Do you ever wonder about souls? Surely we too have them. How
corrupt they must be, twisted and torn, riddled in pride and dishonesty. Unsent: We do have them. I feel mine, and how it’s twisted and bent into
You think too much.
2:37 am (Artemis)
I passed someone today; his eyes looked like the moon in
shades of blue. Unsent: It made me think of mistakes, and how mistakes become
scars. I’d like one, maybe two cut, across my chest. It might help me separate
what is real and what is not
2:43 am (Apollo)
I saw a girl who looked like Cassandra. I wished her dead
and that she would remember me all in one breath.
2:45 am (Artemis)
I know. Me too.
4:05 am (Artemis)
Do you still fight the future?
2 seconds later (Apollo)
Every day. Every night. With every breath I have. Unsent:
Because it terrifies me. The darkness. The death. We will be all that’s left,
and we won’t be able to start over again.
4:06 am (Artemis)
I fight the past. Every expectation I failed to meet. Every
decision I ever made in vain. All the vows I gave too easily. Youth. Youth
makes gods foolish.
4:07 am (Apollo)
Unsent: I’m sorry. I’m sorry
for the part I played
10:59 pm (Artemis)
I wished it would end. I wanted the world to burn and to
watch it out of spite. Unsent: Then I wanted to save it, quench the fire with
the ocean. I wanted to prove I still could.
11:00 pm (Apollo)
I saw it.
11:01 pm (Apollo)
I had a vision today of a world that didn’t burn in fire. I
had a vision of a world where we were happy.
i. Aphrodite has given up on love. She listens to boys yelling obscene things at innocent girls. She can be found serving drinks at the local bar to broken women and spitting poisonous words at the filthy gentlemen next to them.
ii. Apollo dreads the moment the sun rises. Because when the sun goes up, his local late night show ends and his hour of fame comes to a close. He can be found spending his days, sitting on a park bench asking for loose change and wishing his poetry was good enough.
iii. Ares doesn’t understand war anymore. All he sees is needless bloodshed and brutal homicide based upon abhorrent racial cleansing and childish disagreements. He can be found weeping over the destruction of schools and the murder of innocent children.
iv. Artemis doesn’t hunt game anymore. She carries a switchblade and mace, prepared to fight off any boy harassing a girl with intoxicated footsteps. She can be found holding back girl’s hair as they vomit up their insecurities while sobs wrack their body into the next morning.
v. Athena has stopped believing in reason. When there’s international conflict concerning who marries who and a nationwide crisis about the newest fashion, reason just doesn’t seem applicable anymore. She can be found protesting with college students about real problems.
vi. Dionysus can’t help the madness. When the frequency of mental illness - in children nonetheless, has become so high? What’s the point? He can be found at the same pub and same seat as always; drinking the same dry whisky wishing everything would be the same as it used to be.
vii. Hades can’t stand jewels anymore. Emeralds reflect the envy and greed of humanity while rubies reflect their sexual and blood lust. He can be found rolling his eyes at people begging for their lives in the allies while human demons hunt them down for materialistic ends.
viii. Hephaestus has developed a hatred of fire. It does nothing but steal. It steal oxygen from the air and steal people from their families. Fire does not give it takes. He can be found saving everything he can from fire’s wrath, but will later choke on the smoke of his cigarette.
ix. Hermes can’t stand traveling. His legs are weak and his eyes are strained. He’s carried too many messages to people about the death of loved ones and the love letters are scarce. He can be found stealing, not money, but of their hope and strength because he’s hasn’t any left.
The gods are among us and they can’t survive. Why should I?
Apollo (Ancient Greek: Ἀπόλλων) is the son of Zeus and Leto. His twin sister is Artemis. He was the God of the arts, music, healing, purification, prophecy, oracles, plague, poetry, civilization, the sun, truth, intelligence, logic, reason, and archery, he also showed men the art of medicine
It is not a cry in the dark,
a wail to those who love me,
a breakdown made of tears and apologies
and ‘why is this happening to me’s.
Instead, my grief is a silent killer.
It suffocates me in the night.
I feel it poison my lungs
every time I draw in breath.
I feel it wrap its cold dark hands
around my barely beating heart,
squeeze until it needs to gasp to restart
and yet it does not speak.
My grief is silent,
so others think it doesn’t exist.
They look at the unbreakable mask I wear
on my face without realising my insides scream.
They wonder if I ever loved you
the way you needed.
Sometimes they think I am
a heartless thing that never loved you at all.
They think I never deserved you
and refuse to understand the truth of the way I grieve.
They refuse to look at me, the same way Icarus’ father
refused to look at the sun ever again because
a part of him blamed Apollo for never understanding
that Icarus loved him, that he let him plummet and die in the water.
No one ever told him either, that when Icarus fell,
Apollo went insane with grief.
I know, because every night I see the sun God
drown himself in the horizon,
to learn the painful process
of destroying and resurrecting himself
in the myth we naively call Night and Day
that we take for granted as the sun setting and rising
All this so that one day he can defy Olympus’ rule
of never resurrecting a mortal for Icarus,
the only mortal who ever dared to loved him enough
to fly close to him but drowned instead, in the ocean’s deep.
[If he ever learns to resurrect mortals
the way he resurrects himself
Apollo’s favourite sight would always be Icarus rising
the way he does every morning, whole again from the sea.
And my favourite memory seared in my mind by
my aching, ever destroying, never ending grief
the kind of grief that Apollo and I know intimately
will be your sleep warm body softly breathing next to me.]
Nikita Gill, Why the Sun Rises and Sets: A Mythological Retelling/ Truths about Grief