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Why are the gods so cruel?

I have often asked that question over and over in my mind. First they see fit to grant me beauty, only for it to tempt another to see me defiled in the temple of one whom I have worshiped nearly all my life. And then that same goddess saw fit to punish me, and not the one truly responsible. And then accursed to this desolate place on this barren island.

What have I done to deserve this punishment?

I find myself walking....no, not walking. Doing what I must now that I no longer have my legs. Those damn perfect legs that were one of the reasons the king of the sea saw fit to see me as his play-thing. So instead I...make my way...threw the once luscious gardens of this once lovely temple.

I see all the withered things. All the dead things. The cold things. It only serves to pierce my heart with shame at was has become of this place. And I know, as all have probably said by now outside of this place, those who heard the story from one who told from another who may have been the one survivor from that time....that it was all because of me.

I finally reach the small fountain left in this garden, looking into the dirty water. I had hoped it would be too dark and murky to cast any reflections, but I am wrong. I can see the face looking back to me all too well. Those repulsive yellow eyes, that horrid scaled skin...and those horrid hissing things on the scalp. And what is worse...the disgusting imitation of what was once my face, now distorted into that of a reptile trying to mimic it.

It both angers and saddens me to the point of disturbing the water with a smack against the surface, only to stop and look down at my hand. No. Not my hand. The hand of a monster. The same scaly monster that has become my own identity now. The blacked claws and the scaly hands.

I keep screaming in my head that this is not my fault. I did not ask for any of this. Nor did I want to “seduce” the god who violated me only incur the wrath of a mighty goddess. But none of it helps. No matter how hard I pleaded then, it made no difference.

Why should now be an different?

I turn away and move somewhere else in the garden, away from any surfaces that might show that horrible face again. Moving through the garden and back towards the crumbled remains of the temple, I pass by the inhabitants of the island. I see them all standing where they are, most with the same horrified looks on their faces. Even some of the animals have the twinge of fear hidden behind their defense snarls.

I will never know who they truly were, but being here for so long I had given them new names. New histories. Just some means of given identities to this frozen faces.

There is the humble master Denisus, most likely on his way to teach another class. I can see the young Origenes, holding his loving Melitta in his arms as they relax under a fruit tree. Legia, Peligia, Artemisia and Erine, the four water girls probably gossiping among themselves again of how the silly Galenos is trying to woo their affections with his lire. Even the strapping Heron showing how protective he is of his beloved wife Hypatia and his adorable daughter Photina.

So many familiar face to me, and yet ones who I barley know well enough. I see them. I touch them. I converse with them. But I will never truly know them. Such is my curse. Such is the curst of all those, I wonder, to have become what I am. If Athena had ever been so cruel to any others.

I finally reach one of the few spots on this island I can bear to be, the small bench where the old but wise Agatha sits. At one point or another in the day I find myself drawn to her, for she is like the sergeant mother to this new form of me. And how kind a gentle a woman she must be to comfort such a monster.

I sit next to her, comforting myself as best I can without the use of legs, before I open my mind to Agatha. I spew my uninteresting reports of my day and the menial things I have accomplished. I tell her how I have improved in my archery and my repairing my bow after the last encounter with those cruel hunters who tried to claim my head. I even tell her how I have been considering to leave them, along with all the other hunters and so-called heroes, out at the entrance of the island as a warning. Perhaps then they will learn that this is my solitude. My sanctuary. My...prison.

All these menial spouts of unimportant dribble would bore any of the others, but Agatha is not like them. I can pour out whatever thought swirl in my mind and she just listens. She never considers any of them too fantastical or ridiculous. She would just listen, and would never ask anything other of her. She is kind to me.

After I am done, my mind begins to fill with more and more of those hurtful memories. Ones I have tried to avoid but at least three times a day I find my thoughts wandering back to them. I hate myself for constantly doing so and apologize to Agatha when I curse out loud in front of her. That was rude of me.

My new form has come with a slight temper. I cannot tell if it is from the transformation, or more likely the perversion, of my body or the years of exposure to this body. Perhaps it was brought on by them, the hunters, and all their hollowed and brutish attempts to claim my death as a prize.

How did this all happen?

I sigh and look to Agatha before answering her question before she can make it. I am troubled by the memories, so much that they are slowly becoming more and more like dreams that I fear will fade away into the darker reaches of my thoughts. But it pains me to relive them every time they crawl back.

Perhaps I should take Agatha’s advice. Better to tell her and drain my head of all my troubles then let them build and build before causing any sort of unwanted aggression received by the wrong person.

Where do I begin?

I decide it best to start with when I was but a child in Athens. Even at such a young age, all had said how I was a young blossoming beauty. Mother and father would often boast that it was blessing of Aphrodite herself, but I would shy away from thinking so.
But then the priests serving at the temple said that only one so fare as I, with such lovely blue eyes and long golden hair. This strengthened the evidence as neither of my parents had those color eyes or that color hair. At that point I could not deny that I had been touched by the goddess of beauty.

This strengthened the convictions of my mother, who insisted I serve the gods for granting me this gift. My father was less inclined. He wanted me to marry a strong man and bare his children, since he was unable to give birth to any sons. Many had seen him as a week man for that. I nor my mother ever did but it was not enough for his pride. I remember them both arguing a lot over my future.

I believe what finally made me decide was what could be a fateful meeting. When I was yet a full woman I was out in the markets of the city. A group of boys had found me and surrounded me. They did not have to say and I did not have to think too hard about what it was they craved. It was in their eyes. But then I was saved, before I could be defiled by the brutes, by an older man who scared them off.

After I had thanked him he could not help but note my beauty like so many others had before. He had managed to guess correctly that it was due to Aphrodite that I had been given such a blessing, making me feel humbled by his remark, before telling me the gods work in their own ways. He told me that there must be a greater reason to why I had such beauty, noting how it may lead to something better in my life. It was not until after we had finished our small conversation that I passed by a carved stone likeness of our King Theseus that I realized who rescued me.

Why did I not recognize him sooner?

When I returned home, for the next few days the words he had said to me repeated in my mind. “The gods work in their own ways.” This was the clear evidence of Aphrodite’s gift to me was also a sign. The following morning I told my parents my final decision, of how I honor the gods for allowing me this part in whatever grander scheme would unfold throughout my life. My mother was thrilled. My father...left us the next day.

Should that have changed my decision?

While disheartened by my father’s decision, that did not sway my mother from encouraging me to continue my choice and become a true servant of our cities patron goddess, Athena. For the next decade of my life I was trained and taught how to be a priestess in the Athenian temple.

Most would agree that it was more splendid than that of King Theseus himself. Some had often said that one of Theseus’ fathers, the god Poseidon, was jealous of her for it. Knowing his own son, the son of one of the three brother gods themselves, was not given a more glorious dwelling to rule from.

Could that have been his reasons for what he had done to me?

Nevertheless, I did what I was meant to do to be as humble, noble, and as grateful a servant of Athena as I could be. I was grateful. Even when my mother had died, I had seen to it that her services would be given in her name to continue that honor. I was considered one of the most faithful and loyal of servants.

But then came that night. That one night. That damn night when I would learn how valued my faith truly was. How, I am sure, the faith of any mortal is truly rewarded.

I admit I had returned to the temple on my own accord. It was one year to the day that my mother had died and I thought it only wise to give my respects in Athena’s own house of worship. But my prayers were interrupted when a man approached me. He came from the shadows and at first glance I thought him to be King Theseus himself, perhaps wanting to see me after hearing of my exploits as one of Athena’s greatest priestesses.

But my heart sank when I beheld the true face, one that it was no surprise I had nearly mistaken him for his son. They did have very similar features.

Poseidon came closer to me and I asked what did the mighty ruler of the seas require. He did not answer nor did he need to. I could see it in his eyes. That hungry look that every man, either man or immortal had. And without another word, he seized me. There was nothing I could do. He had his triumph over me.

What did I do to deserve this?

Time had no meaning anymore. Every second was only a greater pain for me as I was defiled in Athena’s own temple. A god slandering the name of another god. And I was the tool of this slander.

When it was finally over I lay there, crying on the marble floors. I do not know how or where Poseidon disappeared to, but I did not care to know. I only wanted him gone to give me privacy, to not let any eyes see an Athenian priestess in such a state. My robes were tattered and my soul was broken. I needed some type of salvation from this atrocity.

I made my way to the base of the statue of Athena, praying for solace. Praying for justice. Praying for comfort. Praying for her to comfort me in this dark hour. And for once, in all my years of servitude to her name, she had answered.

It was strange to see a statue’s face come alive, to see those once cold dead eyes suddenly spark with life and look down upon me. I was both awed and terrified by what I was witnessing. More and more I thought she had come to answer my call. When she spike it drove into my heart and soul like a dagger.

The only words to fall from hose stone lips were of accusation and spite. She called me a unworthy whore for allowing such actions to take place in her own temple. Every damning thing she said to me felt like a sing of an arrow shot into me.

Was I not a loyal servant?

And in Athena’s infinite wisdom she finally decided the just punishment. I felt nothing but pain. The pain of feeling my own locks contort and grow minds of their own. The feeling of my legs fusing into one grotesque member. My skin burning the whole time. I would never hear Athena’s voice after that, and I suppose I never would.

Why would gods bother with monsters?

I remember wandering aimlessly through the darkened streets. I could barely recall how long it was before I had come across the first soul to spot me, collapsed in an alleyway and trying to pick myself up to stand on my non-existent feet. It was both his and my own fault for what happened next.

The first thing he saw was the figure of a woman in the shadows. The next he saw was a scaly blackened clawed hand reaching out for help. The next a large tail slithering on the ground. And finally the horrid face of what had owned all those other horrifying traits. At least his horror was ended soon, for the moment our eyes met his had become stiffened and cold. I watched in my own horror as I saw his body became hard as stone not realizing what I had done.

Not until I had found a fountain nearby that the reflection of the clear water and the light of the moon illuminated what horror I had become. The shouts and eventual screams of more people hastened my reason to run, stealing a small boat and rowing further and further away. From the shores they constantly shouted, cursed and spited me.

Monster. Horror. Inhuman. Demon. Beast.....Gorgon.

I was cast out. Cursed by my own people. Those who I had grown with my entire life. Those who I tried to help guide in Athena’s ways. Now I was a plight on their land and to Athena’s name. The same goddess whom I had loved. The one who had done this to me.

Does love matter to the gods?

I drifted for so long, I could not fully count the days. Whether it was by chance or Poseidon twisting the currents I eventually found the island. The closest thing to salvation I had received in a long time. But it only served to be further hell from there.

How long have I been here?

Time has become meaningless to me since being on this island. Days blend with each passing sunrise and set. The seasons mean nothing to this island as the life has gone from all. Any who come here never take the time to pass pleasantries. There is no reason for it. They come for blood not conversation. But do not need nor want their conversation. I have Agatha for that.

I look to her now, seeing her still sitting there after listening to my story. She is very kind and wise to have listened to me. She is always kind to me. She is like my new mother now. A new mother for this new form I am confined to. This new home I am forced to call it.

I kiss her hardened cheek before moving on. I need to be with my own thoughts now, away from everyone’s prying eyes. There is a spot I always find myself, a slope on the western edge of the island that overlooks the sea. The only real beauty can be seen from here, when the sun sets on the day.

It is here that I take my own council with no one to bother me. I found this place a comfort after the first hunters came, one managing to stick an arrow into my tail. I had claimed his weapon and his life for it. I still idle over that wound now-and-then. Another reminder of the life that comes with this body.

Must all monsters be hated and feared?

I look out to the rest of the world, wonder what stories they tell of me now. How a lovely woman was malformed and cursed by the goddess she served. How she was violated by the sea god and punished for it. How her snake-covered head and stone turning gaze are a horror that frightens children in her sleep.

But I do not hate them. I cannot truly hate them. They were still my people. I was still one of them. They did not do this to me. They did not grant me the beauty of my youth. They did not abuse my body in the temple of a goddess who I served. They did not punish me for it by having me become this beast. That is not the workings of mortals.

The gods did this to me. The vain, arrogant, pious, cruel and undeserving gods. Mortals like I and many others give their love, but it is never returned. Not as we would hope. They only see us as playthings in their grander games. Perhaps that was my part all along. To be part of their ordained games of chance with fate and destiny. To be yet another monster like the chimera or the minotaur and act as a plight to the lands. Then so be it.

The gods have forsaken me so I will do so to them and any others who try to claim me in their name. This is my island now. I am it’s ruler. It’s queen. I will not surrender it or my life without taking as many so-called conquerors with me.

Am I not the Queen?

But now I can see someone else approaching. Another ship has come with more hunters to find glory in my death. There is even one with a golden shield on board. These eyes can see far and they see that this young warrior’s shield bears my likeness on it. It mocks me. He mocks me. He may not know it but this tool he brings only ensures his death.

I will make my way back inside the temple and wait for them. To pass by all my people one more time before going inside, making my way to the throne room. It is my island and my temple after all. I had claimed it after making the former king as his own throne, stiff and cold. I then shattered his body and claimed my right. And I will do so again with these hunters when they try to take my head.

I am Queen Medusa. If history will remember me for anything, I cannot lie to myself and think it will be of my life before. Then let it be what it is now, the monster. A creature. A gorgon. I will add these men to my people and tell Agatha of how I triumphed over them yet again.

As I sit and wait, preparing my bow and sharpening my arrows, I know I am no longer the woman I was. Nor will I ever be. I will embrace this new form as I have for so many years. But as I wait, the same question always creeps into my mind before the hunters finally arrive....

Am I ready to die today?