured speaker?"
I shook my head. "I'm just telling it like it is, ma'am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an essay to write."
"But it's summer-" the woman responded, but I cut her off.
"Nope. I'm sorry, but I have to leave."
I pushed my way through the crowd and headed back to the parking garage. As cringe-worthy as the symposium may have been, it was downright painless compared to what was to come.
