Mimike M. Mountainwater

The Girl in the Locked Room

Wed, 17 Jul 2024 03:19:48 +0000

The Girl in the Locked Room – Reviewed 8 July 2024

The Door

The Girl in the Locked Room by Mary Downing Hahn is a middle grade story about twelve-year-old, Jules Aldridge, and a little girl’s ghost trapped in a room.

I noticed the parallel between the two young girls right away in how lonely they both were in different ways. The girl’s ghost had been in a locked room for over a century, and Jules’ family moved around a lot because of her father’s, Ron, job restoring historic houses.

The tension between Jules and her father was clear from the beginning at how fed up Jules was about living like a nomad – changing schools, constantly making new friends, falling behind in school, etc. Having changed schools a lot when I was a kid myself, my heart went out to Jules so it was nice to see how mom tried to get Ron to understand how Jules felt.

Unfortunately, Jules’ dad just couldn’t fathom the concept of putting down roots somewhere since he loved traveling and seeing the world so much. While I could see dad’s view, I still felt how Ron’s inability to acknowledge his own daughter’s unhappiness definitely had his character coming across as selfish to me.

And though mom did try to support Jules’ desire to settle down, mom (and dad – no surprise there) only dismissed the paranormal things that Jules saw. However, their nonchalant reactions to the strange things Jules was experiencing made more sense to me later but, at the same time, I did end up feeling worse for Jules where her parents were concerned.

But, then again, ghost stories are creepier when the main character feels alone, and I thought Hahn did a great job of setting up that isolated feeling with Jules. However, I do also feel it’s worth noting this ghost story did come across as quite subtle in the creepy department to me, but I also thought it was definitely appropriate for its middle grade audience.

One of the reasons I felt the creepy factor was subtle was because Jules’ fear of the ghost in the locked room did fade into more of a curiosity and then desire to help the ghost, who was troubled by her own long-dead past. I loved how Jules’ and the ghost’s dynamic morphed and how what I thought would happen between them was nothing like how I thought it would go. I also enjoyed wondering if the real life little girl Jules met, Maisie Sullivan, would turn out to be a good friend to Jules or not.

Though the creepy factor was pretty mild for me, which I figured it would be since it was a middle grade story, I still very much loved reading this book and smiled to myself at the end.

Lab Girl

Tue, 14 May 2024 04:50:42 +0000

Lab Girl – Reviewed 14 May 2024

Discovery

Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

Though I am not a scientist, I absolutely loved Lab Girl by Hope Jahren.

I was initially drawn more to the nature aspect of this book and found the author had laid out her story in chapters that went back and forth between her personal life and plants. This setup was very interesting for me because the result was like a marriage between a memoir and a textbook that I wasn’t expecting but one that I ended up thoroughly enjoying.

As a young girl, Jahren was first exposed to the literary world through her literature major mother and this knowledge only kept growing as the author got older and expanded on it through her English classes. The benefits of all this literature had me picturing the sun’s rays shining on water as I read in how much I came to love her writer’s voice.

But no matter which way Jahren went in a chapter, science was always the star throughout. The sense of home the author felt for the scientific field shined through into my layman’s world and made me think, at times, that I was missing out on something special by not having become a scientist myself. Be that as it may, I still appreciated the author’s endless love for the laboratories she built, and I came to deeply respect her search for understanding of the world in them:

“I tried to visualize a new environmental science based not on the world that we wanted with plants in it, but on a vision of the plants’ world with us in it.”

I utterly loved this perspective that Jahren took in her experiments. One reason is because whenever the author anthropomorphized plants, I always adored the connections she was trying to make between people and nature by inviting any readers’ minds to look at things differently – to pause for a minute and ponder things one, more than likely, wouldn’t have thought twice about otherwise. Such as, why can’t a plant come up with an idea, too? Or when plants died, why can’t we say, “Someone died?” Because, after all, “What comes first is a question, and you’re already there… So let me tell you some stories, one scientist to another.”

This last connection that Jahren made early on in her prologue resonated a lot with me because I saw it didn’t matter I wasn’t really a scientist and that this book wasn’t going to be complicated for someone like me to read. Simultaneously, I also saw how it signaled to those readers who were scientists that Jahren’s memoir/textbook wasn’t going to dive deep into the scientific realm that people like the author are all so passionate about.

For me, I then felt like the prologue did one major job – to bring scientists and nonscientists together. And I loved how Jahren did that because I wanted to feel more connections that I wouldn’t normally feel and, right away, I wondered how else the author was going to do this. Because by the end of the prologue, in my view, all any Lab Girl reader really needed was an open mind and a sense of wonder for discovery.

Another place where I felt that link again was when Jahren was talking about trying to find some of the universe’s smaller secrets. “I knew instinctively that if I was worthy of a small secret, I might someday be worthy of a big one.” When the hackberry pits whispered their small secret to Jahren, I want to say I felt just as ecstatic as she must’ve felt… to be given such a gift and understand, as much as my nonscientific mind could, just how momentous that point in time was for the author.

But what made that moment even better was how Jahren shared her finding with Bill Hagopian – her close friend, lab manager and devoted, brilliant scientist. Personally, I was happy to find that more often than not, whenever Bill was around, a laugh was almost always on the horizon. I loved seeing how their friendship started and grew and how they supported one another. They typically brought out the best in each other, especially in the lab and in the field, but there were also mischievous moments that surprised me. I couldn’t help but smile at these parts as we only live once.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows as I also felt Jahren’s worry over Bill’s salary that extended into job security for anyone in the lab, the sexist atmosphere she experienced as a female scientist at times, her own longing for the “… soft love of a mother or the fond approval of a grandmother,” and her struggles with manic-depressive episodes.

Burrowing a deeper love for nature and blooming another for science, Lab Girl, was an endearing, unforgettable experience that I will gladly return to again and again like a favorite picture book I could never get tired of.

***

For anyone interested in reading more about the CLIPT Stable Isotope Laboratory, or CLIPT-lab (CLimate Interpretation of Plant Tissues), the Department of Geosciences at the University of Oslo has a wonderful article called, “The CLIPT lab celebrates its 3-year anniversary at UiO” by Gunn Kristin Tjoflot. The article was first written back in 2021.

Alternatively, if you’re more of a visual learner, Hagopian did take the time to make some short videos “… available at YouTube explaining the CLIPT-lab and the use of stable isotopes as a research tool,” (Tjoflot). For convenience, all 5 videos are shared below.

Swarm

Tue, 14 May 2024 01:50:13 +0000

Swarm – Reviewed 22 Apr 2024

Interfectorem Papilionem

Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

I liked the apocalyptic feeling of a bio-horror thriller this time around for my reading versus something with zombies or vampires (though I do love both), so I checked out Swarm by Jennifer D. Lyle.

My shiny new toy turned out to be a slow burn, which I don’t mind provided the payoff is worth the wait. As someone who reads across age groups, I did feel like this story could’ve fit better for a middle grade audience rather than YA, just minus the swearing parts.

Given that, I think if someone is looking for more gore or violence in an end of the world kind of feeling, then probably Swarm isn’t going to satisfy that kind of reader. Though, what I felt were more like blips of gore/violence could very well be the right amount for someone else. In my opinion, Swarm would definitely be okay for someone just opening the door to this. Despite how I felt about what came across as more of a PG rating for me, I thought the book was written well and flowed very nicely. All things considered, I came to think this was still a good read after I got passed my own ideas of what to expect.

Now, for the main course…

The story was told entirely from teenager, Shur Riordan’s, point of view and mostly took place at the house she lived in with her mom, twin brother, Keene, and their pre-kindergarten brother, Shawn. Shur and Keene’s teenage friends, Jenny and Nathan, were also trapped in the house with them.

At first, I was a little disappointed the story never strayed from Shur’s perspective. I thought there’d be a medical point of view in better understanding the killer butterflies, or interfectorem papilionem (their Latin name and a brief TV interview between the CDC and the press is really as close as the reader gets to anything science related), at some point versus mainly the teenagers’ theories and experiences with the new species.

But, as I read, this single perspective restriction transformed what I’d initially felt was missing for someone like me into my feeling confined right along with Shur in not being able to see things from anyone else’s viewpoint. I ended up loving the effect this had on me, and I decided I liked this much better than any medical perspective there could’ve been because then I felt like I was right there with Shur.

But in case being stuck in a house sounds a little boring to some potential readers, I didn’t feel like this was the case at all. Personally, I liked how mom was holed up at work and that I was left just as much in the dark and worried about her as Shur and her brothers had been. And because of mom’s absence, I liked how the teenagers were forced to come up with their own solutions whenever things went south. In this respect, I think four-year-old Shawn, or Little, definitely made the four teenagers more mature, thoughtful and braver than what they might’ve been had his very young character not existed.

But it wasn’t like things were perfect between the four young adults either because, obviously, they all had their own opinions, temperaments and personalities. But Shur’s character heightened the existing tension and unknowns from the sudden situation at hand since she was already on meds due to her anxiety, panic attacks and paranoia. On top of that, Shur wasn’t always the best at consistently taking them.

Though, interestingly enough, I did end up feeling like there could’ve been more there somehow…

Whatever that impression was, none of what was going on stopped the little crush that bloomed between Shur and Nathan. This was more downplayed than anything though, which I thought was good because I didn’t think it stole the show from the killer butterflies at all. In fact, I enjoyed the added complications of their dynamic, especially when things ended up going downhill between them.

However, the climax of a story is kind of a big deal for me and this is where I did feel like the slow burn kind of fizzled out instead of fire working. But, of course, that could just be me and my own personality of what I tend to look forward to. Still, I very much enjoyed the humor that was peppered throughout the book. One of my favorite parts in this happened between Shur and Jenny:

“You’re such a killjoy.”

“That’s my actual job,” I say. “Killing joy. You kill monsters; I kill your buzz. It all evens out.”

Lol, that was great.

One thing I really loved seeing was how Shur grew in the story. I thought her anxiety was a lot worse in the beginning but had improved by the end. It wasn’t gone by any means, but I still felt like Shur was going in the right direction and getting there because she seemed like a stronger, more confident person. It made me happy for her to think that her anxiety would someday be just a memory. In this regard, I can see how the killer butterflies’ abrupt appearance wasn’t entirely a bad thing where Shur was concerned.

This, in turn, made me appreciate how the author got me to feel invested in her characters as if they were real. In my little world, this is then always a good story no matter how I felt at the beginning of it. In this way, it felt like the book and I grew together, and I loved that.

The Cellar

Mon, 13 May 2024 22:38:38 +0000

WARNING – HORROR CONTENT

The Cellar – Reviewed 21 Apr 2024

The Perfect Family

Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

I was in the mood for a disturbing story, so I picked up The Cellar by Natasha Preston since it was about the disappearance of sixteen-year-old Summer Robinson. The kidnapper, Colin Brown, a.k.a. Clover, kept Summer and three other girls he deemed worthy of being beautiful, pure and innocent in his obsessively tidy but hidden hideaway in the basement of his home.

Told from the perspectives of Summer, Clover and Summer’s boyfriend, Lewis, the first chapter started out with Summer’s point of view. Her abduction happened right away, and I loved how one minute Summer was living her normal life and the next minute she was fighting for it.

However, I also felt like Summer had the opportunity to fight back better here because even though Clover did surprise her, who he renamed Lily as he was taking her, he didn’t drug Summer or restrain her when he got her into his van. He was even busy driving. At that point, I couldn’t help but think, Summer couldn’t do more to get away with all these freedoms? And why was Clover giving Summer so much leeway anyways?

But then I thought, okay. Summer’s in shock, her world’s just turned upside down and fear can be a powerful thing – I get that. Still, from the style of the writing itself, I got the feeling this story wasn’t going to be as intense or as well-written as I’d originally thought it would be. Maybe this book ended up flopping for me because I’d just read Travels in Siberia and The Onion Girl not that long ago. I think since, in my opinion, both of those authors had done such a wonderful job with their writing that when I went from them to Preston, it just felt like The Cellar could’ve used more work to make the promising premise of this more creepy, more natural and more invested for a reader – at least, that’s how it came across to me.

Because the way Lily, Clover and Lewis all acted and the things they said felt off for me throughout the entire book. Combine that with how the story jumped between the present and the past (though this time shift was clearly labeled with whoever’s perspective it was), all of it together just felt like it didn’t flow very well for me. Ultimately, I found the story to be choppy and this detracted from that dark and twisted atmosphere I’d been looking for this time around in my reading.

To be fair, I did like how Clover renamed all four girls as different flowers and addressed them as such. Because in addition to Lily/Summer, there was Rose, Poppy and Violet, but I wasn’t sure why Clover settled on four girls since his point of view never explained that.

One thing that popped into my head to fill in that blank was how Colin chose to call himself Clover around the girls he kidnapped. Since four leaf clovers are rarer and considered good luck, maybe that’s why Clover liked the number four? Because the girls were lucky that he “saved” them? Because, in his mind, Clover was protecting them by bringing them into the “perfect” family he’d always wanted away from the silence/emptiness of his own loneliness. This could’ve been why Clover liked the number four since he did feel pride in creating the cellar for his Flowers. But, then again, maybe it had nothing to do with the girls, and Clover just thought of himself as the lucky one to finally have what he felt he was owed?

At any rate, I also liked how Clover kept the girls’ respective flowers in vases and how he expected his Flowers to keep the plants alive despite the lack of sunlight. This showed another way of how Clover’s mind worked and how unreasonably demanding he could be, especially when he expected his Flowers to clean up the dead prostitute’s bodies whenever he killed them in the cellar. But as awful as that sounds, it was the way it all happened that kept taking that awful feeling away. Instead, as the book went on, all the murders and blood shed only chipped away at the idea of awful that I’d started with until this feeling was entirely gone, which was an unexpected effect for me.

I think this happened because a penknife definitely wasn’t an impressive weapon to use for murder, but it didn’t have to be if the killing itself had been more believable. Because I didn’t think one stab in the gut with this kind of weapon was going to finish the job as quick as it did in the story – at least not for a little while depending on where Clover stabbed the women in the belly. Because unless he’s eviscerating them along with that single stab or stabbing the women in their hearts instead, it just felt like the women he killed died way too fast for what he did. But maybe that’s just me.

Even though the way Clover killed wasn’t all that for me, why he used the penknife still could’ve run much deeper to balance out how I was feeling about this story. Personally, I would’ve liked to have seen more with that penknife beyond the obvious fear of Clover’s killing with it in front of the Flowers. After all, readers get the benefit of Clover’s perspective at times, and I was hoping this would be maximized on to bring someone like me back from meh. At the end of the day, I’d picked up this story for its horror aspect, basically for Clover, and I was looking for what his demented idea of a perfect family really was. I wanted to be surprised with something dark and twisted that went out of the ballpark of what the Flowers thought.

But this never happened.

Despite that disappointment, I did think it was interesting how Clover always had the more seasoned girls explain things to any new Flower and gave the newbies time to adjust to their new “family” before he raped them, which he really saw as his loving them. That was an interesting surprise about Clover because I thought it was different.

At the same time, Clover’s waiting also gave me the impression that if he needed time to “fall in love” with his Flowers versus not waiting before he sexually assaulted them, then he had to have also known on some level that hope of escape still lingered for the girls during this transition. I felt how this could’ve gone somewhere, and I was waiting for more distinction with Clover in this regard in what else he could’ve been doing to ensure he killed the Flowers’ hope of ever being any part of who they’d once been. However, I ended up feeling like there wasn’t anything unique there that really popped out at me.

I also felt the potential for more in how Rose had come to accept the life Clover gave her. After being in the cellar for three years, Rose seemed mostly content to be there. Originally, this presented as another interesting development for me in wanting to see how her brainwashing played out with the other Flowers since they hadn’t given up on anything yet. But this supposed clash in beliefs/desires between Rose and the other Flowers ended up not going anywhere, and I felt let down again that this was the case. Instead, Rose came off as wishy washy instead of too far gone.

Unfortunately, discouragement was becoming all too familiar, but I was still hoping the knitting needles would be different. I was initially surprised Clover was letting the Flowers have pointy objects that could be turned into weapons, and I got that looking forward to seeing how this played out feeling again since I’d been waiting to delve deeper into Clover’s mind. Because I thought maybe the real reason Clover let the Flowers have those knitting needles was because he was testing them. If any of the Flowers used the knitting needles against him, then they were dead. Or maybe Clover was subtly telling the Flowers:

“Here. Have the knitting needles because having them won’t make any difference. The four of you have always outnumbered me down here but you’re all still here even though all I ever have is just my penknife. And now, even when I tease you all with the whispers of escape, you’ll all still be here because dead or alive, with or without hope, my Flowers will always belong to me.”

Ooo, yeah, either one of those things definitely would’ve worked for me. Alas, giving the Flowers the knitting needles was never a test nor subterfuge in Clover’s mind. On top of that, none of the Flowers even thought to use them as weapons despite how close Clover let them get to him. But it didn’t have to be either one of those things that I came up with – just something deliciously deleterious besides his approving of their wanting to knit and wanting to make the Flowers “happy.”

Wait, what? That was why? (Sigh.)

However Clover’s own deeper undercurrents could’ve gone with his Flowers, this would’ve definitely made his character stand out better for me through the rare ingredients of his “recipe” and how those things had gotten there. Because the person Clover came to be was partly due to his so-called mother, since she forced her will on him when he was still a child and took his control and many other things away from him because of what his father did – which, is clearly not fair or right to impose on a child. But I ended up having so many questions there where Colin’s parents were concerned that I didn’t really understand why his past was brought into it when I was left with so many holes from it.

Clearly, I was left wanting in many places and felt left in the dark at times, especially where Clover’s mom was concerned. But I’m pretty sure my let down with this story rings loud enough as it is. I really wish I could give The Cellar a better review, but I just wasn’t feeling this one at all from the way everything came across to me.

Whenever this happens though, I always tell myself the story wasn’t written for someone like me. In all honesty, probably I can sometimes overthink things way too much, too. On the flip side, I loved the book cover image as it was part of what drew me in, and I thought Preston was brave to try to write a serial killer. But, sadly, Clover turned out to be memorable for me in a falling short kind of way. Sorry.

***

I’d like to say thank you to my husband’s co-worker for lending me a wide variety of his knives to choose from. I had to watch a YouTube video to see how one of them worked (of course I did lol), but I actually ended up liking it the most for unusual how it was. As much as I wish I could’ve used it for The Cellar, the black knife ended up feeling like it fit the story the best instead.

The Onion Girl

Mon, 01 Apr 2024 16:36:30 +0000

The Onion Girl – Reviewed 1 Apr 2024

Balance

Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

The Onion Girl by Charles de Lint is the first book I’ve ever read by this author. Though I’d never heard of Jilly Coppercorn before, coming into her story blind at book 8 in the Newford series didn’t mean I felt lost learning about her world, either. In this respect, I felt like the author did a great job for someone like me.

But I think a heads up is warranted for those considering reading this book as it does get into sexual abuse, murder, homelessness, drugs and prostitution. However, on the flip side of these things, I thought de Lint had a wonderful imagination when he shifted over into what he called the “dreamlands.” It wasn’t hard to keep up with how everything worked over there or seeing how this magical faerie world connected to the “World As It Is.”

The characters that were a part of the dreamlands were definitely interesting, especially Jilly’s close friend, Joe Crazy Dog. I really liked him, his background and the things he could do in the dreamlands. But someone I initially didn’t really care for in that other world was Jilly’s gnome friend, Toby. Toby’s sexual nature whenever he was around Jilly bothered me because of her past, and I was surprised Jilly wasn’t more standoffish or curt with the gnome whenever he was like that with her – but maybe that’s just me. Personally, I liked Toby better when he tamed down in this regard and was a better friend to Jilly.

While I was curious about Jilly’s past, current life and the dreamlands she crossed over into, it was Raylene’s life that sucked me in. Readers first meet Raylene in Tyson, Summer 1969 with her best friend, Pinky Miller. For me, this memorable introduction of these two characters felt like they stole the show from Jilly because of how hard their lives were, how they handled those difficulties and how no matter what sour thing happened in their lives, they were as solid as any two birth sisters could be. Their bond made me think about Jilly and how she’d lost out on that kind of love with her own siblings for various reasons. Still, Jilly did seem very close with the circle of friends she chose to be her surrogate family but these relationships didn’t have the same punch for me as Raylene and Pinky’s did.

Though some of the things Raylene and Pinky say and do were sometimes very violent and dark, strangely enough they still had this kind of genuine air about them when it came to their friendship because of their past and how far they’d go for one another at times. For me, it was interesting to see how they brought each other’s monsters out through their friendship, the way they looked at things and the choices they made.

After seeing what Raylene and Pinky were capable of, I was definitely wondering how the confrontation between Raylene and Jilly would go down because of the kind of person Raylene turned out to be. I was really looking forward to this. However, I have to admit I was kind of disappointed instead when it finally happened. In retrospect, it could’ve been because Raylene’s actions felt so out of character for her at that point. Maybe it was because of all the anticipation that’d been built up for me as a reader and what I gravitated to in this story as well as my own personality of how I also enjoy action in my stories. Or perhaps it was just because this was a long book, and I wanted a better climax for staying with it. Regardless of the reason for the confrontational let down I experienced, the ending of de Lint’s work was something I wasn’t dissatisfied with at all. Personally, I loved it.

Clearly, Raylene and Pinky’s story resonated more with me than Jilly and her friends. I thought about this effect too and figured this could’ve happened because of how I hadn’t read the previous seven books and this fact was catching up to me in not really knowing how Jilly’s friends had come into her life, but I still definitely felt how she was at the center. But as I reflected, I also realized Raylene felt more like The Onion Girl to me than Jilly. While I can appreciate how hard it was and still is at times for Jilly to come back from her ugly past and what a bright light she was despite this, in this story, I felt like Raylene grew a lot more in the end than Jilly.

Still, overall I thought The Onion Girl was a really great story, and I’ll be adding it to my book shelf.

Lies We Sing to the Sea

Sun, 31 Mar 2024 19:05:02 +0000

Lies We Sing to the Sea – Reviewed 31 Mar 2024

Reflection

Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

I’ve always enjoyed Greek mythology, so I gravitated to Sarah Underwood’s Lies We Sing to the Sea. Especially, when I read her opening line, “A silent maid braided Leto’s hair into an elaborate crown for her execution.” How could I not keep reading after that?

The story shifted between three different viewpoints – Leto, Melantho and prince Mathias. What made these perspectives a little different for me was how, at times, this change in view happened within the same events versus going to an entirely different place. Another thing I noticed was how there were also instances when I did get a little confused in spots and had to reread things but that could’ve just been me.

Given Greece and homosexuality are intertwined in history, I wasn’t surprised by the same-sex relationship that developed between Leto and Melantho. I didn’t look up what sapphic meant until after I was done reading, but I think it does accurately describe the story in how Leto also later developed feelings for Mathias. As passion and jealousy are also a big part of Greek mythology, I wondered how Melantho would react to sharing Leto’s affections when she found out her girlfriend could be attracted to and intimate with men as well.

As far as Mathias went, he originally came across as a bigger pushover than I thought he should’ve been when it came to Melantho. Not only was Melantho far below the prince’s station as Leto’s supposed maid, but Mathias wouldn’t understand where Melantho’s rude attitude for him was coming from. Throw in how the prince didn’t know anything about Melantho’s powers to be afraid of her and overlook her disrespectful treatment of him, it just felt like he had zero command presence for someone as close to the top of the pyramid as he was. For awhile, it seemed Melantho was walking all over Mathias and this made him feel weak to me despite their extremely different hierarchy and the power he was supposed to have through it.

However, it was also obvious Mathias adored Leto. This made that wimpy part about Mathias’ character more understandable for someone with his power because then I could see he’d want to please Leto – and one of the ways he could do that would’ve been through his patience with Melantho since Mathias saw how important she was to Leto. Plus, it was clearly shown how Mathias was also racked with guilt about Ithaca’s twelve sacrifices that were made annually to Poseidon. I eventually saw how this could’ve also had a part in why Mathias put up with Melantho’s treatment of him if he was trying, in this small way, to atone for his part in the deaths of all the marked girls that he participated in.

Interestingly enough, I did later become upset with Melantho in how she kept treating Mathias because all she could ever see was her own viewpoint when it came to him throughout most of the story. No one is perfect and Mathias did not start the curse, but he was still desperately trying to end it for Ithaca’s families. But the anger and blame Melantho put on Mathias made a lot more sense to me later and was resolved.

While I do agree with how Lies We Sing to the Sea is described as sapphic, I think to say it’s a “sapphic reimagining of the Odyssey” isn’t quite right. For me, this description felt like it distracted from the merits of the story because I found out after I was done reading that the author had admitted she hadn’t read/finished reading the Odyssey when she wrote this story. I can definitely see why this would become an issue for some readers.

However, even if Underwood had read Homer’s entire epic poem, there are a lot of interpretations and meanings of the Odyssey and the author’s story would’ve hinged on one of those. Given this and how we all have our own opinions and feelings, I think there probably would’ve been some discord about something anyways even if Underwood had finished the Odyssey because of however things come to mean for each of us and what we’re looking for in a story. But to be fair and as a writer myself, I couldn’t help but wonder, when does it come into play that every author obviously has their own vision of what he/she wants their story to be?

Ultimately, the fact of whether or not Underwood finished reading the Odyssey didn’t matter to me because, in my mind, Lies We Sing to the Sea isn’t a reimagining of the Odyssey. Because if I look at it that way, then Underwood not reading Homer’s epic poem becomes a huge red flag and makes me think, who are you to write about this when you didn’t put the time and effort into making the story reflect this kind of description and have it be more accurate and believable in this regard? Especially when, in all honesty, I already felt like the author could’ve brought more of the customs of the time into her story just for those accuracy and believability parts. But, then again, I’m sure my own interests in history and Greek mythology are making me a little biased in this respect.

Though I personally would’ve enjoyed more of that aspect had it been done, I don’t think the breeze of customs/traditions deterred from the story just because of how I felt about it like the way a “sapphic reimagining of the Odyssey” did. But I also think the way readers look at Underwood’s story in this respect can be subjective, so I threw out the “reimagining of the Odyssey” part of Lies We Sing to the Sea altogether. Because then I’m free to make my own connections about how the story is a link to contemporary concerns about violence against women. In this context, and again in my mind, then it doesn’t matter if Underwood read the Odyssey or not when she still guided her audience to stop and think about how the mistreatment of women keeps echoing throughout time no matter how much of it passes.

However one chooses to look at Lies We Sing to the Sea, I thought it was still an interesting story worthy of reflection.

Travels in Siberia

Thu, 07 Mar 2024 17:53:19 +0000

Travels in Siberia – Reviewed 7 Mar 2024

Kaleidoscope

Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

I thought reading Travels in Siberia by Ian Frazier was a marinating experience as it was the culmination of trips to Russia over the span of about twenty years.

The author spent a lot of time reading other books about Russia and tied in some of those things with his travels in what he wanted to see. Frazier also delved into historic events that I felt enriched his journey as I loved how it gave the book a grandparent’s viewpoint at times in how things had changed. Long before I got to the end, Travels in Siberia left me feeling like the author had created this kind of poetic atmosphere with his analogies, thoughts and experiences of every possible aspect that is Siberia.

While I chose to focus on some of my most favorite things the author talked about, there are also not so fabulous parts about Russia – as is true of any country. Of course, history is sometimes filled with the worst of what people do to each other and Siberia is no different in this respect. It was not surprising to read about how the quiet echoes of the past reverberated through the deserted prison camps that are there. I definitely felt these whispers in how much Frazier pushed to see one of those camps but how he kept coming up short when his travel companion, Sergei, steadfastly refused to take him to one. But when readers finally do get to come with Frazier to a lager, the present leaves its own enduring mark in the way walking through the abandoned prison camp came across to the author. Fast forwarding to today, “A Russian friend told me, half seriously, that women have become Russia’s second-leading export, after oil.” The effects of climate change that Russia contributes to in their own ways can be seen in the oil-field workers, sleep-deprived bears and “drunken forests.” Unseen, “When I swam in Baikal, I did not realize that it had warmed 2.8 degrees in the last century, or that the amount of chlorophyll was three times what it used to be.”

And yet…

I am forever indebted to Frazier for forewarning his readers about the insanity of the restrooms in Omsk, which utterly surprised me in a horribly gross manner and yet still had a laughable effect for me about the “inexpugnable” things the author chose to share about them – and left the rest up to my own imagination as to what he could’ve possibly left out. Thank you, Mr. Frazier, for that thoughtful consideration lol. Still, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the author’s humor did not end in chapter 3 where he and Katya tried to recover from their restroom horrors but was weaved throughout his travels to the very end like color splash in a room. Chapter 3 was also memorable for me in how by the end of it, I was starting to understand the infatuation Frazier felt about Russia.

Personally, I enjoyed reading about the Russian language itself and was impressed by how much time the author spent on trying to learn and speak it as best he could. I liked discovering the poet, Velimir Khlebnikov, who Harvard University Press quoted on their website as “the world’s wild highwayman.” In line with other Russian authors I enjoyed exploring were Zoshchenko, Karms and Bulgakov.

Other journeys that touched me ranged from cemeteries to the “little grandmother of the Russian Revolution” to places like Whalebone Alley and the lovely sounding winter garden of Severobaikalsk, which nursed a couple of unlikely animals in the area back to health. I thought these were wonderful stories that Marina Tabakova recounted for the author, and I’m glad Frazier’s notes about them were so thorough. While there were many more noteworthy memories of other landscapes, seas and events, the winter garden in Severobaikalsk was one of my most favorite things to read about.

But what is travel without food? I couldn’t help but also enjoy reading about the delicious sounding dishes like pozhe, shashlik, ukha, borscht, omul’ and kielbasa (which of these do I try out first?). And just as the author had teased my taste buds, he also made my eyes cringe from some of Siberia’s more chromatic colors and made me grimace from all the crazed determination of blood thirsty mosquitoes. In between all those snacks, the author elicited smiles in how he didn’t overlook the petite loveliness of the petushok (a tiny wildflower) or how the village of Ust’-Mana had appeared in a couple of Russian films, which was a cool tidbit for me to read about since I love movies so much. Complete with how Russia smelled, Frazier made sure he kept touching on his sensory experiences from time to time throughout his travels.

As full as my senses felt, it is embarrassing to admit my knowledge about this part of the world is anything but that. I’ve never once thought about how the U.S. and Russia have shared a border through the Diomede islands until now, which I learned is only about two or so miles wide between Big Diomede and Little Diomede – so close to each other and yet so far. For me, this divide extended to how I’d also never heard of Decembrist shackle rings and bracelets before or any of the songs and dances that reflected the land’s past, either. Learning about these things made me feel humbled by my lack of knowledge about them.

When I read about “vezdekhots – tracked vehicles sort of like tanks; their name means ‘go everywhere,'” I definitely felt the pull to drive one. Having driven all kinds of vehicles in my life, my desire to add this one to my “collection” felt appropriate. But then I read how it took the tundra twenty-five years to heal from the tracks these vehicles made, and the allure I’d initially felt faded in knowing I couldn’t do that to the earth. I feel like I do enough damage to her as it is already with my own every day driving and energy consumption.

In happier honesty (a feeling the author translated to me through his own candid admissions at times) through separate driving notes, I can’t help but point out how amazed I was by Sergei’s ability to fix anything that broke down on their van along the way. I was also impressed by how the author’s other travel companion, Volodya, jump started their van when they were parked on a hill. Despite all the oncoming traffic, Volodya drove it backwards downhill amidst many car horn blasts until the engine caught. This holding of my breath moment made me wish I could’ve been there to see this albeit dangerous but extraordinary feat.

Other things I loved hearing about were some of the Siberian animals such as their stubborn cows, Baikal seals, kittiwakes, bychki (spiky little fish), kosulya (small taiga deer), glukhar (wood grouse) as well as the author’s thoughts about bird behavior in regards to the Mongols. This part about how “ruminative” the ravens and crows of Russia seemed in comparison to American birds of the same was particularly interesting for me to read about. While Frazier did also eventually talk about sobols, or sables, I was hoping he’d see one and describe the moment here. Alas, I found this was not the case until much later, but I thought that high was very much worth the wait when it finally happened. Outside of the animals, I found the geology and paleontology of Yakutia also magnetic.

But it wasn’t just reading about all these things and more that made me pause at times and reflect. It was the unforgettable people along the way and those long gone that transported me not just in place but in time. Suffice it to say, Travels in Siberia, ended up fascinating me with all the strata of a timeless world I’d love to see for myself one day…

minus the restrooms of course.

Into the Looking Glass

Sun, 25 Feb 2024 15:33:37 +0000

Sculpture of Ceres photo courtesy of Fernando Gutiérrez
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“Into the Looking Glass”

Ferocity flowed through Ceres as the wind whipped loose strands of her long, curly black hair across her face. She looked out upon the recovering lands of Sicily as her cat’s eye sillimanite-colored dress danced swiftly across her body.

She wanted to destroy something.

The goddess of agriculture clenched her jaw in reflexively coming here from Capitoline Hill to do it… but what just happened with Minerva wasn’t the greenery’s fault this time, and she resisted the urge to wither the growing things into famine like she had a month ago.

A stronger wind whipped her ankle-length dress to eye level, and she listened to the snaps within its ruffles before the gust calmed enough for it to settle near her bare feet once more. She absently straightened her corn husk crown and felt the dried lavender woven within as she breathed deep, exhaled and reflected.

Ceres had spent the past month planning for every hurdle she could think of after Proserpina had finally told her about the pomegranate seed dilemma. The fury then was very similar to now for she’d expected a swift resolution to Pluto’s despicable treachery.

Instead, Minerva’s denial of her thoughtful gift had thwarted those apparently ridiculous high hopes. She pursed her lips at still recovering from that unexpected moment as her thoughts drifted to how she’d punished the growing things.

Pluto had told the plants who’d witnessed her daughter’s kidnapping that he’d chain them to the underworld for all eternity if they pulsed the truth out to anyone. While Ceres reluctantly admitted Pluto’s threat was a dismal one, she hadn’t exactly appreciated how the plants had still let her scour the world in vain for Proserpina because of their selfish decision for silence.

But Ceres had made it very clear through some of their deaths that none of the plants in the world were ever to do such a thing again. She’d given her word to every plant and seed she’d forever protect them for their honesty in the future. Reminded them she was the ruler of them all and no one else. And if the growing things doubted that, well, they knew what would happen for their lack of faith now.

The goddess of agriculture’s body relaxed a little at that correction, and she brought her focus back to the present.

Statue photo courtesy of Hert Niks
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Minerva was the goddess of wisdom and war strategies and that fact had naturally drawn Ceres to her to address the pomegranate seed problem. They also shared the symbol of grain and, for the goddess of agriculture, this familiarity bonded them in ways that just didn’t exist for her with anyone else – except her daughter and son.

But, most importantly, Minerva was the goddess of school children. All of these most important things were why Ceres had chosen to seek out her friend’s aid first. Even so, her own unique, handmade gift of oblivion’s cure from the rainforests of the earth had still been rejected.

Perhaps her own vast time spent among humans had inadvertently clouded her judgment with Minerva? Maybe she shouldn’t have focused so much on the mortals with her offering to the goddess?

But out of everything Ceres had observed of humans over the centuries, oblivion was the hardest ailment for her to watch them go through. It was bad enough they could look at their families like strangers but even their gods and goddesses? It felt like a knife through her heart after everything she’d done for them.

And because of this feeling, Ceres had honestly thought oblivion’s cure would ensure Minerva’s alliance with her to find a solution for the repulsive predicament Proserpina was in because she knew how much Minerva loved and valued knowledge. The goddess of agriculture had initially felt so confident it was the perfect favor for Minerva in more ways than one…

instead, it hadn’t been the right approach after all.

She shook her head as if the action itself could help her stop reliving that unpleasant moment of rejection. Still, Ceres could grudgingly admit how the way Minerva handled the situation had been like a soothing poultice. Regardless, it wasn’t enough for her to accept even a heartfelt dismissal. She couldn’t as the fear in her daughter’s deep emerald eyes returned to memory.

Ceres closed her own chestnut-colored eyes flecked with the many colors of the soil; specks that reminded her of the Milky Way galaxy. And as that image formed in her mind…

Galaxy During Nighttime photo courtesy of Alexandra Karnasopoulos
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Ceres felt the searing wound in her chest ease. She even smiled, but it was only half-hearted as the sadness and longing for what once was took over again. What she had to do now was like searching the world for Proserpina all over again but, thankfully, her daughter was safe with her now.

Except her adopted daughters, the nymphs, stayed with Proserpina night and day. Not only to safeguard her firstborn but to help her daughter tend to the plants of the earth while she searched the planet once more. As hard as it was to be separated from Proserpina again so soon, it wasn’t only voluntary this time but necessary.

There had to be a way to break the wretched bond that’d been created between her daughter and Pluto, but she knew such a feat couldn’t be done alone. Without another goddess or god’s aid, her daughter had only four short months left before Proserpina had to return to the underworld for the rest of the year.

Ceres squeezed her hands into fists at that cut and felt how much Pluto’s selfishness and betrayal still stung her. She couldn’t imagine the feeling ever fading as she melted into the ground.

Brown Tree Branch on Wooden Surface photo courtesy of Cottonbro Studio
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The goddess of agriculture felt her body slowly relax in the familiarity and coolness of the dirt as she listened to the soft voices of the plants communicating all around the world. They helped her shed some of what plagued her, and her racing heart quieted. She and the myriad soil were a part of one another just as surely as Proserpina was her daughter.

Ceres quietly rose to the surface and now heard only the plants of those she could see. She placed her light brown, bare feet on the lush land of the forest at Lake Nemi. She drew in the welcome smell of fig trees and strawberries as she made fists with her toes and felt her toe rings caress the surface with her feet. Ceres let the greenery’s softness shush the budding doubt that’d been created with Minerva’s refusal.

The goddess of agriculture breathed deeply and slowly as she listened to the last of the chunks and particles of dirt finish rolling and hopping across the ground to close the small hole she’d just made as if it never were and thought.

The goddess of wild animals and the hunt was also a protector of children. Naturally, this guardianship had made Diana her next choice as Ceres walked towards the nearby volcanic lake.

Though she knew no gift would be required to obtain Diana’s help, she’d brought one anyways. After Minerva’s snub, she was relieved she had the foresight to have been ready for just such a possibility. Ceres hoped it’d be better received this time but felt the small knots in her belly tighten.

“What brings the goddess of agriculture to Italy?”

Ceres turned and smiled when she saw Diana.

Fontana di Diana in Piazza Archimede in Syracuse photo courtesy of Casey Lovegrove
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The goddess of the hunt wore her own ankle-length dress but hers had side slits that stopped only inches below her waist. Diana wore a sleeveless top too but hers had knots at the shoulders and let Ceres see the goddess’s strong, sun-kissed arms. She couldn’t help but notice how Diana’s auburn hair complemented the burnt umber of her dress quite well. As the two got closer, Ceres approved of the small splashes of greenery woven into parts of Diana’s hair.

“You heard about what happened with my daughter and Pluto?” Ceres said, purposely withholding the god’s title of King as she let Diana embrace her.

“A most unfortunate incident. I’m very sorry it happened at all.”

Ceres felt some of the knots in her belly ease as she linked an arm with Diana’s and steered them towards the volcanic lake.

“Thank you for saying that.”

They walked slowly as Ceres listened to the natural sounds around them, and they drew closer to the shining waters. The goddess of agriculture felt the desire to get lost within the forest’s music, but she stopped them instead and carefully pulled out several razor-sharp, dazzlingly glossy rocks from her thick, leather belt.

The stones were shaped like arrowheads and had taken her a full day to create. Ceres held her hard work out and watched as Diana took her favor and studied the intricately etched pieces, but she couldn’t tell if her friend was pleased or not by her offering.

“Lustrous pieces of the earth and moon herself combined as one. A gift certainly like no other. What do you wish for such a rare token in return?”

Flint-knapped Arrow photo courtesy of James St. John
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Knapper: Chris Miller

The voices of the nearby plants faded into nothing as Ceres’ indignation returned but her heart skipped a beat with yearning hope. “Proserpina shouldn’t have to suffer any time with that heathen, but I need your help to free her.”

“And what is it you think I can do for your daughter now? The pomegranate seeds have bound Proserpina to King Pluto forever.”

Ceres narrowed the space between them. “No. There must be a way to undo it. There has to be.”

“Tell that to Atlas.”

“How can you not even try? You are a protector of children!”

The silence between them stretched as Ceres frowned at the strange look upon Diana’s face. She swallowed thickly at how quiet the goddess’s voice became.

“Ceres… Proserpina is no longer a child. She is old enough to make her own decisions.”

The goddess of agriculture narrowed her galaxy eyes and stepped back. “She is still my child. And had my daughter not been starving, that savage wouldn’t have been able to trick her into eating the pomegranate seeds!”

“It doesn’t change the fact she is of age.”

Diana brought the unique stones to her heart, but Ceres could see what was coming in the huntress’s expression. The goddess of agriculture glanced at the forest as if breaking eye contact could somehow stop the inevitable, as if the plants could somehow step in and change Diana’s mind before it became real.

But the lingering hope she’d read Diana wrong was crushed when her so-called friend held her offering back out to her in rejection. For several stinging breaths, all Ceres could do was stare at the arrowheads in Diana’s open hand.

The unique combination of select minerals from the earth and salts of the moon had not only created an exquisite and rare gift, but it’d also been her subtle way of nudging Diana towards the decision she’d wanted her to make. What better way to do that when she herself was of the land and Diana the moon? But Diana had sided with Minerva instead…

had sided with that barbarian.

Her growing desperation and crestfallen feelings suddenly flared into anger as Ceres snatched her offering from the goddess of wild animals. Apparently, Diana had spent far too long among such creatures to support Pluto now instead of her.

“You and Minerva are more alike than I care to see.”

“I wish you could see more my friend.”

Nature photo courtesy of Joe
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Ceres clenched her jaw as she commanded the arrowheads to the center of the crater’s lake, and they dashed to their new underwater home like a flash of lightning.

Perhaps their known presence could still burrow their way into Diana changing her mind but, for now, she wanted nothing more than to be far away from Diana’s Mirror. Ceres sunk hastily into the ground before more of how she felt flowed from her words and sped towards the realm of Forever Sea and Ice.

The goddess of love and beauty always surrounded herself with striking things in the world, and the roots of growing things told her Venus was currently admiring the colorful waves of the northern lights. Surely, her old friend would come around despite their current rift…

As she drew closer, Ceres made a cylindrical-shaped wall of soil around herself to keep the freezing waters from clinging to her as she splashed to the surface. The soil crumbled like water dripping as the goddess of agriculture molded the dirt over the calm sea towards a large boulder near Venus.

As Ceres walked, she carved a small part of the stone into a level surface and stepped onto it. She recalled the soil, and the water droplets danced back into the sea. She made a chair with the much softer material and sat. Ceres was hoping if she handled this whole thing right and took a more submissive stance in her body language that Venus could overlook their recent conflict, and she wouldn’t have to visit anyone else.

“You’re wasting your time, Ceres. I have no interest in helping you with your daughter.”

The cold tone in Venus’ voice was clear, but Ceres refused to let it dissuade her as she held an arm out. The stunning jewelry set gracefully tumbled from her leather belt and arranged themselves along her thighs, arms, shoulders and hands. There were hair pieces, earrings, ear cuffs, arm bands, bracelets, hand chains, anklets, toe rings and an impressive necklace that dangled from the tips of her multi-colored, polished fingernails.

Background Pattern photo courtesy of Susan Wilkinson
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“Not even for handcrafted gifts from the heart of the earth?”

Ceres saw the coveted desire in Venus’ lavender eyes and the goddess of agriculture felt the tension in her body as if she were walking a tightrope. She heard the sea gently lapping against the rocks as the goddess of love and beauty stared at the rare jewelry like no other in the world. When Venus took the lavish necklace and put it on, Ceres felt relief flood through her. At last.

“I accept this necklace for your mistake in coming here and bothering me with something that is clearly not my concern.”

In one fluid movement, Ceres withdrew the remaining jewelry and the pieces jammed themselves back into her leather belt all at once. She pursed her lips as she narrowed her eyes, and they glared at one another.

“You are still upset about Adonis?”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe how I still feel. Your daughter was only supposed to care for him until I returned not fall in love with him. Adonis was mine.”

Ceres bit her tongue at what she really wanted to say, and she worked to soften her eyes. “My daughter never intended to look at him like that but such is the way feelings can turn at times. And it wasn’t her fault he was killed by a boar.”

Venus scoffed. “Do you really expect me to believe she didn’t kill Adonis for disobeying King Jupiter’s decree to split his time equally between us? That she didn’t take his life out of jealousy for spending more time with me than her? The precious seasons I’ve lost with Adonis is Proserpina’s fault, because I know it wasn’t just a boar. Adonis was too skilled a hunter for such a meaningless death. It is only justice that your daughter should forever lose time with you now for betraying me.”

Animals Standing in the Dirt photo courtesy of Diane Theresa Hendrick
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Ceres stood, and their eyes shot daggers at each another once more.

“You and I both know that boar could’ve just as easily have been Mars or even Diana! It’s no secret Mars saw Adonis as his rival because he covets you and that Diana never got over your part in Virbius’ death. Besides, you have many lovers! What is just one in comparison to them all? I have only one daughter from my body. Venus, please,” Ceres said, her voice choking in anguish amidst the disdain at being reduced to begging. But her desperation was growing like a poison with every refusal. Another failure?

“He’s still gone no matter who killed him,” Venus said, returning her attention to the sky as her voice dropped to a whisper. “I held him when he died, Ceres. Did you know that? Sometimes, I can still feel him there…”

Ceres’ mouth dropped open as she watched a single tear run down the goddess of love’s exquisite cheek. But Venus kept her eyes on the northern lights as her voice became husky.

“Do you really think jewelry, however unique and beautiful it is, could ever replace him?”

The despairing ache in Venus’ voice made Ceres sigh softly as understanding dawned on her. She didn’t know Venus had loved Adonis as fully and deeply as she loved Proserpina. While the love they both felt was obviously different for those in their hearts, the intensity of it was still the same.

Ceres could see that now for the gaping hole Proserpina’s disappearance had left behind in her was there in the goddess of love now because of Adonis’ death, and she knew there was nothing she could say or do that would ever change Venus’ mind about helping her with her daughter.

But…

Tree Logs Mounted on Sands photo courtesy of Fabien Bazanegue
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perhaps she could begin to mend fences with Venus now for what the goddess believed.

Though Ceres knew in her own heart Proserpina could never do such a thing, it didn’t mean she had to let their opposite views stand in the way of what could be. Ceres recalled the jewelry and offered it all to the goddess of love and beauty once more.

“I know it’s not your heart’s desire, but it is all I have to give to show you how sorry I am for your loss whether or not my daughter is responsible for what happened to Adonis.”

The goddesses locked eyes, and Ceres felt her breath catch in the delicate moment. And then, slowly, Venus accepted the jewelry and even put a few of them on. As Ceres had known the goddess would, Venus looked absolutely stunning. She felt a different kind of relief course through her as the silence between them changed.

The air still echoed with the strain of the past, but it was also more relaxed in a way it hadn’t been when she first arrived. Ceres could feel it. It was almost like the freshness in the air after a rain, and she breathed in the pleasant feeling of it.

“This doesn’t mean I will help you.”

Ceres smiled wanly. “I know. But I hope it means, one day, we can get past this and be close again.”

Venus sighed softly, and she returned her lavender gaze to the dancing sky. “It does.”

The goddess of agriculture nodded with a small smile as her own eyes softened, and she returned to her cocoon of soil. She quietly dipped back into the water and took her time moving through the sea as she thought about how nothing was working out as she’d hoped. Still, she was surprisingly hopeful about the way things had turned out with Venus. As much as she loved Proserpina, she’d missed the goddess of love and beauty’s company since their falling out.

But as nice as that new future felt with Venus, her dread only grew as she got closer to her next destination. She’d purposely traveled slower this time and hesitatingly entered Neptune’s palace at the bottom of the sea. Suddenly, she felt the water pulled from her wall of soil, and her lips parted in surprise.

Bubbles Underwater photo courtesy of Cristian Palmer
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“I’ve made an air bubble for you, Ceres. I remember you get cold easily here,” Neptune said.

Ceres made a doorway through her earth’s shell, cautiously stepped out and glanced around. Everything outside her bubble was blurred from the movements of the water as she took in the numerous sea creatures swimming through the grand palace. Things were the same and different as her gaze slowly wandered until she spotted a herd of seahorses. The animals stripped time away as if centuries hadn’t passed since she’d last seen the god of the seas.

Her heart pounded as she remembered transforming into a horse to hide from Neptune… but she pushed the intoxicating feeling away as she also remembered the cost of it. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and slowly exhaled before she resolutely fixed her gaze upon him. He was still sitting on his glorious throne with his trident standing tall and equally as impressive beside him.

And he seemed to be staring just as intently at her as she was him.

Despite herself, Ceres felt a bolt charge through her. She clenched her jaw and clamped down on that distraction as she quickly refocused. Though it seemed the god of the seas was being more receptive than she’d anticipated after all this time, she couldn’t bring herself to say any words of gratitude for his unexpected welcome. Indeed, after what she’d just felt, it only felt more like a mistake for her to be here at all, and she almost retreated back into her earth’s shell. But the thought of Proserpina spending eternity in the underworld stopped her.

“You’ve been busy since you learned of your daughter’s truth.”

If she didn’t know any better, she’d swore she almost heard the smile in his voice at her being there.

“You know why I’ve come then.”

Neptune maneuvered through the crowds of sea creatures and then he was there hovering before her.

Underwater, Fishes, Atlantis photo courtesy of Simon H.
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Ceres glanced away as if his being that close to her again after all this time didn’t matter. She watched the various ocean animals swim leisurely around them and focused on all the years of pain the ruler of the seas had caused her instead. Coolly, she met his gaze.

“It is good to see you again, Ceres, but I wish you were here because you wanted to be. Since you aren’t, I’ll be clear. Don’t think because we have a son together, and that you kept your word neither of us would raise him, that I’d now betray my own brother for you and a daughter that isn’t mine.”

Anger crushed the stubborn electricity into nothing as she took a heavy step forward and flirted with breaking the air bubble.

“Proserpina is still your niece. And where is the betrayal when I know you’ve deceived Pluto before?” Ceres said. She frowned when she recognized Neptune’s sly smile, and he inched closer to her. She held her ground as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“True, but why should I get involved? It is only by chance King Pluto rules a place none of us wanted and if Proserpina can ease the dismalness of it, then what kind of brother would I be to deny him such a small comfort?” Neptune said and paused as he stared into her eyes.

Ceres suddenly felt that charge again in recognizing the hunger she felt in his stare, and she swallowed thickly. But then Neptune glanced up at the surface and broke the frozen moment. It was so high above them that there was no light coming from that direction – just the light from parts of the city itself and the faint bioluminescence of some of the animals.

“As much as I am glad it is not me in the underworld, it still could’ve just as easily have been me ruling the skies and the heavens. But we all know what is. Here I am ruler of the oceans instead.”

Neptune shook his head and his scarlet eyes glanced around as if he couldn’t see how magnificent his underwater home truly was, and Ceres looked at him incredulously. How could he resent ruling such splendor? And then she felt foolish for thinking she’d seen her own hunger reflected in his eyes when all it’d really been was hunger for more power.

The soil swirled darkly behind her in still not understanding him at all.

Dream, Sphere, Magic photo courtesy of Christian Sternberg
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“Yes, here we are now because you would not allow our air-breathing son to be raised by me. Why do you think I’m so desperate to hold onto Proserpina now? Why do you think I’d still come to you, of all the gods, despite our past? You took my son away from me out of selfish jealousy! You owe me for the pain that’s caused me every day without him.”

Ceres ignored the flash of seeming hurt on his bearded face, watched how his lips tightened and his eyes narrowed, but then he grinned.

“That’s not how favors work, Sea Pearl. Lover, you are supposed to bring me a gift if you want my help for I owe no one anything. You know this.”

Ceres felt the tears sting her eyes as Neptune’s hand broke through the air bubble and reached for hers. Disbelief and anger made her turn the swirling minerals in the soil behind her into tiny barbs, and she stung his brute hand with their sharp bites.

“I would share Proserpina with the likes of Pluto before ever being with you again.”

His gorgeously handsome face deepened into a frown as he pulled his hand away. “Then you have no offering that would ever motivate me to help you now.”

Lava Dripping to Ocean photo courtesy of Buzz Andersen
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Ceres roared as she used the ocean floor to catapult Neptune away from her. The sea creatures chaotically scurried far from her as she destroyed the home he didn’t appreciate by creating a volcano in its place. Only then did she melt back into the ground and let the hum of the earth calm her frayed nerves.

She’d hoped time would’ve erased Neptune’s desire for her away by now. Hoped he’d softened over the years and seen how cruel it was of him to keep Arion away from her, but he was just as selfish and egotistical as he ever was.

The god of the seas had not changed.

How could he ever think she’d return to him knowing that? She shook her head in distaste for she wasn’t stupid enough to lose another child with someone like him for the pain he’d caused her was like no other in the universe…

and it was something she was never going to experience again.

The goddess of agriculture took even more time getting to her next destination than she had getting to Neptune. She had to have a calmer head before she saw Apollo, god of the sun and music, as there was just too much at stake for her to see him in anger.

Ceres focused on Apollo and remembered how she’d very briefly considered something musical for him in honor of his renowned prowess with the art, but she knew it was Cupid’s doing that Daphne had become Apollo’s greatest love. But like all the gods and goddesses, she knew the unfortunate story behind that love.

Always… Cuts
Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

The god of the sun had angered Cupid and though the god of love had blessed Apollo with such intense love for Daphne, Cupid had also sparked deep hatred and disgust in Daphne for Apollo and thus ensured she’d never return the arrogant god’s feelings.

Still, Apollo had chased Daphne to the ends of the earth until she’d finally been too tired to run anymore. In the end, Daphne had asked her father for help. Being a river god, Peneus had done the only thing he could to help his weary daughter – he’d turned her into a laurel tree. After all this time, Ceres knew Apollo’s favorite tree was still that laurel.

Truly, she had to have the perfect gift this time.

The goddess of agriculture found Apollo by the laurel tree that was Daphne. He was playing soft, beautiful music with his tortoiseshell lyre for what had to be the echo of his lost hopes and dreams.

Ceres felt tears burn her eyes at the depth of Apollo’s love for Daphne as it seemed to match her own for Proserpina. She blinked the blurriness away and quietly sat next to him as she waited for the sad love song to finish.

“My twin said you might be visiting me. She said you were upset when you left her.”

Ceres sighed as she stared out at the beautiful world…

Beautiful
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“Diana always did watch out for those she loves.”

“You do not come in anger then?”

Ceres shook her head as she watched Apollo set his tortoiseshell lyre upon the grass. “I came to make you the greatest offer of your reign.”

The god of the sun’s golden eyes moved to the laurel tree and hers followed. For a moment, they sat in silence as she gathered her nerve after such a bold claim and heard Daphne’s curiosity and confusion build.

“And what is it you think you have that I could ever want in return for my help with Proserpina?”

Ceres swallowed thickly. “I can move the laurel tree to Mount Olympus where Daphne could be closer to you. I promise you; she won’t be hurt in the process.”

Apollo put his hand on a root and gently caressed it with his thumb. “Would you stay at Mount Olympus and be an interpreter for us? Daphne can hear me, but I can never hear her…”

Ceres felt her dwindling hope fall deeper into darkness at not anticipating this request. If she stayed at Mount Olympus, then what was the point of moving Daphne if she couldn’t spend time with her own daughter afterwards?

Besides, she knew exactly how Daphne felt about Apollo and nothing had changed. In fact, Ceres knew Daphne loathed all the time the god spent with her – how could she tell Apollo of all the layers of hate that Daphne had for him that’d only gotten worse over time?

It wasn’t Ceres’ first choice, and she heard how some of the laurel’s steaming lava of hate shifted towards her now. But had this gone the way she wanted, she wouldn’t have cared if Daphne had hated her as much as she did Apollo for the end would’ve justified the means. Yet, hope was a powerful thing. It made her hold onto how things could still go her way if she could just find the right words.

“I…” Ceres said and hesitated as she felt defeat burn her galaxy eyes again. “I can’t, Apollo. I still have my responsibilities in tending to the plants of the world. You know that.”

Apollo harrumphed. “And who takes care of that responsibility now while you are here with me?”

“Proserpina is…”

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Apollo scoffed softly and shook his head. “Do you even appreciate the six months you still get to have with the person your daughter still is? No. You are greedy and want her all to yourself. You do not even stop to think about why King Pluto did what he did. There is only how you feel.”

The indignation surfaced again at Apollo’s unwarranted slap. Pluto had kidnapped her daughter and kept Proserpina prisoner in the underworld! But she clenched her jaw to keep from speaking what she felt for the silky thread of a chance he could still be swayed.

“Do you even see how you’ve had the power all this time to move Daphne closer to me but chose only now to offer such an incredible gift?”

Ceres finally glared at the god of the sun. “And what about you, Apollo? Your love for Daphne has made you just as greedy and blind as I if that’s what I am. You should take a look at your own hypocrisy because you can’t be grateful, either! It isn’t enough to have Daphne closer to you but you want me to sacrifice my time indefinitely for you on top of that so you can talk to her as well? No.”

Apollo huffed. “I never thought you’d actually agree to that, Ceres. I just wanted you to see how your own tunnel vision and assumptions have always stood in your way.”

Ceres laughed at Apollo’s hypocrisy as she knew the god’s love for Daphne had long walked a fine line with obsession. In all truth, she’d always felt how Apollo had not only long ago crossed that line but gotten further from it in his compulsion to constantly be near Daphne. Nonetheless, Ceres heard Daphne’s immense relief as the laurel’s molten anger for her fell to steam and kept cooling.

Ceres frowned at not understanding why Daphne seemed to believe Apollo’s words, but the goddess of agriculture finally admitted she was wasting her time with them both. Knowing that only made her own temper flare brighter than before as it meant Proserpina still had to return to the underworld.

She stood and looked angrily down at Apollo. “If I were you, I wouldn’t assume that I’ll stay neutral in the next human war. I can bring plagues to those I do not favor as well, Apollo. Remember that.”

Apollo stood slowly, and Ceres defiantly raised her chin at him.

“The humans love me just as much as they love you, Ceres. It’d be a shame if they were forced to choose between us.”

Ceres took a step towards the god of sun, but she viciously disappeared into the soil instead. She had no intention of starting a fight that’d only get in the way of her purpose now as she reluctantly made her way back to Italy. But this time she couldn’t find any solace in her underground travel as she felt her repeated failures eat away at her.

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The goddess of agriculture hadn’t actually expected her quest to take this long. Indeed, she’d thought an ally would’ve been found by now but here she was still searching for one.

While she was glad she’d been prepared by having thought of all these other offerings beforehand, she was beyond frustrated that she even needed them. And for what? She wasn’t even working with anyone yet to untether Proserpina from forever.

Instead, she was headed for Rome.

She hadn’t been surprised when the plants told her Queen Juno was visiting the ruins of Carthage again. But Ceres couldn’t help but feel defeat’s whisper before it even happened.

What were the right words to get the Queen to see things any differently than the others, especially when she’d consorted with the Queen’s husband behind her back and had Proserpina because of it?

Regret washed through her as small trembles shook her. A wave of anxiety came along for that ride as she cautiously came out of the ground and hesitantly stared at the dilapidated human structure. She should’ve done more to make amends for her mistake when things ended with Jupiter, but she’d felt too much shame and foolishness to try and so she’d done nothing.

But none of those negative feelings stemmed from having Proserpina. She loved her far too much for that and couldn’t imagine her world without her. What she regretted was how she had her – it hadn’t been right.

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But such was the intensity of the way Jupiter had built things up with her. Only now she knew the King of Kings had kept luring her not only because he liked playing games but because he liked challenges. Ceres clenched her jaw as she remembered finally crumbling… time and time again. Remembered how Jupiter’s lies were why she’d run from Neptune later in the first place.

The goddess of agriculture closed her eyes and shook her head as she took a deep breath and exhaled. But the foolish feeling she’d felt then returned tenfold now as she walked to the abandoned dwelling and frowned. Somehow, despite the warmth of the sun, the ruins here were cold. She involuntarily shivered. The shadows of hope dimmed even more as she entered the sad remains of what once was and found Queen Juno sitting in front of an empty fireplace falling apart in the wall.

“Ceres. Whatever gift you thought of isn’t what I truly want.”

The goddess of agriculture walked slowly towards the Queen, kneeled in front of Juno and bowed her head.

“I made no such presumption my Queen. I came hoping I could give you your heart’s desire if you told me what it was,” Ceres said and felt Juno’s fingertips slip underneath her chin as the goddess carefully raised her head.

“A wise decision to treat your Queen differently than the other gods and goddesses. But what makes you think you, out of all of them, could ever give me what I yearn for?”

“I would do anything to free my daughter from Pluto’s underworld. I would find a way to make it so,” but even as Ceres said it, Neptune flashed through her thoughts.

Well, almost anything.

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Juno sat back in her questionable chair, and Ceres tilted her head at the curious look in the Queen’s silver eyes.

“The time when you could’ve done something has already passed, Ceres.”

Ceres frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, unlike my husband, Neptune’s always been in love with you. Pretending otherwise has always been a lie, but it’s finally catching up to you now.”

Ceres felt a chill run through her as she swallowed thickly. “I’m… I’m not really following…”

“Everyone knew I never wanted Carthage to be destroyed. I tried so hard to get Aeneas to stay at queen Dido’s side, but he sailed for Sicily anyways. The time for you to give me my heart’s desire would’ve been when I created the storm at sea to make him go back to her. But you did nothing to distract Neptune from my interfering in his domain. Just as I live within the shadow of something still beloved, so too will you for failing me when I needed you most.”

Ceres felt the tears return but couldn’t hold them back this time as she watched a few of the droplets shatter onto the broken wooden floor. She wiped her cheek and met the silver eyes that gazed matter-of-factly at her. The goddess of agriculture swore she saw something else flutter within Juno’s eyes, but it happened so fast she wasn’t sure. Ceres frowned as she licked her dry lips.

“My Queen, had I been able to see the future, I would’ve set my heartache for the loss of the son I had with Neptune aside to help you. I would’ve been there for you no matter how much I was hurting had I known.”

Juno’s face darkened as she sat forward and loomed over her. “Well, I’ll never really know if that’s true or not, will I? But you will know the depth of my sorrows now. That is enough for me.”

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Ceres sucked in her breath at the spiteful words and felt her stubborn hope fragment into smaller pieces at how cruel the goddess could be. It was clear the Queen wasn’t going to let Ceres forget an oversight she hadn’t even known she’d made until now. At least, not anytime soon, and she stood.

“I’m sorry I failed you,” Ceres said and walked silently to the decayed door.

Juno scoffed, and Ceres turned to see the Queen was sitting back in her broken chair in seeming nonchalance – but the look on her face told her it was anything but.

“I already couldn’t stand you because of your indiscretions with my husband, but my hate for you was only honed when you chose apathy for Carthage. I shouldn’t have had to tell you that saving my fair city was your one and only chance to do right by me for bringing Proserpina into this world. Had you any sense of decency to atone for your betrayal of me, you would’ve chosen to let Neptune snare you again in that moment solely because I needed you to. Your audacity to even ask for my help now is priceless. I think we both know you’re only sorry because you can’t help but cling to the tiny hope I might change my mind about helping you and the daughter that should’ve never been. I assure you. I won’t.”

Ceres turned her back on Juno and tried to push her way through the weak door but it wouldn’t budge. She huffed as she looked expectantly at Juno for whatever else the vindictive goddess had to say.

“Just so you know, dear, I forced Neptune’s hand to keep Arion away from you. How could I possibly resist the chance to repay you in going behind your back? And Neptune wasn’t talking about betraying King Pluto when the two of you spoke earlier. He meant he wasn’t about to betray Jupiter because Pluto has always had our King of King’s permission to take and keep his own daughter. In fact, Jupiter helped him do it. Why else do you think my husband has refused to talk to you about this? Even the mother of his own child isn’t worth the effort of the drawn out argument he doesn’t want to have with you. So, you can stop wasting everyone’s time now,” Juno said, giggling softly as she leaned forward in the rotting chair with a cruel smile.

“Just my own breathless and apathetic gifts to you.”

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Ceres simply stood there and frowned as she slowly shook her head and let Juno’s awful words sink in. She barely realized she was even moving as she haltingly backed away from the so-called Queen. Suddenly, she could hear her heart pounding as she dimly felt something slice against her foot and heard the pieces of whatever had been in her path clatter across the floor. And then.

She. Just. Screamed.

Ceres couldn’t stop herself as she made a massive, gaping hole all around Juno and herself and almost destroyed the rest of Carthage. She was surprised she could refrain from burying Juno within the fiery depths for how much she loathed the goddess in that moment – even more than she hated Pluto. And there were no words for all she felt for Jupiter right now at how deceptive and callous and… everything else she hated he could be.

But as Ceres’ rage blew through the ghost-filled city, a semblance of sense came back to her. Starting a war with the Queen of the gods wasn’t very wise much less the right time, and she jumped into the pit to stop herself from sinking all of Carthage into nothing.

Ceres heard Juno’s livid cries echoing behind her, but she had no idea what the hateful goddess was saying and didn’t want to as she molded herself into the soil. She burrowed faster than she ever had before as if she could outrace all the ripple effects of the past.

The goddess of agriculture stayed within her soil’s cocoon as her heart thundered and the desire to keep destroying built. Slowly, Ceres recognized where her subconscious was taking her for she wasn’t headed to see Mars or even Jupiter.

Ceres felt something steel inside at seeing where she was going and what she realized she should’ve done from the very beginning. She felt the inevitable now and how there’d never really been any other way as she exploded into Pluto’s realm.

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The scorching heat from the waterfalls of lava and rivers of molten rock quickly enveloped her as the goddess of agriculture forced the darkly beautiful gates of the underworld open. And then, suddenly, Pluto was there in all his towering, fiery glory.

“Ceres. You’re the only one who can get away with such a disrespectful entrance into my home.”

“And you’re not the only one who commands the earth itself,” Ceres said, growing in size to match Pluto’s. She refused to let his voice thunder over hers or let him look down upon her when he was the one in the wrong.

“Is that why you think you could open my gates without my permission?”

The goddess of agriculture’s sharp sickle materialized out of nowhere in her hand.

“That is but a grain of salt when you think you can just take my daughter away from me without consequence.”

And then everything Ceres felt came out as she attacked the ruler of the underworld in his own domain. They danced to an age old tune of their own making but it was nothing like what she’d expected.

She’d thought Pluto would’ve found his own allies by now to stand with him against her. She’d thought the beast would’ve mercilessly raised an army of the dead to fight for him. She’d thought he’d even foolishly try to use the earth around them against her.

She’d expected the dark soul to fight back.

But Pluto threw nothing at her and simply defended himself. Ceres found his reaction only infuriated her even more as Juno’s malicious words came back to taunt her and made her think it was because Pluto thought she wasn’t worth fighting.

Ceres’ furious shrieks suddenly echoed through the caverns and then all she could see was red.

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Her eyes turned black as she started an avalanche of rocks from high above. She ripped Pluto’s gates from their invisible chains and pinned the animal against the wall with his own magnificent steel. She called to the lava and not only smothered him with it but forced him to drink it just as surely as he’d forced Proserpina from her side.

And she smiled when the massive, heavy boulders buried him underneath their crushing weight… until she heard the searing agony of another. Her elation slowly disappeared as she realized the cries didn’t belong to just anyone.

“Mother, stop! Please! Please! Just stop!”

Ceres’ heavy breathing slowed as her eyes faded to their natural colors of the earth, and she searched the grim, gaping lands of the underworld. She spotted Proserpina swiftly climbing the rock wall near Pluto like a little spider. Her daughter kept rising until Proserpina found a stone perch that was eye level with her.

“Proserpina? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be tending to the plants of the world with your sisters!” Ceres said and looked around for them. “Are they here as well?”

“The nymphs are tending to the plants for us both. And you were so angry when you left; this is the first place I came!”

Ceres laughed sarcastically. “Why would you do such a thing? No. You wouldn’t have because obviously that dog stole you again, didn’t he? I’m going to bind Pluto to forever just like Jupiter did to Atlas! It is the only thing that boar deserves now,” Ceres said and took a thundering step towards Pluto when her sickle suddenly disappeared.

The goddess of agriculture frowned as she stopped because she knew the only ones who could do such a thing were Proserpina or Arion but neither of her children had ever once dared.

Until now.

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“Pluto and I watched your journey from here, Mother. Hope surged when we saw how you treated Venus, but it withered again when you kept putting your own pain above everyone else’s. Why won’t you listen to reason when you hear it?”

The goddess of agriculture narrowed her galaxy eyes at her daughter as she breathed heavily. They stared hard at one another until Ceres watched the anger and defiance fade from Proserpina’s emerald gaze. Fear and uncertainty took their place, and they reminded her of when her daughter had first returned from the underworld. Ceres couldn’t help but feel her own temper shrivel at the memory.

“All right, Daughter. What have I been missing?” Ceres said and held her giant hand out. A breeze of calm replaced some of the tension and outrage she’d been feeling as Proserpina stepped onto her palm and, for a moment, the love she felt for her daughter shined over everything else just like it used to.

Before him.

Ceres felt resentment resurface at the thought as she lowered her daughter to the ground. Proserpina’s hair flew in the wind as she descended, and Ceres couldn’t help but think how beautiful her daughter was until she noticed how Proserpina’s tiny little hands clenched and unclenched time and again. The goddess of agriculture felt more of her negative feelings fall away as her heart melted. She knew her daughter only ever did that when she was nervous to tell her something. She put Proserpina on the rock ground as she returned to human size.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Nothing you could ever say or do will make me love you any less,” Ceres said.

Proserpina suddenly threw her arms around her and smothered her soft crying into Ceres’ shoulder. She returned her daughter’s embrace as tears stung her own eyes. The harsh feelings that’d lingered faded some more as she realized why Proserpina was so sad.

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Somehow, she herself had inadvertently caused the hurt her daughter felt now because it was the only reason Proserpina would still be hesitating to tell her whatever it was she had to say. Ceres sighed and whispered everything would be all right. At last, Proserpina pulled away and wiped her eyes. Ceres’ heart raced, and the dread built as she waited for the next calamity.

“Aside from keeping me here, Pluto never once made me do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“But… you said he tricked you into eating the pomegranate seeds.”

“I only said that because you were so mad when I told you I had to come back here, and I was scared to tell you the whole truth because I didn’t want you to be so livid with me, too. But the time I spent away from you was actually… kind of nice. But I could see that it wasn’t anywhere near like that for you and that you needed me to come home – at least, for a little while. That’s why I ate the pomegranate seeds knowing what it meant because it was never my intention for things to go back to the way they’d once been.” Proserpina said, pausing.

“Did you think more about Apollo’s words?”

Ceres felt another certainty on the horizon, but she was confused about what Apollo had to do with it.

“Why would I do that? The god is lost in his own pain and can’t see…” Ceres said but let her own voice drift as she frowned. She sucked in her breath when she realized she’d just described herself.

“I think that’s why you can overlook how Apollo is also the god of truth so you don’t have to see how he’s right about a lot of the things he said to you. I’m not a laurel tree, but even if I was, you’d still be able to hear me – unlike Apollo with Daphne. And unlike her, I can still do and be everything I was with you before I ate the pomegranate seeds… even if it is only for six months of the year now.”

Apollo’s forlorn music replayed in Ceres’ mind as she thought…

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Coming from her daughter in a gentler tone, the truth didn’t feel like an accusation she needed to defend like it had with Apollo. Instead, she could see now how the sun god’s grief really was his own. Yes, she and Apollo both shared a loss with those they loved but his was forever in ways that just would never be for her. Ceres sighed softly and slowly looked around.

“But… how can you bear to be in such a miserable place?” Ceres said, getting the feeling again she wasn’t going to like her daughter’s answer.

“Because… I fell in love with him.”

Ceres grimaced and turned away from Proserpina as if her daughter had just slapped her. It was clear now she’d somehow lost a part of her daughter months ago, and she felt the chasm that’d started with Proserpina’s disappearance become even wider and deeper as the world she once shared with Proserpina fell away in the stench of the sulfur around them.

Her own daughter had willingly forever changed things between them…

That part was finally sinking in, and Ceres couldn’t help but think the weight of that truth was equivalent to what it must feel like for Atlas to always be carrying the weight of the world. But, somehow, through the depths of what she was feeling, the goddess of agriculture also felt the undying love that was still there for Proserpina. It made Ceres come back to her daughter but her voice was much softer from the hurt she felt.

“How can you say that?” Ceres said.

“Being attracted to me wasn’t the only reason Pluto took me away from you. He just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to share his riches with. And he’s always been fascinated by my own connection with the soil. That’s why Daddy helped him. Not just because of how Pluto felt about me or their being brothers, but because Apollo told him through a prophecy he had of how time would make me feel the same way about Pluto.”

Ceres’ lips tightened at how Proserpina looked at what had happened and at being reminded of Jupiter’s hand in the whole thing. But she also heard how her daughter didn’t seem to be angry with her father at all, especially since she’d called him “Daddy.”

The goddess of agriculture knew it was only during overwhelming times of happiness when Proserpina would revert to that childlike manner, and it made her refrain from rolling her eyes at supposedly why Pluto did what he did. But because Ceres saw how just the stiffening of her body made her daughter feel, she focused on what was more important instead.

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“Do you honestly think he loves you?” Ceres said and almost winced. It’d come out far more doubtful and condescending than she’d intended, and she heard the hardening of Proserpina’s tone in response.

“Mother. Why do you really think you could open the gates of the underworld and break their hidden chains? Why do you really think Pluto never once hit you back? It’s because I told him it was the only way I could think of to get through to you when you got here. He let you into the underworld because I helped him see how wrong he’d been in the way he went about things. He took your wrath because he agreed it was the only way to show you he loves me by not hurting you.”

The goddess of agriculture frowned as she became lost in her thoughts once more. Perhaps Pluto wasn’t the worst of all the brothers if her daughter was defending him. Maybe he was even less like them than she’d originally judged.

But if those things were true…

Ceres bit her lip as she figured out what her daughter had really been afraid of all this time. Her vision suddenly blurred at seeing the ugly truth as her gaze fell to the sporadic vents of steam spurting from the stone ground.

“It was always me you were scared of, wasn’t it?” Ceres said, unable to meet her daughter’s eyes. She felt Proserpina take her hands and squeeze them.

“Sometimes, your love can be overbearing and you can’t see anything else except what you’ve already decided to believe. I love you, Mother, but… I love Pluto, too. I need you to see that and accept I want you both in my life,” Proserpina said, and Ceres met her daughter’s gaze.

“Please, Mother. Don’t make me choose.”

The goddess of agriculture pulled her daughter close and hugged her.

“No, I don’t want that any more than you do. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me all this sooner,” Ceres said and felt her daughter’s tense body relax.

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Ceres simply held her as the underworld somehow felt almost… cooler. She frowned at that but gave an easy sigh as she slowly pulled away. For the first time in months, Ceres actually felt better. She smiled at her daughter and held her hand.

“I trust the woman I raised you to be and if Pluto is your heart’s desire, then who am I to keep you two apart?” Ceres said, tucking some of her daughter’s dark, wavy hair behind her ear to see more of her beautiful face.

“You are sure of your feelings for him?”

Ceres saw the answer in Proserpina’s eyes as they shined like the northern lights. Heard the rush of relief in her daughter’s voice.

“Yes, Mama. I’m sure.”

Ceres smiled as her eyes filled again, and she embraced her daughter once more. Happiness flowed through her for Proserpina had called her “Mama” just like she used to when she was little.

“Is there room for one more?” Pluto said.

Ceres couldn’t help but feel the simmer of anger burn through her veins at hearing the dog’s voice intrude as her eyes cleared. But… perhaps in time, she’d be able to see Pluto in a fresher light rather than the sour shadows that surrounded him now. Ceres wrapped a possessive arm around Proserpina as she stood by her daughter’s side and raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are lucky my daughter has grown to love you.”

Pluto laughed softly, and she noticed how remnants of steam poured out of his mouth. She couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“I know. And, I’ll admit. A mother’s wrath is truly nothing to trifle with.”

Ceres laughed softly at his words and the raspy sound of his voice as she finally held a hand out for King Pluto. But the action reminded her of when Neptune had reached his hand out for hers through the air bubble…

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and that torn feeling for the god of the seas punched through her again, only it hit her harder this time.

The possibility that Neptune had kept Arion away from her because of Juno changed everything and, for a split second, she wondered how the Queen could’ve ever gotten the god of the seas to hurt her so badly and then convinced him to keep it from her all this time…

if what Juno claimed was true.

The goddess of agriculture bit her lip and frowned as she set that puzzle aside for another day. But the burning wish of a real chance to be with the god returned for he’d always somehow seemed to make time itself stop whenever he was near her. She locked it away for now because she wasn’t about to unleash that hot mess without knowing the truth of why Arion had never been a part of her life.

Ceres took a deep breath and exhaled. Whatever those answers were, the one thing she could clearly see now was how her relationship with Proserpina didn’t have to be the same as it once was – it could be better.

And she let a part of her daughter go as King Pluto embraced them both.

BACKGROUND VIEW:

This particular manuscript was originally co-written with my teenage daughter for a high school assignment. Considering the audience of young adults and a teacher, we were looking to water down “The Rape of Proserpina” myth into a happier story.

To do that, we did a lot of research. We discovered back in the day “rape” meant an abduction and didn’t mean what it does today. Still, things have a way of getting lost over time and the original intent of this myth seems to be one of them.

But whether or not sexual assault actually was a part of the story back then, we’d already decided that possibly darker part of it never happened. Either way, we definitely liked how history’s abduction view ended up giving our story a better foundation than what we thought we’d find in how we’d always wanted to look at the situation as more like a Beauty and the Beast type of scenario.

Like with any story that is created, we enjoyed coloring ours with our own imaginations and these won’t be found in any myths. I hope, whether you’re a fan of Roman mythology or not, that you all enjoyed our version of this timeless piece of history. While I did revise, proofread and edit this manuscript further without my daughter, the foundation of it remains the same. Still, I can’t think of a better writing than this one to be my first “Short Story” post.

As always, my warm thanks to Fernando Gutiérrez, Hert Niks, Alexandra Karnasopoulos, Cottonbro Studio, Casey Lovegrove, James St. John, Joe, Susan Wilkinson, Diane Theresa Hendrick, Fabien Bazanegue, Cristian Palmer, Simon H., Christian Sternberg, Buzz Andersen, Drake Nicolls, Maksym Ivashchenko, Brandon Morgan, Marc Pascual, Marek Studzinski, Camila Quintero Franco, Gerd Altmann, Matt Artz, Jr Korpa, Catrina Farrell, Angeles Balaguer, Kasia Derenda, Ichigo 121212 and Henry Be for generously sharing their pictures and helping to bring this story to life. And, of course, many thanks to my daughter’s teacher for this assignment – our little manuscripts would’ve never been written without it.

Blog 2 – “Nightfall’s Toy”

Sun, 18 Feb 2024 17:38:37 +0000

WARNING – HORROR CONTENT

Caught in a Spider Web photo courtesy of Pennie Gibson
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Public Domain Pictures under “License”

Personally, I love any level of horror story. Picture book, middle grade, young adult, adult fiction – it’s all welcome.

A few summers back now, I read Coraline by Neil Gaiman for the first time. It’s a middle grade story, but I enjoyed the author’s vivid imagination despite being an adult at the time of reading it. For me, I don’t feel like this age difference took anything away from the twisted experience of the Other Mother presented in the story.

Of course, reading about scary things isn’t quite the same as living through them. Recalling Coraline’s story, the eeriness of it reminded me of when I was a security officer at one of my sites…

Bird’s Eye View of Lighted City photo courtesy of Josh Hild
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It was summer, and I was working full-time on second shift. The location I was at was a smaller building compared to some I’d worked at but big enough to still warrant a parking garage and elevators. I learned every nook and cranny of that building, where important things were for emergencies, problem spots, etc., because that was part of my job.

I’d been told by someone who worked there part of this building’s history was unpleasant. I took it in stride. They could’ve been exaggerating or just yanking my chain but, even if they weren’t, the past is just that way sometimes.

No surprise the lights were on a timer and some of them auto shut off every night. On the 6^th floor, only a handful of them were left on. For me, this wasn’t ideal because when evening hit the entire floor morphed into this evil twin kind of place from all the deformed shadows that were cast.

The flashlight helped with those deeper obscurities, but it didn’t do anything for my increased pulse rate. Still, my footsteps were never any faster on the 6^th level than anywhere else I walked, indoors or out, because you never knew who was watching or listening to you.

Person Looking Out the Window photo courtesy of Null Xtract
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Now, I understand the whole watching me part may sound over the top to some, so I’ll digress for a minute here.

I usually took my time on patrols no matter what the weather was. The site I was posted at had an apartment building across the street, and I used to glance up at those windows all the time. But I’ll admit I was more focused on the balconies.

Because who knew when someone would hit their rock bottom and jump? Probably morbid of me to think of, but I’d learned things could seemingly come out of nowhere on the job. And on those loveliest of days, when multiple things would hit all at once and you couldn’t help but think to yourself, holy hell. They all coordinate this sh- or what?

But those numerous events in my background had me considering possibilities that hadn’t even happened yet and hopefully never would. But at least I’d have a sketch of an idea of what I’d do if any of them ever did.

Still, no one ever jumped. My experience with those balconies would turn out to be far less dramatic.

Grayscale Photo of Building photo courtesy of StevenStorm Juhaszimrus
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Instead, one evening I had someone yell down at me, “Hey, it’s nice to see you again!”

Now, I can definitely see a lot of people thinking, “That’s it? What’s the big deal?” Well, here’s my thing. In all the hundreds of times I’d looked up at those balconies, I never once saw this person watching me.

On a much less paranoid level, I understand there was a super high probability they were just trying to be friendly – our very brief conversation afterwards definitely pointed in that direction. But because of the nature of the job, I couldn’t help but also consider looking at that from the exact opposite spectrum. And the fleeting exchange I had with this person made me wonder, who else noticed me at work when I didn’t know it?

Looking back, I’m sure this unanswered question only exacerbated the unnerving shadow-filled 6th floor I’d come to mildly dread. Because whenever I went up there at night, I always expected to be unpleasantly surprised by someone I didn’t know was still working. And then how would that look if they startled security?

Pretty sure whatever little confidence they had in not very tall me would go down the drain if that ever happened. Not cool. As it turned out though, I was always the one jumpscaring the stragglers that worked a little later than usual.

Scared Cat photo courtesy of Benjamin Réthoré
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Attribution License at Flickr under “Some rights reserved”

Sorry. My bad.

But, one night towards the latter part of my evening shift, I swore I was the only one left in the building from my last patrol. I was watching cameras and kinda wishing somebody would give me a change of scenery when this crashing noise came out of nowhere from upstairs. My heart galloped, and I froze.

Wtf. Was. That?

It sounded like it’d come from one of the upper floors, and I looked up. I couldn’t see much from where I was at the front desk though, but it felt like I already knew which floor it really was without even going up there.

The 6^th floor.

In that moment, I would’ve rather have dealt with some guy using the premise as a restroom, a group of guys drunkenly loitering, drug use on property, property destruction, prostitution, severe weather, or even a f-ing fire than whatever the hell was up there. And because that sh- actually scared me, I looked at the cameras again for a minute as if I could conjure up any of those things to take me away from what I’d just heard. But then?

It happened again. I sh- you not.

Close-up Photo of Skull courtesy of Mitja Juraja
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I felt the goosebumps all over me that time, and I had to force myself to think about things logically for a minute. No one had screamed in pain. No one had shouted down to me in embarrassment. No one was calling the guard phone. But…

what if an employee had come in when I was busy walking around on my last round and was now unconscious from whatever had caused those noises?

As remote as the possibility felt that late at night, I also knew a worker coming in at that time wasn’t completely unheard of. It was definitely much more reasonable than the spooky nonsense running through my head, and I shook off my budding paranoia. At the end of the day, my real-life world just wasn’t creepy like that. Besides, I was still security, I was still on the clock and it was still my job to go have a look.

So I left the front desk to go check that sh- out.

Now, I get some people might be laughing at what could be construed as my lame motivation. Because if you’d been in my place, maybe you’d have simply gone back to watching your movies or YouTube videos.

Or maybe others are thinking more along the lines of, “Not me man. F- that sh-,” and stayed at the front desk watching cameras and pretended they hadn’t heard a damn thing because maybe your worlds are macabre like that.

But then I’m sure I also have some hard core readers out there who might’ve thought, “Oh hell yeah. Let’s dance,” and jumped right up off that chair without a second thought.

But.

I knew that building like someone knows their own house and those crashes were not normal. For me, I had to use my integrity and the very slight possibility someone had been hurt in that freaky moment to help get myself out of that chair because I know the kind of person I am. I enjoy helping people, and I take pride in whatever work I’m doing.

And I was going to do my job.

Elevator Buttons photo courtesy of David Copeland
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Flickr under “Some rights reserved”

So I swiped my access card and listened to the hum of the elevator as it went to the top floor.

My heart was settling down because I knew the lighting was good up there. When the elevator doors opened, the shadows were just shadows everywhere I walked. I went through the entire floor, but I found nothing noteworthy that could account for the thundering noises I’d heard.

But then, I hadn’t really thought I’d find anything on this level, either.

I pushed the stairwell door open to head down to the 6th floor as if this time wasn’t any different than all the others. Except my increased pulse rate told me it was as my footsteps echoed in that confined space. I took a deep breath and exhaled as much of that creepy Ouija bullsh- out as best I could.

But as I listened to my very loud and lonely resonances in that thankfully well-lit stairwell, my mind zoomed to all kinds of things.

What if it wasn’t an employee? What if an unauthorized person was in the building and they’d somehow gotten passed the locks – or maybe they didn’t have to because they’d stolen or found an employee’s badge? Maybe they were being quiet so I couldn’t find them.

Or worse? What if it wasn’t a who but an it? Something f-ed up could be waiting for me on that unholy floor…

Weird Young Woman with Spooky Face Art Against White Background photo courtesy of Dids
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Because the unpleasant history of the building wasn’t just lurking around in the back of my mind anymore. It’d slithered front and center and was messing with everything I knew to be true in the world I’d grown accustomed to. And I found myself wondering if I’d see something abnormal in those already demented shadows, or maybe it’d taunt me in the reflection of the windows as I walked by them.

My forced calm dissipated like a house of cards as my tiny footsteps suddenly morphed into a giant’s, because they betrayed exactly where I was. I tried not to hurry at the possibility of how I could be met with the sounds of someone or something else’s noises further down the stairs.

Think Friday the 13th music here because that’s what popped into my head… but if you’re more of a Michael fan, by all means, substitute that mess out. I’m flexible.

Either way, the realistic part of me shook my head and huffed at myself. Quit it. It was just a building. I babysat them all the time and going into overnight hours was nothing new to me. But as I got closer to the 6th floor’s door, my mind kept undoing the small reassurances I’d found.

What if the echoes of strange, hurried sounds came from above me where I knew no one was because I just came from there? My heartbeats suddenly mimicked a hummingbird’s as I swiped my access card to get the hell out of the stairwell that was playing with my head…

and stepped into the silent shadows of the 6th floor. This was not any better.

Silhouette of Woman photo courtesy of Engin Akyurt
Bottom part of image was cropped
Attribution License at Pexels

I turned my flashlight on and took one of my usual routes so I didn’t miss anything. I checked all the cubicles with their malformed shadows and tried not to think about the sh*tty reaction time they gave me if anything or anyone was actually in them.

I checked the offices with their own hidden surprises that I’d been dreading. Not only for their jack-in-the-box shadows but because of those damn windows. I half-expected to see some hovering image behind me whenever I walked by them…

but it was just me and the pale reflections of the offices themselves.

I did my due diligence and hit the bathrooms, too. I wasn’t too thrilled about the mirrors though, since they could reflect something I was damn sure I wouldn’t like. And because of all this nonsense running through my head, the men’s restrooms turned out to be one of the worst places for me to go through.

I hated blatantly giving away my location not just from the loud door of the stairwell or my flashlight but again with my own voice. Still, I knocked on the men’s bathroom doors and said, “Security,” before entering them and that night was no different.

What was different was how I couldn’t help but think some slimy, raspy thing would reach out for me from one of the closed stalls whispering, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Man, who the f- was we?

Goosebumps reacquainted themselves with my skin, but this time they somehow stripped away all my years of experience by making me feel like a little girl again. My pulse jettisoned again in not knowing what I’d really find in those stalls, but I checked every single one of them anyways.

Nothing.

And then it flashed through my mind I wasn’t going to be able to get out of the men’s bathroom. I was going to be locked in there with them because they had been waiting for me but just didn’t call out to me like I’d imagined.

Silhouette of Person Touching Frosted Glass photo courtesy of Ron Lach
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But the men’s bathroom door opened just fine.

I slowly exhaled the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Holy f- this overactive imagination of mine was going to shave a good five years off my life. Despite that lovely thought, I finished checking the entire 6th floor.

Nothing had fallen over. Nothing was broken. No one was hurt. Everything was as it should be. Again. This was almost worse in a way because there was no reason I could determine for what I’d heard.

What’d made those noises then? Not once, but twice?

I checked the rest of the floors as I could’ve misjudged where the sounds came from. I still hated the men’s bathrooms the most every time I went into them, but I found the same nothing. Whatever had caused the crashing sounds remained unknown.

F-.

When I parked myself back at the front desk, I guzzled some water and listened to the disturbing silence as I sat in my chair and wrote up my report. I left out what a wimp I’d been through it all as the elevators whirred from time to time. Thankfully, it was normal for them to do that on their own.

But then, unexpectedly and softly, I heard a kind of clicking noise. It sounded a little bit like something was tapping against a hard surface and then it stopped.

Grayscale of Monitor Lizard’s Arm photo courtesy of Jimmy Chan
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I told myself it was just my nerves because I’ll admit they were a little frayed by that point. I took a deep breath and ignored them. They were nothing. But… then I’d never heard them before, either.

F-ing hell. Of course not.

And as I wrote up my report, the clicking sounds kept happening at intermittent times. I resisted the urge to play music on my cell phone to drown out the soft, unusual noises because I felt like I’d already been enough of a coward that night. I needed to make up for that and stick this sh- out.

But then Dean Koontz’s, Watchers, popped into my head. Man, I hadn’t read that book in almost three decades. It’d crossed my mind every now and then in a honeymoon’s glow kind of way since I’d first read it, but did it have to come back now?

Pausing for a minute here, if you’re someone who’s experienced that beautiful piece of work, then you’ll know exactly why those tapping sounds reminded me of that book. If not, well, I’m not going to ruin anything for you other than to say my mind jumped from supernatural bullsh- to government experiments involving recombinant DNA.

Unbelievable, right?

But at least I can say that now with a grin, though I most definitely was not smiling back then. At the time, I remember thinking I read and watched way too much horror because that sh- was catching up to me here and now.

Without the music I stubbornly refused to play on my cell phone, I finished my report in record time because those clicking noises were freaking me out. Probably they got to me because I never figured out what’d made those loud crashes from earlier.

Stairs to Building at Night photo courtesy of Erik Mclean
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Attribution License at Pexels

I decided I wasn’t going to investigate again for soft, random taps so soon after I’d just checked everything and found nothing. But my jittery pulse demanded a compromise to no searching or music. So I got up and checked all the front doors instead.

They were locked.

Just like I knew they would be because I’d locked them myself when the sun was still shining. Instead of going back to my desk though, I simply stood there and looked out through the tall windows of those doors.

This was a normal thing I did at irregular times but that night was different. I wasn’t doing it for the job in that moment. I was doing it because of that random clicking and because I could feel how much this weird evening was getting to me. And I felt how much I’d rather slip out into the darkness rather than stay inside that lighted, locked building.

Yeah, right. Safe haven my a**.

Because despite knowing the location was secure, I got this crazy feeling I’d be safer out there. But I stayed where I was and watched the headlights of cars pass by every now and then. I knew what I was really looking for though – something that warranted my going out there. Still, there was no tapping where I was, and my pulse slowly went back to normal.

But I made the mistake of glancing at the reflection of the front desk in those windows instead of keeping my attention on the darkness outside. It was a bad call because I was reminded of how nervous I’d been of seeing something ghastly reflected behind me as I walked around on the 6^th floor…

Honeymoon’s Glow
Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

And that’s when I imagined something monstrous running by where I’d just been at the front desk in that stupid reflection – because of the book I’d read so long ago. Man, I really needed this f-ed up shift to be over. I pulled my cell phone out. I still had ten minutes left.

Son. Of. A. Butthole.

And I finally caved and pulled up YouTube on my phone. I let the music play loud enough for me to hear it from the pocket of my cargo pants and went back to that death trap of a so-called front desk.

Thankfully, I heard zero clicking this time as I watched the cameras and listened to my music. The occasional whirring of the elevators kept me company in the otherwise dead silence of the building.

I found my eyes kept straying to the camera that showed the dark hallway behind me. I couldn’t help but give that one extra attention for the escaped government experiment because there was no way in hell the monster was going to surprise me from that direction.

I know. Wow, right? But so not laughing then no matter how hard I tried to calm my jittery a** the f- down.

I was very glad the grotesque nightmare from my imagination sparked by Dean Koontz’s lovely story was never actually seen on cameras and only stalked my racing pulse as the minutes painfully ticked down to zero, and I got my things ready to go.

When my shift ended, I didn’t waste any time because I practically zoomed into that elevator. I was beyond relieved to finally be getting the hell out of there… only the doors wouldn’t close.

Seriously?

Even though the light on the elevator button was on, I hit it again. (Why do we do that?) Still nothing. Are you f-ing kidding me right now? This was real life – not a book or a movie. Since when did the elevator doors not respond?

And then I felt overly dramatic and stupid as I repeatedly hit the door close button. Only the obvious and simple solution wasn’t what I expected because those doors still refused to budge.

And my mind went flying again.

Man Wearing Creepy Costume photo courtesy of Ronaldo Murcia
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Attribution License at Pexels

Sh-. I’d only felt like a little girl for a split second. Totally not one anymore but then… after all this mess rushing through my head for the last couple hours, I didn’t think Pennywise would really taste the difference.

I can honestly say there’s just nothing like feeling “lucky.”

Because the only difference now was the supernatural, the escaped government experiment and the old man had all made friends against me. Mf. Of course they had.

Still, I’m a cup half-full kind of person – at least I knew who “we” was now.

As I was standing in limbo, you’d think the next best solution would’ve popped into my head to just leave the elevator and take the stairs, right? But it never did because my mind was stuck on horror overdrive.

Later, I’d realize how ironic it was that before all this happened, when I watched or read horror stuff, I was always thinking to myself, why don’t they do this or that or just RUN! I’d come to understand a little better how easy it was to see things clearer when we’re not so freaked out.

Because my mind had been f-ing me over for what was supposed to be the looking forward to going home part of my shift – a sh*tty kind of dance I wasn’t all that accustomed to. And because I was so frazzled by this anomaly, it never once occurred to me to take the stairs. Looking back, I think now it was because I was actually more afraid of those echoing stairs than I was of the elevator.

Whatever the reason for those doors freezing, they did finally fix themselves and started closing, but they never moved so achingly slow. And though I’d subconsciously chosen to stay in the elevator, my mind kept ruining sh- for me. Because then I half-waited for something to whip its clawed, blood-stained paw between the narrowing gap and/or for the lights to flicker in the elevator…

thankfully, neither of those things actually happened.

Instead, I exhaled the breath I’d been holding as the elevator took me down, but I tensed as I descended because the downwards direction to “hell” reminded me of the 6th floor men’s bathroom and how I’d felt. I thought about what could be waiting for me when the elevator doors opened…

Undead Zombie Horror photo courtesy of Peace, Love, Happiness
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Pixabay

F-ing hell. Stop it! Nothing was waiting for me.

But I wasn’t totally confident about that until the elevator doors opened, and I saw with my own eyes nothing wanted to tear me apart after all. This tiny reassurance didn’t help much though as I listened to the isolated echoes of my footsteps in the empty garage and felt those damn goosebumps again.

Because it was the stairwell all over again, and I distracted myself by looking at the remaining cars. Aside from the usual ones parked in their assigned spots that no one ever drove, my car was the only one there.

I was alone.

My mouth suddenly went dry and no matter how close I got to my car, it still felt like it was a million miles away. But, even then, I simply walked. Just my own little f- you to that bizarre night.

I got my keys out and got my text ready to send to my husband. I was not spending one more second in that hell hole than I had to because I normally got that text ready in the car. This was just a safety precaution my man and I had in place for each other long before this night so we’d know something went wrong if one of us didn’t come home on time.

“On my way.”

I couldn’t send it yet until I pulled out of the garage though. I unlocked my car, got in and slammed that door shut as if something had planned on stopping it from closing. To hell with this freaky night already and all its bullsh-. I’d gotten way too paranoid in a whole lot of repeated nothing.

But that same nothing didn’t seem to make any difference to my colorful imagination. Okay, no more horror books or movies forever. But the vow didn’t help me out of paranoia misery as I pulled up to the underground parking doors.

I didn’t really want to roll my window down to swipe my card, but if I wanted out, I had to. And then I noticed the big fat spider underneath the box.

Black Spider photo courtesy of Anthony
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Attribution License at Pexels

Hunh, f- whatever this sh- was tonight but joke was finally on it. Spiders didn’t scare me, and I swiped my card and waited for the double doors to open as I glanced at it.

“Good luck, dude. This place sucks tonight.”

And then out of nowhere John Carpenter’s, The Thing, popped into my head. I rolled up my window wishing it and the double doors would go faster. Because all I could think about were those poor dogs at the beginning of the movie and how that was so not going to be me.

Yeah, I know. So sad to admit that thought crossed my mind now.

But for f- sakes even on my way out of this damn building that eerie feeling was still with me. On a rational level, I knew that spider wasn’t going to morph into anything it shouldn’t be, but I was still kinda relieved when it didn’t.

Man, I just wanted my ice cool mojo back.

Still, the spider did help in his own way by simply sitting there as it waited for some bugs to wander in through the now open doors. I eagerly pulled out of that cursed building, hit “Send” on my phone and thought about how I had to be back at work tomorrow night.

Wonderful.

But the rest of my evening was uneventful as I made the hour plus drive home. When I got on the freeway, I rolled my window down again, enjoyed the breeze as the loose strands from my ponytail hair ruffled across my face and listened to the radio. By the time I got home, I felt a lot better. However, I did sleep unusually close to my hubby that night.

I talked to maintenance the next day about what those crashing sounds could’ve been. I got a possible explanation, but it didn’t really make sense to me. It was kind of loud at the time, and I didn’t hear everything he said. I do recall that I never did mention my trouble with the elevator doors closing or the clicking noises. They’d been minor, and I’d decided if they happened again, then I’d say something.

For the next week, I was walking on eggshells every time the sun went down but none of those things ever happened again while I was on the clock. I’d never once felt so off like that at work before or since that night but it sure did make for a halfway decent story to retell now.

Or at least I hope it did.

The Shadows that Stalk
Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

One last thing I’ll also admit to is that I’m really glad I hadn’t read Coraline yet when all this happened. Can you imagine how much more glorious my “funhouse” would’ve been that night if I’d known about the relentless Other Mother?

***

I’d like to give my appreciation and thanks to Pennie Gibson, Josh Hild, Null Xtract, SevenStorm Juhaszimrus, Benjamin Réthoré, Mitja Juraja, David Copeland, Dids, Engin Akyurt, Ron Lach, Jimmy Chan, Erik Mclean, Ronaldo Murcia, Peace, Love, Happiness and Anthony for sharing their images. They all felt like they complimented my sh*tty night very well. Thanks man lol.

Now, I have some questions for anyone interested. Please remember any disrespectful remarks or links not relevant to the topic will be filtered out of the comments:

1.) Thoughts about what happened that night?

2.) Got a creepy, paranoid experience you wanna share?

3.) What are some of your favorite horror books?

4.) For anyone who hasn’t read Coraline, Watchers, or IT do you think you will now? Or is that still a hard no?

Blog 3 – “An Encounter”

Wed, 07 Feb 2024 15:23:40 +0000

WARNING – SOME HORROR CONTENT

Hooked
Illustration and image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

Nerd word that I am, “encounter” is right up there with “mojo” as two of my most favorite words.

Whenever I hear or read “encounter,” I always think about the computer game “Wizardry: Proving Grounds of the Mad Overlord.” If you’ve never heard of it, it’s either because you’re not into video games and/or you’re obviously young because the game first came out back in 1981.

Now, for anyone who has absolutely no idea what this role-playing game entailed, I’ll paint you a picture of how archaic it was in certain ways and how it laid the foundation for future games in others. And for anyone who is familiar with it, well, I had my own way of looking at and doing things in the game so stay with me…

there was a massive maze with ten floors underneath a castle.

This alone piqued my interest as a child because it reminded me of the Greek story about King Minos and how he had a labyrinth built under his palace to cage the fierce Minotaur. This was already awesome to me because I’ve always loved Greek mythology.

Except in “Wizardry 1” there was an evil wizard who’d created this maze and willingly hid on the lowest level behind all the monsters within its darkness because he’d stolen something that wasn’t his. And the player’s quest was to get it back.

Sounds simple enough, right?

Old Stone Steps in Salt Mine photo courtesy of Julia Volk
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Attribution License at Pexels

Well, it was anything but easy to play, and I loved it.

The computer screen was entirely black with only white lines to define doors, hallways, rooms, etc. I didn’t mind how plain all this was though. Instead, it played into the obscurity I was already imagining of something that only saw the light of magical spells or fire. It made me think of nothing but shadows everywhere and how anything could jump out at my team at any time from the darkness…

this made it a little more heart pounding while I was playing.

Our family’s only computer was in the basement. Of course, I played during the day but night was when I could turn the lights off. Yes, even then, there were times when I didn’t mind scary things. Looking back, I think now this was partly because I liked proving I could be brave through the shadows. Probably this was why I enjoyed Coraline by Neil Gaiman so much as an adult since it reminded me of those days.

But as far as my younger self was concerned, I turned those basements lights off because I liked feeling I was more a part of the team. They were surrounded in darkness and so was I…

it was perfect.

Today’s games, players can see their characters doing everything – running, breaking things like barrels, boxes, etc. They can watch explosions happen, see the backgrounds and how they change, heck they can watch the battle itself like a movie.

Except, of course, they’re the “director.”

But back then, players could only use the arrow keys to move their team in and out of the entry ways, around rooms, or down the hallways. And forget about watching any of the meaty fights because those were read about like a text message. But not everything was left up to the imagination. There were stationary pictures of what the monsters looked like.

Hey, it felt fun to me at the time.

Every now and then, I’d run into indestructible doors. I don’t think they looked any different from the usual white lines of regular doors but a white box would pop-up so players could read why they weren’t getting through that one. Because unless they had a key, statue, or whatever it was they needed to access that area of the game where the stone stairs alone never went, they weren’t getting in. (Players don’t actually see any stone stairs between the levels but this is what I imagined.)

Still, this was another sweet puzzle within the murky mystery of the maze itself.

Most of the time the doors were easy to get through, but I liked pretending they were made of steel. In my mind, then at least they were heavy and not only did my guys work a little harder and get stronger, but it also just felt a little cooler.

Closed Gray Door photo courtesy of Mark Boss
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Attribution License at Unsplash

I know. Dorky little me.

There were six characters a player could put on their team. The first three slots were reserved for the fighters and the last three could be a mix of whatever classes the player wanted for those positions. As far as the fighting spots went, all I remember now is how a player could choose to have regular fighters, samurais, or ninjas.

Samurais and ninjas were tougher to have though because of the higher amount of points that were required for them to be created.

But if someone kept trying to get the right mix of starting points for each category (strength, agility, IQ, etc. – I believe there were 6 total but heck if I remember what the rest were) plus decent extra points (these were given at the start of any new character) and deleted the failures, then they could have a samurai right from the start.

Because that’s exactly what I did to get my samurai.

But ninjas were even tougher to have and your character had to gain the categorical points needed through experience alone. So the majority of my fighters were just regular fighters with the rare samurai exceptions. As I recall, unlike samurais, ninjas could only be evil. Still, I overlooked their evilness out of respect for their immense talents as a ninja because I’ve always loved martial arts. For me, it is filled with its own form of incredible beauty and spirit that still enchants me to this day…

but I digress.

Typically, I had good teams with the necessary neutrality blended in there with them. Eventually, mostly because I really wanted a ninja, I did create a couple of evil characters and somehow got the blend of good and evil into one party – I don’t remember how but sweet.

I thought two evil characters would be sufficient because I wanted a backup in case one of them didn’t work out for whatever reason. But, I also didn’t want one to feel alone and/or isolated because he was so different from everyone else. Yes, I know it was just a game but my child’s imagination had turned it into so much more than just that.

At any rate, while being evil was obviously contrary to mine and my various teams’ natures, I figured those two cold hearts could be the best of buddies because of their evil ways and that they’d ultimately figure out how to function within the good group I wanted them to fight with.

I remember I used to imagine those evil characters not getting along very well with anyone else, even each other, since they were so opposite from the rest. That and they were, after all, in the minority. This made it a little more entertaining and pretty much just endeared the game to me even more.

Man Wearing His Game Character Costume photo courtesy of Cottonbro Studio
Top part of image was cropped
Attribution License at Pexels

As my teams’ mostly good personalities implied, my own preference in the way I played this game was not to fight the friendly monsters. My thinking there was actually more about the way I felt because fighting friendlies, to me, was like snuffing out a kitten or a butterfly.

If the monsters were nice, then why would I kill them?

But I’d added those evil characters to my team, and I knew how I felt wouldn’t matter to them. Besides, if I wanted a ninja, I was going to have to bite the bullet. So, I did end up killing some of the friendlies because of my evil guys. While I had the right idea for them, I discovered something I never once considered. At. All.

Because, one day, my evil guys turned good on me.

At first, I wasn’t very happy about this because I’d already put the work into getting those two villains closer to becoming ninjas someday, whichever one of them it turned out to be. But then I thought, well, I guess they figured out how to function within the group after all…

still, part of me wondered if they’d ever revert because evil was evil, wasn’t it? From my perspective, that could happen since they’d already flipped once on me. Why couldn’t they do it again? and glitches occurred.

But as I kept playing this alluring game, I discovered it wasn’t all about being good. The way I came to see it, being evil was easier because an evil party could get experience points faster since they’d wanna kill all the friendly monsters. And who wanted easy? Not I. So I decided a little more work was worth it for when we finally defeated… what’s his name on level 10.

Wow, I don’t even remember.

Still, I do know I wanted to feel that, ha I got you moment, and do a little victory dance like the American football players I used to watch back in the days of Joe Montana and Jerry Rice. Even then, I didn’t think it’d be quite as satisfying if I accomplished this with an evil party. As time showed me, I’d since discovered if I still wanted that ninja, then I’d have to create an entirely evil party.

I decided not to do that.

But having a good or evil team was irrelevant to the truly evil monsters in the maze. Of course, the further down players descended into the labyrinth, the harder they were to kill. Plus, the player encountered new baddies. I used to pretend the stronger monsters thrived within the deep, dank darkness that pulsed with its own kind of lifeblood and that’s why they never came closer to the surface… because the darkness just wasn’t the same closer to the light.

Demon Hell Fantasy photo courtesy of Alexandru Manole
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Pixabay

I was very glad for that because those lower level creatures were no joke man. They were tough as hell to kill. Any of my teams would’ve definitely been killed had we met those slices of “fun” on just the first few levels. But the flip side to the bigger confrontations of venturing closer to the bottom of the maze were better gold, better items found to equip characters with, etc. I liked those parts.

More challenge, more reward.

Except there were rules to discovered items. Some items were fit just for evil characters and some for good. If the player didn’t follow the alignment of the object that was found and, for example, put an evil item on a good character, then that character could become cursed.

If I’m recalling this part right too, then the cursed item drained that character’s life and they’d eventually die. But someone back in town could remove the item if the player got back there in time. I’m pretty sure it cost money to un-curse them but this didn’t happen very much to me since I was a good little rule follower. Hence, part of my fuzzy recollection.

I wanna say this happened with identifying things, too. Pretty sure I stopped identifying items in the maze after someone got cursed. Instead, I’d either bring all the unknown objects back to town to identify them or just left the loot in the maze so we could keep fighting.

In any case, remember I said our computer was in the basement? Well, it was set up on a work bench, which worked out because there was all this mapping that had to be done in the game – unlike in games today.

Players are so spoiled these days lol.

Maps, moving action, sweet graphics, etc. But hey. All that cool stuff now had to have a humble beginning to build on, right? Besides, maybe my imagination wouldn’t be half as good if I’d had all that luxury back then…

then again, maybe I wouldn’t have been so creeped out on the job years later and felt like I was Nightfall’s Toy.

Graffiti on Side of Building photo courtesy of Mathias Pinat
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Attribution License at Unsplash

Good times lol.

For mapmaking, my dad and I had these huge grid papers alongside our computer on the work bench since each level was different – of course, right? I never did like it very much if the monsters hit my team while I was plotting though.

Because there was always the chance I’d accidentally hit the wrong key or give a bad command on our turn of fighting (it felt that way if a spell fizzled or whatever it was that went wrong). This possibility, that was always there anyways, then likened mapping to a python’s squeeze and that made for a little more of a heightened experience.

Sometimes, this was ideal.

Other times, well, different mistakes would happen or I’d get turned around through my own unfamiliarity, especially when the level wasn’t done being mapped yet. Everything looked the same with just a black screen and white lines.

I definitely got lost at times.

As I got deeper into the maze of trials and discovery, my heart would pound for all the “lovely” surprises I didn’t know about yet. It wasn’t until I got to the lower levels when I began wondering if my guys ever felt this same racing in their blood…

but we never talked about things like that.

Looking back on mapmaking though, I know it wasn’t just about our getting damaged that sometimes bothered me. It was also about who was battling us. Because if it was Shades, they were the only pictures I’d swear at under my breath whenever I discovered they were who had dared to oppose us.

Because I loved. And hated. Shades.

Sure other monsters like Capybaras could decapitate and kill some of your fighters with just one blow. But dying was fine provided there was someone left alive in the party to bring everyone else back to town and resurrect them. But, sometimes, whoever was left ended up dying in another battle on the way back to the surface (until one of my spellcasters learned the teleportation spell).

I swear the game knew when the player was at its weakest.

But this was just one reason why I had other teams on standby so then they could go out, get the dead bodies and bring them back to town. But, they had to be good enough to handle those lower levels. Because, sometimes, my A team died where the darkness moved as it if were its own kind of monster…

as if it saw a chance to be unleashed through the shadows in my world through my weaker team.

Depending on how far down my dead team was, it could take a bit of time to get to them. But I still had to have the money to play god. Eventually, gold was amassed in such abundance that I never felt discouraged about this. But, until that happened, some of my guys did stay dead for a little while as it got expensive fast. I wanna say the higher the level of whoever died, the more it cost to bring them back.

Whatever the case, there were a lot of bodybuilding parts to this game in getting the player ready to battle that evil wizard. But, for me, I always thought Shades were the top dogs in this respect.

So, what made going up against Shades harsher than death?

Green Grass Field under Gray Cloudy Sky photo courtesy of K. Mitch Hodge
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Unsplash

From my point of view, losing knowledge was.

Shades could knock your character down a level by draining their experience points. All that work to get one of your spellcasters to say level 32, for example, went right out the window because now, suddenly, he was down to 31 and didn’t know that cool spell anymore. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, there was always the possibility the same character who just lost a level could still get knocked down another one on top of that.

F-ing hell man. Seriously?

That always felt harsh whenever it happened because the higher the character’s levels, the longer it took them to get to the next one since the experience points needed always increased whenever each level was gained.

But anyone in the party could lose a level of experience at any time with those nasty Shades and it sucked. But it was also part of why I loved the game so much. There were all these neat ideas of the way it worked, and they were just awesome to me because it made defeating the evil wizard that much harder.

Because playing “Wizardry 1” was A LOT of work. But I liked the anticipation of the end for when I could do my little arrogant dance and imagining how much sweeter it would feel for how hard it was to finally get there. Needless to say, I was very glad there were at least lists of spells organized by level and what they did for both priests and mages.

Of course, the higher in level the spellcasters got the more damage their spells did. Depending on the monsters’ experience, the spells could wipe out most or all of whatever was attacking us. And when anything confronted the player, a single message popped up on the black screen in its rectangular white box.

“An encounter.”

And that’s all it said with its matching white lettering. But this was why I still loved the word “encounter” so much after all these years – nostalgia. As the player waited for the program to load whatever baddies were attacking, I usually thought about what monsters they could be and amped up the anticipation of whatever had found us in the time it took for the computer to think…

either that or I was sweating it.

But the creatures didn’t just do damage to the party. They could miss too or run away. I remember how surprised I was the first time the monsters ran away from us, but it made me feel pretty good my guys were bad a** enough for that to happen. After a while, I didn’t really care for it though because then my team didn’t get any experience points out of it. I mean, I was already letting the friendly monsters go, right?

Because no experience points, no closer to leveling up.

Eventually, I used to wonder why they even attacked me if all they were going to do was just run away. Or I’d get feisty and think, “Thanks for wasting my time.” Sometimes, though, I’d get arrogant instead and chase after the monsters saying, “Wait! Come back! I promise we’ll kill you quick.”

Or something along those lines lol.

Screenshot of Wizardry 1 on Level 1 photo courtesy of Orion Blastar
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Wikimedia Commons under “Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported”

As everyone can see, like I said hand-to-hand was restricted to the first three slots in the party. The other three were more like support, which was where my priest, thief and mage were.

In that order.

Because if a fighter died, then my priest would take his spot as the fighter and so on. My mage had the Tiltowait spell, which was just perfection. Probably, its sweetness is why it’s the only name of a spell that I can remember now.

Because it really was just that awesome lol.

If anyone took a closer look at Blastar’s pic above, then you caught how he and I didn’t have the same order in our lineups. But I’m also noticing he had a thief as one of his fighters…

Hunh, really?

I suppose the only defense I have in originally thinking that couldn’t be done was how I always took 3 fighters for my first 3 slots. I guess, all these years later, my brain decided to fill in putting other classes there as not an option because of how I played.

Another difference I’m seeing between Blastar’s style of playing and mine are his 4, 5 and 6. His go: bishop, mage and priest last. Well, sh-. I can see I also forgot about the class of bishops in this game, too. If I think of a credible defense for that f- up, I’ll definitely sing it like a bird lol. Until then, back to my own sweet lineup.

(I’ll admit it, I’m laughing and shaking my head at myself at this point.)

Anywho, in my child’s mind, I had to protect my mage the best because he was the one who usually got us out of a jam fast with that Tiltowait spell, even though I think it was the priests that had the healing spells.

I had my wonky priorities.

For anyone wondering why my priest went before my thief in the lineup, it’s because I’d discovered my cleric was a much better fighter than my thief. That was it. Go figure.

Of course, my priest and mage were constantly casting spells to help fight but my thief pretty much just sat back and did nothing until the end. I wasn’t too keen on his slacking off while the rest of us were “fighting” though. See, I was already indulging him for being a sh*tty fighter by placing him at the fifth slot, so I ended up pretending he was the lookout so nothing else would surprise us while we were busy.

No one was allowed to be lazy on my team.

But throughout the fights, I’d be choosing/typing in what my characters were doing each round as the encounter continued, and I read about it. This went back and forth until one of the parties won.

Probably this was where my love for reading was born.

Red Rose on Book Sheets photo courtesy of Annie Spratt
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Unsplash

If we won the battle, a treasure chest would pop-up as a reward. All I remember on where those goodies came from was thinking the treasure was all the loot the monsters we just killed carried. For all I remember (think we’ve established my memory can be a little off lol), that’s exactly what it was.

My favorite fighter was my lead fighter, Guide. I know. Gimme a break on the name. I was just a kid. But he was Boss Man, and he lived up to his name. The way I pictured it, he was always teaching his men what to do because he never missed unlike some of my other combatants who were good fighters but not like him.

Guide was the Best of the Best (who else remembers that movie starring Eric Roberts?), and I never did have another warrior like him again.

My priest was, Lucky, and my thief was, Cap. But. My thief’s name wasn’t short for Captain. No, no, no. It was literally after a hat. (And the confused look on the bunny’s face from The Secret Life of Pets pops into my head lol.)

Okay, so here’s the deal with that.

The cap itself actually represented how my thief had to focus on what he was doing because there were usually traps on the treasure chests that he had to disarm. Now, did Cap have to open every treasure chest after we won a fight? Nope, not at all. If I felt the trap was too dangerous, I left it alone. Because if that thing went off (I remember explosions but not much else) then everyone could get hurt.

But probably some people out there are wondering how I came to think a hat stood for concentration?

When I let Cap do his job, I always pictured him turning his baseball hat around so the bill ended up on the back of his neck. I saw this in a character Sylvester Stallone played once in a movie called Over the Top. Hawk (Stallone’s character) would turn his hat around just before he arm wrestled his opponent.

Focus
Image by Mimike M. Mountainwater

So, to me, turning the hat around was like getting your head in the game kind of thing. That’s why I named my thief, Cap. He had to concentrate so everyone could benefit from his skill because if there was something better in those treasure chests that I could equip my characters with, I wanted it.

But there was always the chance it could go the other way and then the team could get seriously damaged if the traps weren’t disarmed right. But I had a super good thief (thank f- he was good at something lol). No one got hurt very often because of Cap. Part of that was my knowing when not to push my thief beyond what I knew he could do because there were times when I did have him go further and discovered it was too much for him.

And my priest? Well, I decided to use another movie for him.

It should be no surprise by now to discover I love the horror sci-fi action film Aliens starring Sigourney Weaver. For the longest time as a kid, I didn’t even know there was a first one called Alien.

When my friend’s dad told me there was, I saw it of course but… only after I finally believed him. Now, remember there’s no internet yet and definitely no cell phone at my disposal, so it’s not like I could just go on the web and look that sh- up for myself.

Without these handy tools for verification, I could definitely be a little pain in the a** at times lol.

At any rate, there was this part at the end of Alien where Ripley is standing alone against this thing in the shuttle, because everyone else was dead, and she’s singing softly to herself, “You… are… my… lucky, lucky… star. You… are… my… lucky… star. You… are… lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky…”

It was a very intense moment of the movie even though I knew she was going to win since I’d already seen the films out of order. But because I still loved that creepy scene, I named my priest, Lucky.

Not only because it reminded me of the Alien movies but because my priest was also lucky that he was going to fight the monsters in the maze with his magic instead of with his hands/weapons like the fighters who were with him or Ripley in the movies.

Truth be told, I still love the idea of magical things…

Goddess Fantasy Portrait photo courtesy of Enrique Meseguer
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Pixabay

As awesome as that still feels to me, probably I put way too much thought into the names of my characters. In my defense though, it didn’t take long to think of them at all. They were just there as I went to create each of them, but I don’t remember what I decided to call everyone else.

Gasp! But I remember something else now.

Once in a while, I’d watch my dad play the game. On occasion, it was legitimately just to be a spectator. However, I’ll admit there were other times when I just wanted my presence to nudge my dad off the computer sooner so I could play. If my dad ever suspected my true motivations at those times, he never showed it.

Apparently, I can be devious lol.

But my dad used to have a bishop. As it floats back, I’m pretty sure bishops took forever to level up. I think this was because they had to learn priest and mage spells. Yeah, that sounds right. While a bishop would eventually be really nice to have, I never did take the time to make one – hence, there’s why I forgot about them. There were already enough challenges in the game for me.

Okay. I guess I did have my limits.

I can’t remember why now but whether I was trying to get myself out of trouble, or I was just being lazy because I didn’t want to have any encounters on my way to wherever I was going, I had one of my spellcasters teleport the party…

Black and White Optical Illusion photo courtesy of Christopher Burns
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Attribution License at Unsplash

Splat! They teleported right into rock.

I just sat there for a minute, staring at those white words in their confined box on the black screen as if the computer had made the mistake instead of me. What the hell? It’s not like I didn’t know how to teleport by now.

But, sometimes, all it takes is f-ing up just. Once.

Because my backup teams were ready only… there was no way I knew of for them to get through the rock and reach them. And it finally hit me.

My A team was gone.

And as the realization dawned on me there wasn’t anything I could do to fix it, denial reared like a dark horse from Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. I didn’t know how I’d f-ed up those coordinates so bad but clearly I’d gotten them wrong or the map itself was wrong.

Either way, I’d ended up killing my best team before I even stepped a single foot down on level 10.

Suffice it to say, regret pummeled me in the horrible death that’d been caused by their own teammate. I couldn’t believe I’d done something so stupid because they’d become like friends in all the imagination I’d put into “fighting” with them.

And then the sadness and guilt circled with the denial and regret like a bad game of “Ring Around the Rosie.” It felt like I’d betrayed my team. Unintentionally, but it didn’t matter because they were still gone. Frustration and anger stormed over everything I was feeling…

and I never played the game again.

White Flower in Black Background photo courtesy of Evie S.
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Unsplash

Maybe that seems a little overdramatic to some but anyone who’s spent months building up a character will understand how I felt at that point in time, especially when I lost my best team by my own hand.

Still, all these years later, it felt like I could finally make their “deaths” matter through the writing I’d come to love just as much as I once did them.

Yeah, I guess I can still be a Little Diva. But…

it also felt nice that I could bring them back to life one more time rather than let them stay buried in the cobwebs of just my memories.

Because if I did my job right as a writer, then the way I played this game should’ve reminded anyone who reads this of their own games of pretend as a child and brought back those good times. If I actually got some readers to relate in this way, then the suddenness of my own pretend ending so abruptly and negatively should’ve hit them too – at least on some level.

Remember when I said I didn’t know the name of the evil wizard? That was my attempt at foreshadowing (okay, maybe a little too subtly) to what was coming because who forgets such a HUGE piece of information in a game someone once loved so very much?

It’s like forgetting Bowser is Mario’s nemesis.

Yes, “Wizardry 1” is just as good as “Super Mario Bros.,” or at least it is to me. ‘Cause, you know, no hard feelings here in the end.

But, if you thought to yourself, “How the heck doesn’t she remember the evil wizard’s name is, Werdna?” Then, you were on the right track to what was coming because I couldn’t recall something I’d never encountered. And, yes, I cheated and looked up the evil wizard’s name.

That f-er… but turned out he was a pretty good wizard to make me screw up that bad lol.

Stepping aside for a minute here, I used to wonder how the heck they came up with the name Werdna, because I’d never heard anything like it before. As it turned out (and this would go on to stump me for the next three decades lol), Werdna is the backwards name for one of the creators of the game, Andrew Greenberg.

That was it. Hey, better late than never.

At any rate, fast forwarding in time to when I was a married woman in my twenties with two babies of my own, my then husband used to love to play “Diablo II” with his friends on Battle.net. Eventually, as I watched him play from time to time, I thought back to that evil wizard who’d gotten away from me when I was a little girl…

Composing Photomontage Mystical picture courtesy of Reinhold Silbermann
Top, bottom and right side of image were cropped
Attribution License at Pixabay

and I realized, I’d let Werdna win. Yes. Yes, I did.

Because I never did quite get over losing my guys. If I had, I would’ve played “Wizardry 1” again at some point, but I didn’t because I’d gotten attached to my favorite team. Even though I knew it was just a game. Even though I knew they hadn’t actually been real.

But, in my child’s heart, they had been.

And I found, as I watched my now ex-husband play “Diablo II” back then, I was able to finally say good bye to the A team I’d lost. And I smiled to myself in pretending one last time with them and how they whispered, “We forgave you a long time ago, Dork. Now go kick some a**.”

And I finally let go of what I’d inadvertently done and created a new character to play in “Diablo II.” Even though it was the devil himself this time. I was older and stronger now – wiser.

Suffice it to say, “Diablo II” was way cooler all around than “Wizardry 1.”

To be fair, I know that’s not only because technology had vastly improved since 1981 but there were things “Diablo II” had built on that came from “Wizardry 1,” and I loved that.

And as I looked at all the options for classes, I knew exactly which one I wanted.

I gravitated towards the sorceress not just because she could cast spells, but because I wanted a girl this time. As I thought about what to call her, I remembered how I used to like having a reason for my characters’ names.

The Shades I had a love/hate relationship with in “Wizardry 1” also came back to me for they’d been a part of what’d hooked me on all this to begin with, and I recalled how I’d always dreaded running into them in the maze… and I knew then I wanted to look at my sorceress as more of a dark angel.

Thus, Nightshade was born.

Ai Generated Witch photo courtesy of Sam
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Pixabay

She’d finally finish what’d been started all those years ago.

And because I’d also loved and played “Mortal Kombat” as a kid I heard, “Round two. Fight!” in my all grown up mind as I took Nightshade out into the burning lands of hell. I was going to dance my little arrogant dance this time.

Oh. Yeah.

Detour, Confusion, Sign photo courtesy of Sdmacdonaldmiller
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Pixabay

I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to Orion Blastar for providing the only “Wizardry 1” pic on the internet my husband and I found that we both felt comfortable using for this post as I had long ago lost the game and couldn’t provide any of my own.

You rock, dude. Thank you so very much.

But before I get to my questions like I usually do at this point, as the detour implies (I had to use the confusing one – it was just too funny lol), there’s a curve in the norm in the interest of a possible symbiotic relationship with anyone who’s open to it.

As everyone can see, I’m big on giving credit to the artist of whoever a photo belongs to and phrases I adopt that aren’t mine but that I still use for my blog.

In our online search for cover photos of “Wizardry 1,” my husband and I felt we couldn’t use any of the dragon pictures we’d found since we didn’t have permission to use any of them. In all honestly, I didn’t think we’d be able to get it, either.

So, I did my best to recreate the image myself with unintentional deviations.

While it did turn out semi-decent for someone who doesn’t draw all that often, it felt like it took FOREVER because I don’t draw all that much. Though the satisfaction I feel whenever I look at my dragon now is pretty good and makes me smile, this just isn’t the arena I want to spend so much time in.

I feel the pull to write, not draw. Still, the experience got me thinking…

for any level of artist out there who’d like to see their work up on my blogs when the need arises on my end for a drawing instead of a picture, please let me know via e-mail at mimikemmountainwater@gmail.com.

“CliffsNotes” highlights of submission rules:

– You must be at least 18 years of age or older but skill level is open from beginner on up.

– Please make sure to include “Available to Volunteer” in the subject line of your e-mail as e-mails without titles go straight into my trash.

– Please provide anywhere from 1 – 3 samples of your work and attach it/them in jpg format only.

If your work sings to me, I’ll contact you and we’ll go from there. If you’ve already provided a cyber dust bunny pic from the Blog Roots section of my website, just mention that in your e-mail and it will suffice as your model if you only want the one.

Please do take the time to read over the Terms and Conditions under “Art Submissions” as anyone who sends me their work is agreeing to them. If you don’t, then please do not send me your illustrations.

Please note anything received that is not art or does not follow the art submission policies will be deleted. In addition, you do not need to be a subscriber to my newsletter to participate.

Photo of End Signage picture courtesy of Ana Arantes
No changes were made to this image
Attribution License at Pexels

Of course, many thanks also to Julia Volk, Mark Boss, Cottonbro Studio, Alexandru Manole, Mathias Pinat, K. Mitch Hodge, Annie Spratt, Enrique Meseguer, Christopher Burns, Evie S., Reinhold Silbermann, Sam, Sdmacdonaldmiller and Ana Arantes for sharing their creative works and complimenting my nerdy little imagination so well.

Last, but certainly not least, oodles and oodles (might as well just let the oodles of the dork in me really come out lol) my appreciation and gratitude also go out to the co-creators of “Wizardry 1,” Andrew Greenberg and Robert Woodhead, for their own visions of this game and creating so many loves I still hold dear to this day.

Now that everyone knows what an over imaginative dweeb I can be, I have a few questions for anyone interested. As always, answer as little or as much as you want but please keep in mind any disrespectful remarks or links not relevant to the topic will be filtered out of the comments:

1.) What computer/video game brings back childhood nostalgia for you?

2.) What is one or more of your most favorite words and why?

3.) Anyone else have something in their lives that makes them feel like a dork? (Please don’t let me be the only one lol.)

4.) For anyone who has the “Wizardry 1” game, I’d love to setup a small gallery after these questions to showcase other monsters besides the skeleton screenshot provided by Orion Blastar.

If you like, feel free to include other pictures of the game you think I’d gravitate to. Please be sure to put “Wizardry 1 Pics” in the subject line of your e-mail, include what name and title you’d like posted in the caption of your image(s) and send them to mimikemmountainwater@gmail.com.

If selected, I’ll notify you of which ones will be used. Please do visit the Terms and Conditions as images will follow “Art Submission” guidelines.

Please note anything received that is not about “Wizardry 1” will be deleted.

***

And like the post credits scene in a movie, I couldn’t leave some of the more detail-catching, curious minds out there hanging. My two evil guys that turned good on me never did revert back to being evil. I never thought twice about this as a kid but now…

maybe, sometimes, no matter how far down the rabbit hole we go, we can still climb out of it and stay in the light.