Metis on the Mere

A cool draft snuck in through the peep hole from across the mere.  Athena lifted the head of her boa constrictor from her lap and wrapped the rest of its length around her neck.  Its forked tongue flicked against her ear lobe as it whispered into her ear.  The goddess smiled at its cynicism.  From the hard wooden bench she retrieved her hip flask and then sighed as she felt the dram of whisky warming her throat.   

Athena’s gaze swept across the flat, smoky lake.  Neither wing nor wind disturbed the ashen surface.  As the gloaming transformed fire tipped trees to coal black clouds, a movement to the west caught the goddess’ eye.  Gleaming like a battalion and screeching like a sorrow of widows, the polished flock swept in towards the lake; a catastrophic congregation.  Fountains of water and blood raged about the birds as they landed, ripping into the remains of limbs and a partly clothed torso with beaks of bronze.  The largest bird threw the gaping head of a shocked-faced man into the water where it floated for a moment, staring in horror at the rusty sky.

A hooting from the sycamore behind her alerted Athena to the hero's presence in the doorway.  Heracles ducked into the hide and squeezed onto the bench beside the goddess.  Steam rose from his meaty thighs and she could hear the dull squeak of his molars grinding together.  She imagined his shock of blonde curls, repressed beneath the ubiquitous black hood.  He smelt of cannabis resin and Lynx body spray. 

“Still here then?”  Athena asked the hot-blooded youth, her constrictor undulating towards his shoulder.

“Nowt else t'do.”  The youth replied with a shrug.  "Birds been killin' all me mates, so..."

“They’ve been breeding fast.  How will you bring them all down?”

Heracles gestured to the bow at his back.  Fair enough, Athena thought, he’s damned quick this kid.  Got Dad’s talent for shooting his load in rapid succession.  So many bastards…  

“Go for it love.  Make it a decent show.”  Athena passed him a bronze rattle and Heracles looked at it with undisguised contempt.  He held the instrument up to his ear and shook it once.  Inside a ball of bronze, something hidden awoke.  From the small object came a sound like a mountain cleft in two by an axe of glass.  An almighty crack which shook the walls around them and sent a shockwave rippling across the surface of the mere.  The Stymphalian birds froze.  Silence smothered the town for miles around.  Heracles smiled.

“Go on.”  Athena nudged the golden boy and he launched himself out of the hide and ran down towards the water.  The goddess laughed as the hero shook the rattle like a gleeful child, sending the ferocious birds up into the sky, where they circled, shooting their sharp metal feathers like missiles at the interloper.  They never found their target.  Athena took another long drink from her flask as she watched the hero’s arrows connecting with their targets.  The twang of iron ripping through soft copper breasts.  

Athena captured the moment when the last bird fell down across the sky towards the water; a furious trail of copper and bronze.  She attached the photograph to a text message to Ares along with the words:

 ‘Something worth crowing about? ;) xx’

Photograph from: http://www.prestonsociety.co.uk/2012/01/first-field-trip-of-2012.html

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Mars: Bringer of Tor

Aphrodite sat on the concrete steps, dangling her neatly arched feet into the milky spume from whence she came. Beneath the ubiquitous brine, Uranus lingered still - salty with a trace of zinc. This is where she came to revitalise. Infidelity had its charms but one too many Mona Lisa smiles had left the first traces of corvid footprints around her eyes. The goddess's fountain of youth wasn't what it used to be. If you listened carefully to the waves they'd tell you they felt a bit sick. The tide would pull down its lower eyelid and point to the dirty flesh, asking if it looked pale. Aprhodite weighed her right tit critically in her hand. Strictly speaking, it shouldn't rest on her palm like that. It certainly shouldn't spill over the edge. It might be time to head back to Paphos soon. The all-pervasive grey which dominated this landscape seemed to be sapping her colour, draining it from her body and feeding it into the brash glass structures which shut out the stars.

Hot, wet breath on the back of her neck alerted Aphrodite to the arrival of Setanta, the loping Irish wolfhound. The beast lapped at her shoulder briefly before sitting beside her. Ares whistled provocatively from the top of the steps but both goddess and dog ignored him, forcing the god of war to make his way down the steps. He continued to whistle to himself as he stood behind Aprhodite who smiled as Ares nestled his legs against her back so that she could feel his excitement against the back of her head. Aprhodite lifted her arms up to each side of her head and Ares pulled her up to her feet, spinning her round to face him and pulling her close so that he could taste the primal essence of his ancestor on her lips.

Minutes later the couple were between the sheets in the grotesque architectural anomaly known to locals as 'The Palace'. Here Hephaestus dwelt with Aprhodite in a doubtful arrangement which was part marriage, part transaction. Jove, Zeus, Jupiter. Whatever you called him, Aprhodite had daddy issues. The issue being that she'd rather he didn't see her as a convenient way of saying thank you:

Daughter or thank you card? Daughter or thank you card? Oh, go on - have my daughter. You earned her.

No.

Aphrodite, being a sensible goddess, reacted to this indignity in the most appropriate manner. She screwed Ares, god of war, at every available opportunity. She did so in Hephaestus' bed, beneath his own roof, just in case there was any confusion about her allegiance. She bore Ares 5 children. Or was it 6? After the third birth she'd stopped keeping track. Offspring also seemed to attract the footsteps of the corvidae.

Aprhodite giggled breathlessly beneath the excitable Ares as they attempted to recreate the dance of a pair of sparring swans. Even infidelity requires an injection of spice occasionally. Just as Ares was attempting his masterpiece move, which involved arching backwards to touch his toes so that he resembled a horny doughnut, a thin layer of incredibly fine fabric fell upon the couple, trapping them in their exotic embrace. Hephaestus pulled the magical net in tight around the couple and declared that he was taking them to the Winter Gardens where their shame would be revealed before the clan.


Ares tried to reason with the cuckolded Hephaestus but the miffed god was having none of it. Aphrodite was his play thing. Zeus said so. She was supposed to play with him whenever he liked and he didn't want to share. The crafty artisan dragged the sweaty pair through the town centre and into the Winter Gardens. He ignored the cheery greeting from Hermes on the door and stomped into the Olympia Exhibition Hall where Zeus was presiding over a busy antique market. Hephaestus dragged his cargo passed a table where Athena was haggling with a strident elderly lady over a bronze buckle. He ignored the indecent comment from Apollo who leaned back in a plastic chair, surrounded by over-priced lyres and tuneless guitars. Zeus was enjoying a brew and a Garibaldi at the back of the hall. A bubbly nereid was offering to top him up when Hephaestus dumped the net containing Aprhodite and Ares on the floor in front of him and demanded that the pair be punished for their disgraceful behaviour.

A giddy bout of laughter moved around the hall as gods and goddesses caught on to the situation. Thighs were slapped and eyes were dabbed and none laughed harder than Zeus himself. Hermes wandered in for a chuckle and Apollo shouted over, "Hermes! How much would you pay me to tie you up in a net with Aprhodite for half an hour?" Another ripple of laughter spread around the hall and even the stingy old woman chuckled. Meanwhile, Ares and Aphrodite were growing a little bored of their role in this comedy and Ares looked to his mate, Poseidon for assistance. The old earth shaker had a quiet word in Hephaestus' shell-like. Told him to set the pair free before anyone got upset. Promised to 'make it right'. He pulled rank. Hephaestus released the nude deities with no small amount of grumbling.

The lusty lovers retreated to their respective temples for a little pampering and adulation. Aprhodite simmered in a hot bubble bath. Grace A was putting the kettle on while Grace B picked out something snazzy for the evening. Grace C hummed to herself while applying a conditioning treatment to the ends of Aphrodite's hair. The goddess' perfect toes turned the hot tap back on as she relaxed. With a single malt whisky in one hand and a holiday brochure in the other, Aprhodite laughed.



Image from: http://www.amounderness.co.uk/blackpool_winter_gardens_entrance_church_street.html

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