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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2210651
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Mythology · #2210651
Flash Fiction Entry for Screams!
Each day I plead with the unforgiving sun, asking Apollo to melt the frozen chains around my neck. Yet my plaintive cries go unheard. Spurned from heaven, I am doomed to languish on the highest peak of Mount Olympus, hearing the laughter of the gods as they feast endlessly on nectar and ambrosia.

Bitterly, I weep at my cursed existence. Do you think they hear my wailing as I gnash my teeth at the mortals cavorting below? They never deserved to inherit this world, it was promised to my fellow Titans eons ago. But the lightning god stole it from us. I curse his name, Zeus and his treacherous brethren waging war upon my kind. Those of us who survived went into hiding, sleeping until the day of reckoning approaches.

I could not abide such cowardice. My pride brought me to destroy the temples of those false gods, shaking the earth itself with my endless rage. But I was nothing against the combined might of Poseidon, Hades and Zeus. Oh Kronos, if only you had eaten your son alive, we would never have been cast out!

At least I am not alone in my suffering. Below me, the other Titans lie. Though I cannot see them, I sometimes hear the cries of Prometheus as the liver is torn from his side. Zeus’ eagle comes for him each day, but after that accursed creature eats its fill, I am next.

I can hear the flapping of wings as it approaches. There it is, that damnable bird. Golden feathers glitter in the dying rays as Apollo rides his fiery chariot over the horizon. It is always the last sight I see each day.

It lands before me, gore covered beak snapping greedily. I close my eyes seconds before my tormentor tears them from my skull. The air is filled with my shrieks as tears and blood pour from these empty sockets. It is no eagle, but a foul vulture that feasts on my living carcass.

At times like these, I envy the mortals. Death can be merciful. I have never felt that sweet release, perhaps I never will. Each day, I must wait until my eyes are devoured. Each night, I sob bitterly as they grow back.

If only these chains would melt, I could snap the eagle’s neck and pluck its proud feathers… Until then I am bound to this pillar of ice for an agonizing eternity, praying to be released from my bonds or my suffering, whichever comes first.

All I have left are dreams, fleeting shadows of impossibility.
© Copyright 2020 Ray Scrivener (rig0rm0rtis at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2210651