A Short story About a lost Amazonian washed ashore after being banished from Themiskrya by Zeus as she recalls her past on a cold night with her partner, Jane.
It was too cold for a night’s smoke, and so the two of them returned to the living room. A winter’s storm advisory was set till morning the next day.
Already, the whispers of a freeze’s touch had blown against the large blinds that rested against the screen door that led out to the balcony.
They sat genially on the couch, the two lovers, and they talked about when Myrina might be willing to open herself up, for she had arrived on the beaches of Maine in the most puzzling of ways.
Jane, familiar with the feeling of isolation, left astray at the age of fourteen when she formally announced to her family that she would now be wearing dresses instead of tuxes, asked, “I do wonder if you will ever tell me the truth?”
“I mean,” she breathed, “we’ve been dating for 8 weeks now, and I don’t even know where you’re from.”
Myrina’s smile was gentle, and it did not fade as she said. “I do not care to talk about that, Jane.”
SHE WAS DRESSED AS a warrior as far back as her memory could reach, outfitted with golden-bronze plating and a helmet colored with a streak of fiery red bristles that stretched down the middle of its cloudy reflection.
She did not know of dresses or of the leggings Jane seemed so fond of wearing. She did not know of love, but she knew of her mother, a general of the fifth battalion who led the charge in the battle of Thermodon.
She fell in love for the first time when she held a sword, enveloped in her mother’s former uniform, fit for battle. It was not the bloodshed that stole her heart, but the freedom. She remembered sitting in the armories, drink alone in the caverns of ale, listening to the waves crash along the white sands, feeling her mother’s control recede with each fleeting moment, taking with it all her venomous words.
She did not leave her lands by her own will, nor did her mother rise up against her, or the thousands of shield maidens who had heard of Myrina the cowardice. She did not dream of the rings of swords clashing or the horns of Amazonia. She dreamed of the night’s sky, the crystal-blue depths of Poseidon’s seas.
Even as she arrived in this New World, she could not forget the taste of Zeus’s forests and the sweet fruits that grew from its branches.
Zeus was her father. A king who once possessed all Amazonians’ hearts, but he grew old and mad with power.
After the vanquishing of the villainous Hades, he was left without conquest, without challenge. He departed from the realm for some time, but when he returned, he did not speak of his time away. He returned with a belly of rum and a man’s desires. No longer were Amazonians able to birth a child on their own, not without traveling to the bed of Zeus first.
Tales and rumors abound from Zeus’ chambers. Still, even the sharpest of gossiping tongues wouldn’t dare refuse his gifts of maternity. No one would dare believe Myrina the cowardice would curse the almighty father with a foul tongue.
“You will not take my virtue. You will not have me chained to your bidding.”
Those had been the treacherous words spoken in protest to Zeus forceful attempt to lie with Myrina, or so they said.
JANE WATCHED THE flicker of yesteryear dance throughout Myrina’s eyes.
Her hands were gripped tight, her knuckles whitening.
“Where were you?” Jane asked. “Just now, where were you?”
Myrina swallowed her truth before answering, “Nowhere.”
The house grew colder, the latch on the screen door prying itself ajar. Myrina rose from the couch, her hands wrestling the warm mug of tea close to her bosom as she sauntered towards the doorway.
The cold wind bit at her dark brown skin, tiptoeing across her cheeks as she closed her eyes. As the blanket she wrapped around herself fell to the ground, she thought herself guilty: a warrior abandoning the conflict, the allies left behind to suffer at the hand of a cruel king, the stench of his drunken breath. Her blade would be painted red with a God’s blood before she let him lie with her under the skies of Themiskyra. The Oceans would be dried up before she bore the birth of his wretched children, as they grew old with the privilege of power, taking whatever they wished and stuffing themselves with ale and slurring against those forced to enslave themselves to their bidding.
All while she burned away kisses with her first love? Perhaps, the madness of a forgotten world would grow quiet with time.
“Myrina?” said Jane. “Are you sure your alright? Your acting strange.”
Myrina breathed out, “I can’t.” Her face fell into her hands, “I can’t let go of you.”
She spoke her heart’s truth, as thunder roared in the distance.