Medusa and Melancholia

The Archaic Allegory Volume LXXIII

Behold the end, ladies and gentlemen. In the war’s awake, consumed by a tragic fate, I sing soul-screeching lullabies to give a tragic take; passing seconds wash sins. Tragic yet true still, sit still with bellies filled when the unfortunate get killed. I dyed in my thoughts in colour as it oozed out of my wrists. When bathed, I realised a truth forlorn through which grief was born; that not the world but I was the sinner, that the world never thought of me but oh, I did of it.

I hold this dark in contempt as I raise a curtain to attempt, deeming myself adept to finally, after all these years let go of the skirmish that once defined me and to begin, be reborn in one night but my feet begin to hurt as the voice eerily creeps onto my shoulders to whisper —

What tomorrow dare you dream of, begging semblance of light when all your yesterdays were drenched and raped in the dark?

Forgive me but I can run no longer. I can only narrate and ponder. I fell victim amidst chaos, none extended a hand. The taste of concrete now feels like home and to be loved is a feeling long lost. I am tragedy.

And who speaks of tragedy better than the one who plays a piano, as each note writes a fate?

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She danced to the melodies afar, symphonies of a simple life devoted to purity and service. She was not always the monster these heathens use in references, she once was full of life. As her name, Medusa too was once breathtakingly beautiful. Destinies dwindled when she looked its way, her eyes turned hearts to flowers, never mortals to stone.

Medusa’s prayers were as devoted as a child is to a father and the goddess Athena was as pleased by them as an emotionally unavailable father is to his child’s achievements. Careful, the piano keys cut deep.

Medusa was a mortal priestess and her hair was her crowning glory. Though a life lived in time, an innocent rose remains forever at risk by a mortal human who desires. Medusa too was mortal but had forsaken any desires and had devoted her life to Athena. Such love and devotion only for it to go in vain. Even as one executes a life to stark perfection, you know who is in vain.

Her hair was her crowning glory, never a frowning story but as the god of seas set his eyes on her filled with lust, she barely was an innocent rose. Poseidon laid eyes upon her and was filled with desire for her. What she wanted never mattered. Who she was didn’t matter. All that mattered was desire.

Poseidon

Disgust dishevelled drains and drips in December from my soul that seeks salvation. How will you save the one who has never dreamed of being saved? She suffered the wrath that was meant for another and as did I. Why do they who read, they who have been written about and they who are writing never express their anger on those that deserve it?

One night as Medusa was alone in Athena’s temple, Poseidon hideously sneaked up to her and wanted her for himself. He wanted to lick her skin and trace his hands through her body but Medusa wanted to be set free from the grip of his hands. As anger is of many men when turned down, Poseidon grew angry and decided to not honour Medusa’s words.

Once a girl of pure heart who was breathtakingly beautiful now a fearful, shivering coil weeping, trying to desperately cover her skin with torn clothes. Her breath, shuddering and her mind, shattered. All as she is trying to fight off a god who desires her and will stop at nothing. Medusa was hopeful at first but she is no longer that she will be saved.

Medusa tried desperately to cover her skin with her hands but she failed. Time has passed, the sun has risen and there she lies, shuddering in her breath, in disbelief. Not knowing what to do, who to trust, desperately trying to find the reason to continue living but at the same time, wanting to die by being burnt in fires as she desires no remembrance of this body that is now not hers.

As Poseidon left satisfied, Medusa felt herself being reduced to an unexplainable, unidentifiable….thing. She couldn’t draw resemblance to anything else, she was reduced to nothing. While justice was and will never be solace, to know the sinner has been punished gives hope to the lost.

Medusa’s last hope was the goddess she prayed to. Athena would certainly help one of her priestesses. Teary eyed but hopeful, Medusa looks up to Athena as she crawls and searches the floor for any honour. Athena, fiery-eyed rages and opens her mouth.

Justice will be served. Medusa’s nightmare that she will have to suffer from each night will at least have one star that will shine. But no.

What tomorrow dare you dream of, begging semblance of light when all your yesterdays were bathed and raped in the dark?

Athena places a curse on Medusa and strips her from her beauty. Athena’s uncle took her honour while Athena took her beauty. Athena’s curse turned Medusa into a gorgon as her flowing hair turned into venomous snakes because the crime took place inside her temples and she believed that it had desecrated the purity of the temple.

The death of hope is the most silent death of all yet it tears through my eardrums as it murders my mind. Hope is dead and my heart is caged and protected, otherwise I would have ripped it out for the perpetrators to eat.

Everything was stolen from Medusa. Her gaze that once turned hearts to flowers now turns all to stone. A victim. Hope is dead. Don’t bother sending flowers to its grave, they too will die.

Medusa with her horrifying appearance was then banished to an island where she lived alone. Raped. Assaulted. Punished for being a victim, she spent the rest of her days awaiting death as every time she went near the ocean, she glanced into the reflection and remembered who she was and what she had become.

Alone, the bearer of a tragic, tragic fate. When she reminisced what she used to look like, no kind memories emerged from that trance either as her beauty was stained in ways that scared even the unjust gods.

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Forgive me but I only narrate and ponder. This year ends on a dark note, not because I wanted it to be that way but because there was no key left to play anymore, the blood and the tragedy painted consumed them all. I have simply run out of time.

For all the love you have shown to us and to our creations, we want to say from our hearts filled with love and our minds with glory that we are eternally grateful for it all. The two of us will continue to take you on voyages in the glorious, endless night with our narrations for all time, always.

And for this dark end, Divyam is not to blame.

A very Happy New Year to all of you from Neel and Divyam, two stubborn twenty-one year olds responsible for all of this.

— the end.