Medusa

I feel the heat of power fade from my eyes as yet another would-be hero freezes into granite before my gaze. Another frustrated paladin dons my guest’s cloak; the cloak he will never remove. He will forever be a guest in my hall; forever bearing the weighty burden of visiting my home. He becomes yet another trophy in my vast gallery; another monument to my hideous appearance. The statues laugh. They always laugh at me when another tormentor joins their ranks to mock my ghastly face. How dare they remind me of what I know all too well?! Do they die pitifully beneath the press of my prowess only to be victorious through eternal mockery?! To torment me with my own power?! I steam with pent up rage; with the wrath that turns great men to stone. I smash the face of this newest mocker, shattering his head into dancing fragments. Who does he think he is, to face me?! The pain reminds me of the pain that he no longer feels and the memory redoubles my rage. I turn upon the nearest statue and backhand it, toppling it to the floor in a cascade of stone shards. I smash corpse after corpse in an unusual rage, littering the floor with fragments and powdered stone. This tantrum does nothing to relieve my pain, and I finally exhaust myself and lay down to sleep.

I sleep fitfully. Terrible dreams come to me, of a great and awesome man in shining armor and terrible to behold who carries the keys to the torturing chains that bind me. He is more handsome than I have ever seen a man, but the ground trembles before him and his eyes see everything, they pierce to my very soul and see my pain. He comes to free me, but I cower in fear, for he is the only intimidating thing I have ever encountered. He frees me from my pain and I am beautiful again. And dreams of a great and awesome warrior covered in armor and bearing a great sword that stinks of death. He is a fearful man, not ugly but with a face full of hate and a lust for death. He comes bearing freedom as well, but he hunts me. He tracks me down, but not like the other men; no, he is successful and I see my hideous head roll on the ground at his feet while he laughs in triumph. One is a kind key bearer who walks upon the earth bringing peace and healing. The other is vicious and cunning; he bears a sword, huge and terrible; his shield shines like the smelting furnace, hot and destructive, and he flies after me, riding on the wings of death.

The dreams wake me as my sisters return from their prowlings. They laugh, but not with mirth. This lair abhors mirth. They have been to see the blind prophet. They are always amused by his prophecies, though they will not admit that he has never been wrong. They are fools. They traipse about in broad daylight, because they are immortal. I, however, have been assigned a more grievous punishment. I must stay in this hole; I must kill my attackers; I must watch them suffer under my hideous gaze while my sisters need only to shrug them off like so many flies. They are laughing at the prophet’s latest revelation. He has said that there is one who could make me beautiful again; one who could let me see the sun again, and they laugh. They are fools.

When night falls, I leave to find the prophet, because I must at least have hope, if not redemption. But surely there is one who can forgive whatever grievous sin I have committed to deserve such heavy penance. I cannot even remember what the sin was, it was so long ago. All that I remember is a short time of sun and air and light and pleasure, followed by this unending night of pain and torment. When I reach his home the prophet somehow knows who has crept up on him. Perhaps that is why he is a prophet. He tells me of the one who has power over the woman who made me into this horrific beast. He tells me about the peace and healing and love that this one can offer, but nothing is free. This one wants my devotion. He wants me to be forever devoted to spreading the knowledge of his power. To devote myself to his mission of peace and forgiveness. I must forsake everything that I have ever known before to go careening down a path that I don’t know. If I utterly trust this ambiguous, amorphous, enigma to lead me, then he promises to make it worth my while... in the long run. In the very long run. He promises hardship now and eternity after, in return for absolute, complete devotion in every instant and aspect of my life. Nothing is free.

I return home in torment. Hope– no, even love, is within my grasp... for a price. If I wish to give up my very self, then I can gain what I desire the most. He can’t ask that; no one has the right to demand of me my very life and soul to be used for his own purposes. This life is mine, why should I ever have to give up my very self for love? To relinquish my dreams and hopes, my wants and ambitions? He asks too much. What good is it to be loved if I must lose my very self? Or revenge... He also asks me to forgive the one thing that can never be forgiven: the torment that I have had to endure at the hands of savage antagonists. No... I cannot forget this most heinous offence. Not only can I not forget, I refuse to forget. I will make them pay. They will feel the torment that they have caused me!

What is this madness?

What is that sound? Another intruder already? He crept through my hall in what he thought was a stealthy manner. I string my bow and draw an arrow, ready to pin him to the wall. I had been given plenty of time to perfect my archery and now I had a bow so strong and arrows so thick that they would lodge in stone walls. I see him creep across the length of my hall. I have no desire to make him suffer emotionally or psychologically. I do not want to toy with him. I want pain. He will watch his own blood flow from his body and know that it was I who caused him more pain than he had ever known. I loose a shaft and it strikes his arm with such force that it carries him to the wall and pins him there. With his other arm he raises his javelin to throw at me, careful all the while not to look at me, but another arrow spikes that arm to the wall as well. I laugh. I watch him struggling like a fly caught in a spider’s web. With a groan he pulls one arm off the end of the arrow that had been holding it to the cold stone. He has not yet cried out. In anger I fire another shot through his belly, finally nailing him down. I pick up one of the rusted axes that is lying by the way and approach him to tear him apart. He must writhe! He must feel pain! I will make him cry out in agony! Deliberately, he looks at me. His look of steely defiance becomes permanently etched in stone, never to flinch again; another eternal reminder of my torment. To this day he has not cried out.

In absolute hysteria of rage I hack the stone arms from the wall and dash them to the ground. I wrench the statue from the wall and raise it over my head throwing it the full length of the hall. It shatters into a million shards of granite that glint in the firelight as they flash through the air. His torso and legs are dashed to a powder by the impact, but his head spins back down the length of the my gallery to lay leering at my feet.

A man steps from the shadows. He bears a sword and shield. He sneers in triumph as he views the monster’s reflection in his shield. His sneer fades as the beast makes no move. He feigns an attack, but still she does not move.
“What do you want,” the creature asks.He grins at this response. “I have come for your head.”
“You want my life? My head for a trophy?”
“You cannot keep it from me, I will free this land from your roving terror and hideous face!”
“Speak not of my face!! You cannot know my face,” she screamed. “Have you worn it?! Have you felt it sear its putridity into your soul?! You speak of what you do not know!”
“It makes no difference,” he retorted.
“Do you wish this face? Will you take this head for your prize?! Would you?!!”
“Yes, I would have your head!”
The two eyed each other.
“Take it.”
The hero started in surprise.
“I have no need of it. If you wish a trophy then take it. I have tired of this hideous burden.”
She knelt. The hero backed, bewildered by his opponent’s abeyance.
“Take it!!”
He stepped into a swing that struck her head from her body. She toppled to the floor of the hall. He put the head in a cloth and strode from the hall to tell glorious stories of his fight with a terrible monster. Granite statues remained forever, leering over her immortal body as an eternal jest against her undiminished repugnance. The hero’s sword lay on the floor glistening with gore.

Some say that another man could be seen standing in the doorway. With tears in His eyes, He turned and bore His keys away.