(Part 1)
By: Karlene
I’m sitting in a chair, writhing in agony. A demon has me pinned. Toying with my head.
“Menoetius.” He growls, poking the blade into my chest, not forcefully enough to cut, but enough to direct the scene, enough to hurt. He drags the tip of the dagger straight up, over my chest and collar bone, over each ring of cartilage in my neck until the tip is pressed under my chin, forcing me to tilt my head back. He leans over me and practically snorts like a horse, he smiles at me one-sidedly with his crooked teeth and he says,
I drag my empty doll eyes along the floor, as if searching my mind for the answer. I just shrug and say,
“You’re a demon.’’ And I match his smirk, “A minor demon.’’
Menoetius’ eyes widen, huge, almost cartoonish. They practically burst out of his head and burn up with fury. Menoetius: god of violent anger and rash action. He pushes the blade in, almost enough to puncture.
Every blood vessel in his eye has burst open so they’re flooded red, every vein in his neck and forehead is pulsating and dying to pop out of his skin. My eyes follow a bead of sweat as it carves its path across his skin, dragging from his temple all the way down to his neck where I lose it in his tattoos. Black, almost tribal, the tendril design winds its way along his jugular like vines wrapped around a tree.
“What did you just say?’’ he asks in his most offended voice. He leans in so close our noses are almost touching, and I feel my jaw twinge and I repeat my point.
“You’re a deity. Not a God.’’ I lean back in the chair more so that he has to lean himself forward. “Not the top of the pyramid, just another brick.’’ I say in metaphors and I swear I can hear his blood boiling.
I see his knuckles go white; he’s squeezing the dagger so tight. Menoetius’ hand is practically shaking, his face is pulled together tight and beet red, he’s doing his best to hold in his rage, but he didn’t get his title for nothing.
Suddenly we’re both broken out of our locked gaze by the sound of glass breaking, we both jerk in shock and the dagger pierces into my skin, my hand flies up to the pain instinctively and holds my jaw.
Menoetius’ hand drops down by his side and cautiously I lean forward again with the squeak of the chair, we stay motionless to listen.
We inch our way out of the overgrown shed of my studio, eek our way across the patio until we see my sliding glass door, or at least what’s left of it.
As I inch closer I hear a noise, almost a dull moan, a cry of agony. When finally I’m standing in front of my broken open door I see her, face in a puddle of blood and broken glass, and when I’m in mid-sigh Menoetius groans beside me.
“For Christ sakes…’’
The figure on my kitchen floor is Oizys. Goddess of pain, suffering and misery.
“Shut up!’’ she screams, looking over her shoulder from the ground at Menoetius. “Just shut up!’’
I feel my stomach churn when I notice the shards of glass lodged in her forearms, hands, bare feet and face. She starts pushing herself up with her palms, digging the glass into her skin deeper as she does and I wince.
I hear the grass crunching and my eyes follow the sound, and unsurprisingly another figure emerges from behind my countertop.
This guy leans against my fridge, tall and slender he folds his arms over his chest. His neck and head are permanently tilted down in a hunch. He slips his hand out of the crook of his elbow and snaps his fingers out in front of him. I’m watching him closely, mesmerized. A cigarette literally poofs into existence between his first two fingers, already lit. He brings it up to his lips and takes a deep drag for the duration it takes Oizys to get on her feet.
She steadies herself and stares at the man, who just smiles crookedly with jagged yellow teeth and exhales in a puff of smoke into her bloodied face, sending her into a coughing fit.
I must be 10 feet away, but this guy’s stench is over powering. A combination of skunk and rotting skin is the best way to describe him. So I just blurt out what comes to mind.
“Hades.’’ I utter. His eyes flicker over to mine in a flashing shine, and we stare for a long moment before he finally just rolls them. He flicks the cigarette across the room and I watch it hit the linoleum.
He makes his way over to me, saunters even, gently pushing Oizys out of his way with the back of his hand. The glass crunches under his feet until he finally reaches me, I have to look straight up to be direct with his downward face.
His eyes are pentagrams instead of pupils. The whites are shimmering, almost like he’s welled up with tears. He smiles right down at me, his mouth twisting into a crooked black line and he just shakes his head.
“No, my dear.’’ He says in a hiss of a voice. He brings his hands up to my shoulders and I feel his ice cold skin even through my shirt.
“People are always getting us mixed up.’’ He tells me, exasperated. I breathe through my mouth just to tolerate the stench. I see Menoetius out of the corner of my eye shuffle back a few steps and swallow hard. Now I get it.
“God of Death.’’ I say just loud enough to be audible and his smile stretches even thinner.
“But you can call me Thanatos.’’
We stare at each other for a long slow motion moment before he blinks; his right index finger comes up to my chin, tilting my head a little backwards so he can look at the bottom of my jaw.
“You’re neck…’’ his eyes narrow, he sees the little prick of a wound left on me and his eyes widen back open, “What happened?’’ he asks with genuine concern. I open my mouth to speak but with the chill of his hand under my jaw nothing comes out but a crackle. Thanatos sigh through his nose, his head slowly turns away from me, in Menoetius’ direction. I can practically feel the deity’s hot blood start running cold against Thanatos’ gaze.
I follow the little pentagrams and turn my head. Thanatos’ eyes are fixated on the little dagger Menoetius’ fingers are curled tight around. He releases his hold on my jaw and steps over towards his cohort, bit of glass crumbling under his feet.
He stands right in front of him, towering over him, icy air shooting out of his nostrils. He pushes his head forward like a turtle popping out of its shell, forcing Menoetius to shrivel back down into his collar. Thanatos doesn’t even blink as he stares wide eyed.
“You.” He grumbles into the deity’s face.
I hear the cracklings of more glass being crunched into the floor and I turn to see Oizys, gingerly making her way over to us.
“Please…’’ she pleads with teary eyes. I move towards her, whether it was out of pity or just wanting to get away from the stench of death, I’m not sure.
My hands hover over her, unable to grab any part of her without sending glass into my own skin. I choke out the only words that come to mind.
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?’’
A bellowing laugh answers for her, and naturally another entity appears. Sitting on the island in the middle of my kitchen. A woman with dirty blonde hair, wavy and hanging just past her shoulders. She’s plucking grapes out of the little basket and plopping them into her mouth, giggling with her head tilted slightly and her legs swinging back and forth.
“You caaaaaan’t call for helpppppppp!’’ she chimes, holding the red grape between her top and bottom teeth in a smile. I see Oizys hang her head, I look over at the men to see Thanatos rubbing his forehead like he’s fighting off a headache, and Menoetius is just staring with raised eyebrows.
The woman sighs, sinking her teeth into the grape. She tucks it into one of her cheeks before speaking again.
“Y’see, Oizys here…’’ she pushes herself off the island, jumping onto the floor in another resounding crunch of glass. “Oizys needs to do these things. She needs to get hurt, to have people feel sorry for her.’’ She laughs again, this time putting her forefinger to her teeth as she saunters over to us.
“Ananke…’’ I hear in an annoyed sigh from Thanatos as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.
I grasp the shirt over the small of Oizys’ back and tug her away. Ananke stares at me with her hands on her hips, irritated at my actions.
“Look…’’ she huffs out in a burst of hot air, “Oizys, she like…gets off on this kind of thing.” Her elbow pivots off her hip now and her palm turns skyward in exasperation. “I’m serious, it’s a sick goddamn compulsion of hers.’’
“I get it now.’’ I say, “That’s you. Goddess of compulsion.’’
“And necessity, and inevitability.’’ Her lips curl up in a smirk, “But I don’t wanna nitpick.’’
I finally blurt out my burning question. I ask what in the hell brought all these demons and deities and gods to my humble abode. And immediately I’m greeted by an echoing chuckle from Thanatos.
“Well, you invited us.’’
“No, I didn’t’’ I utter, doing my best to stare sternly at him. He smirks, his mouth a crooked line and he chuckles, taking a step towards me. His smile grows, showing me his disgusting teeth. I catch a whiff of him and feel my stomach acids clawing their way back up.
“Don’t lie.’’ He tells me, arms folding over his chest. I shake my head.
“I’m not a liar.’’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
My response is met by round of laughter from the entire troupe, even Oizys. Thanatos tents his fingers, stepping so close we’re almost touching. He sticks his head out again at me. His words come out in a chilling breath. So cold I can see it hanging in the air even though it’s July. He sticks his one bony forefinger out at me, pointing right into my face and he says,
“Now that, that was a lie.’’
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