Scribble #68

Creative Writing Session: Rory's Story Cubes - excerpt.



The snakes are not the only things in Medusa's hair this might. The sea breeze is so full of wonderful, icy sprites. The wide, neverending ocean splashes her on deck, soaking and freezing her through, along with the force of the wind, making her beautiful snakes hiss and coil deep into her skull. She lets them. She lets everything plow through her. She lets herself feel the capsizing, frozen solid sensations, for she can take it. She is resilient in her scaly, green, reptile skin, welcoming the cold.

But her physical state - meant to be a curse upon her - is not the only strength she possesses. Emotionally and mentally, she has suffered worse, at the hands of the gods. Those bastard gods. Those eternal children playing with mortals  as if they are toys. Things to use and toss aside. There was nothing the poor, suffering pawns could do to stop the reign of these powerful beings; the true monsters; the nightmares of fable made real; the reason behind the torture that is living for people.

Until now.

The ship rocks perilously as Medusa sails further into the crashing sea. Water hits her, it sloshes on the deck. No cloud of doubt to take hold of the mind now; a storm is brewing. But she flourishes in it. Her eyes sting, but no worse than is usual, and she has enough shuddering breath in her lungs to laugh. And laugh she does.

The sea is her worst enemy, her greatest fear, tearing into her insides as well as her flesh, and she laughs at it. She spits at it, throwing her voice deep into the storm; a triumphant bass breaking through the sounds of the wind and the waves.

Yes, come on Poseidon, she thrusts her thoughts, uninhibited, at the black, starless night, Do your worse, only you already did - to me, a millennia ago.

Through it all, Medusa sets sail, her only goal a certain god's attention.

"I'm not afraid!" she screams aloud, "You hear me, Poseidon, you fucking bastard. I'm coming for you - I'll never forget. I'll never let you forget. I am your one and only nightmare, even if that fate were to kill me."

Her snakes on her scaly head rattle manically in response, and the storm rages and rages. So much noise comforts Medusa: what she is doing is working.

Lightning. A crash. And the ship catches fire.

Light. Heat. Against the wet and the black. Still raging.

The tumultuous sea does nothing to put it out.