Strolling quietly through the garden of rock I run my fingers over a pale shimmering face of marble. Lifeless, the beauty still shines through: smooth cheeks, virgin to a razor’s edge; a lock of hair curled delicately down the center of a wide, unblemished forehead; large wide eyes framed by impossibly long lashes on either side of a strong, manly and chiseled nose; I try not to look at the mouth. It would have been succulent once but it was forever drawn tight. My first visitor.
I visit him often in the daylight hours. When the sun glints off his hard white frame he looks almost alive. Pausing in front of him momentarily I wish we could speak. I ask again all the questions I had asked in the past. Why had he come? Was it fortune? I have none. Was it fame? A visitation to this desolate land could offer no recompense. Who had sent him? Only my sisters know where I am and none could have persuaded them to tell of my whereabouts. What did he want with me? I had meant the boy no harm. I have no animosity for any save two.
When he had first come my hopes had soared. Maybe he had come to rescue me. Perhaps she had reconsidered. Perhaps he had finally taken up my case. I had been alone for so long that the thought of a visitation, by anyone, excited me. Not even the crows enter my domain. My only company is the writhing retinue forever attached to my frame. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known. How could I have known? Since my transformation I had seen neither my own face nor that of anyone else. My agony at the loss of this young boy’s life weighed on me. The responsibility that was not mine but had been thrust upon me pressed me to my knees. If I had tears to shed, I would have. Alas, my weeping brings forth venom not tears and yet I call it weeping. I still weep whenever I visit him. My first companion.
My hand still cupping his cold smooth cheek I let my eyes wander over the landscape before me. It is gray and brown. Rocks and dead shrubs. If they flourished once, they have not since my arrival. Nothing lives here. Not for long. I miss green. I miss flowers. I miss birdsong. I long for the sound of laughter. The silence of this place is overwhelming. It crushes me. There was a time when I wished to know about the rest of the world beyond my island captivity. The world doesn’t interest me anymore. I wish for peace. I wish for conversation. Mostly, now, when the visitors arrive, I wish for solitude. I know that no good can come from any stranger setting foot on my island.
One should not question the gods. All good children are raised to follow this simple constant. Once I too blindly did my bidding. I did all that was asked of me and more. I dedicated myself to her wisdom, her intelligence, her justice. It was I who first suggested to my mother that my father might want to grant me to her temple. What a pious offering! To give his youngest daughter to the great goddess herself. I sought no fame. I sought no reward. I wished nothing but to serve her and serve her I did. That was not enough. A woman can never give enough to satisfy a god. He took everything from me and it wasn’t enough. She, praised for her justice, her compassion, turned her back on me. Do I question the gods? No. I curse them.
(This is the preface to a novel I am currently working on.)
hocscripsit 