Snake Song: I am Medusa – Part 1

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medusawatermarked
You may call me a monster, or say that I am cursed. Some have even said I was a merciless killer without a hint of compassion. You would be right I guess. But you would also be wrong. I am just a woman. Angry, yet loving; hard, but gentle. I am the Medusa.

Stories are told, legends abound, and myths are born. Somewhere along the way the truth is forgotten and the real people are lost. I am no more a monster than anyone else. I have lived a long life, I have loved, I have laughed and I have regrets, but I am still just a woman. No more, no less. I was a girl once. Most would claim beautiful. I had a face that put Helen of Troy to shame. Yet despite all this I had a happy childhood. I am Médousa, and this is my story.

I was born in what is now called Anapa. I was the youngest in a set of triplets. It was quite rare at the time for triplets to survive, but not in my family. In fact, my father’s Aunts were triplets. We were considered quite lucky in our local village and people would often stop to stroke our hair before setting out on a voyage or starting out on a new venture. We were happy. Mind you, our Aunts were not afforded quite the same affection. As brown and ugly as the sweet tasting tomatoes they used to grow, my blind Aunts were avoided, even feared by some. There were whispers of sorcery and magics but generally they were left to live in peace and to continue growing their tomatoes in peace.

Our father, Phorcys, was a great fisherman and well respected amongst the locals. He knew the waters better than anyone else. If my father said a storm was coming then nobody set sail. If he told people there was good fishing to be had then everybody followed. My father always managed to catch the best fish though. He would proudly present them to my mother Ceto, who would happily gut and scale them whilst singing of dreams and wishes.

I remember the simple life as if it were yesterday. There is not a day that I do not wish to go back to those quiet times of fishing and singing. But alas time stays still for no man, and all our peace and happiness was to be swept away.

When my sisters and I were but eight years old our lands started to fail. A plague was upon us. Some say that it was Hera in one of her customary rages; others claim it was Freya trying to gain dominion in our lands, what caused it I could not say. But the villagers grew a feared and accused my poor Aunts of treachery. They claimed they had cursed the land with their Grey Lady Magics and that they must go. My father called for calm but it was not respected for long. So, for my Aunts’ safety, we fled. We piled up into my father’s fishing boat and set to the seas. We remained afloat for who knows how long until by some miracle we were washed up on the shores of Boebeis. Starving, frightened, wretched, but alive.

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  1. Pingback: An Ode to Vaguebooking: Arguments That Never Happen in the Spec Fic World | Write or Wrong

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