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by Set
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #1773395
(WIP) i just needed opinions, criticism, and compliments from an professional.
~ Nicolous Lecreusia, One who has traveled to and from Tartarus, alive ~

In a sea of paper-stacks, my labyrinth of notes, the journey amidst
Winter’s reign. A shift entitled to surprise from the Freezing grips to
the Effigy of Summer’s desert-heat; A sky of hot-nude-pearl lined against
cool ocean-breaths which, favorably, cooled the consistent Smog of
Athen’s unwelcoming Humidity . From the pearl-white snow, I was stolen
into Lime-laden skies, a strange scene, obscene to normality. In a flash,
my mind’s eye reveals dust-ridden landscapes, perhaps a nightmare? (Yet
far too real). I understand, such painful thoughts; I recall, my Time in
hell, in Tartarus.

~ Tartarus: I remember, a sky of hot-lilac and marble. Lion-dust skylines
and buff sand watermarked by the constant choke of midsummer air. A tinge
of zinc and copper upon sunset, tumbled columns and abodes ground amidst a
deep-tan ocean, and the tideless weight of Desert nothingness. The Wax
Effigies of Winter’s freezing grip, Autumn’s cool gusts and swollen
bruised skies, or Spring’s refreshing sense of renewal does not exist,
cannot exist.

Tartarus, perhaps half imagined, (yet wholly real) begins and ends in an
unpredictable cycle, roots lodged in the laws of discord. Effigies of
unprecedented and known worlds, stars, constellations, litter the hot
skies, clutching and releasing them, bending the space back like bows. The
sands effectively shifting and churning, unearth and bury eons of timeless
history as if a mausoleum of the past. Whispers begotten of ancient myth
tell that no living-man has ever graced the Realm of Chaos.

It was unlike Alexandria, beloved Alexandria, (a stronghold of symbolic
love, now replaced by something androgynous, deceiving fool-hearted
tourists). Of Course, strangely, Unexplainably, Alexandria was there too,
In Tartarus. Athens, Sparta, Paris, Rome, e.c.t, every city, every monument
precedent, seemed to rise in the skyline, ransacking the great desert until
midday where they vanish beneath the rolling-dunes of air-marked sand. At
night, when wind roars, and the low rumble of thunder streaks fiercely
across the deep-violet sky, passages of time reunite over the sand-ridden
lands, perhaps in memorial or mockery of man’s achievements.

Day-by-day, light filtered through the essence of lemons, air filled with
the smell of caked-earth, brick-dust----Sweet-smelling brick-dust, the sour
odor of leathered-corpses, rotted, and hot Pavements slaked with water. I
have trampled upon the squirt dust-red earth, scorched with thirst, and
famined with hunger since midday yesterday. Finally, I came nearer, close
to its center; the formation towered before me, a throne of magnificence,
wavering as if a mirage one would see within the Summer’s blaze. As I
closed in, the dry palpitant air thickened, and brushes of
static-electricity inflamed my body, through my light-clothing. Then there
she was, in all her glory and an uncertainty filled my gut. I struggled for
breath, broken in by some untimely fear. Eris, Goddess of Discord.

Eris, As soft-spoken, subtle perhaps, looked upon me as a man would look
upon an ant, insignificant. Thoroughly, she conveyed a smile, a
wicked-grim-intensity, “ A mortal,” She said, wryly, “ and in my
world?” Had I been able to understand her more, perhaps, Eris may have
been among the respected, her exquisite balance of irony and Tenderness,
did easily shine. During my time with her, truly, I came to know her more,
in the sense that a man could understand divinity. Even the gods, as man,
lie and let life play upon them like the tepid-discharges of douche-bag;
She was different. Eris, instead, believed the truth to be the greatest
weapon, conveyer of control and desire. Therefore, she believed that she
belonged to herself and was free from the hierarchy of the gods, or even
existence per-say.

Much is forgotten in my journey and much is unexplained, yet deep inside, I
have come to fruitation of the gravity of my situation, our situation. As I
experienced the lost hopes and dreams of many, ending steep-in-tragedy, I
have learned one important detail; Eris is planning something, to which I
cannot remember. ~
© Copyright 2011 Set (chaosgod21 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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