Gorgon

she sits in a stream. cool water. no place to go. why do they hate me so much? i'm only nice to them. i never told her i hated her, but she always says she hates me. you're no good, mother said. you don't do anything. what if i don't want to do anything? isn't that all right? no. fine. then i'll leave. water runs through me like i'm transparent. no way out, now. just sit in the water and think.

it comes from the woods. black and bestial, horned head, black skin like metal. she's so beautiful, sitting there in the water. like a statue of flesh. i don't like daylight. why does it always have to be light out when the pretty ones come?

i don't want to be alone anymore. mother, don't hate me. i just want to be young. dad hates me because you do; he does what you say. is that what you want me to be like?

i don't know why i like pretty ones. my fingers are thick and solid as they tense together. she is tiny compared to me. sunlight pushes through the trees. my red eyes ache, but i'll look at her anyway.

i love him, mother. i'm sorry if you hate me for that. i know you will, that's why i haven't told you. just leave me alone.

so pretty, so so pretty.

it comes out of the trees. the dirt and grass around the stream sink beneath its giant feet. she sees it, but cannot scream, like her voice has been taken away and placed into a tiny little box. it looms over her, the shadow blocking out the light of the surrounding world.

what are you? i don't know; i want you. why? because you are like me daughter. you have a daughter? once.

the girl cannot speak as the thick, cold arms sweep her up out of the stream. her blue dress is like soft skin, pressed against her body. the breeze is cold, and she shivers, putting her arms around his neck, though his neck is too big for her to hold. she doesn't know why she is holding him. he carries her off, out of the sunshine, out of all she has ever known.

i love you. i love you, too.


© 2007 Steven Montano