I watch them scurry in the approaching twilight; lively as a herd bent on an evening drink with the stink of nervousness in the updraft, teasing them softly with faint whiffs of danger as the night begins to drain the power of day. Observing from my balcony high above them, they do not see me watching through bored eyes, tired eyes, eyes that have seen too much and yet not enough. Eyes that once held the gift of innocence and youth but gave it away for a moment of revenge, eyes that no longer cry over the silly haunting of a love that never really was or mourn the loss of the soul they once framed.
I am my own creation, that is to say, I am what I created. Jealousy is the bamboo of the emotional world, growing in leaps and bounds overnight, twisting and turning itself into a tangle of half-lied truths and honest lies. A wall of ill-content and self-induced delusions with no beginning and no end: only a blinding structure of martyred torture no war machine could ever destroy. Innocence has no place here.
I never expected my torturous cry to be answered that soft rainy day nor did I thank the one who delivered me from my madness. I had no right. I freely traded one gift for another: my eternal soul for eternal hunger. A fair exchange in the eyes of the Gods to be sure. I only saw Her for once brief second, green eyes iced over with hate and loathing for all of those who had caused Her beloved Zeus to stray. I lived a lifetime in that second, I swear, and when I felt Her sympathy for my pain I latched on tight, answering Her question even as I felt my soul escape my eyes, shattering the window of innocence. The world spun around me, cloaking me in a fog of righteousness as I began to morph within Her cocoon. The pulse of change raged through my body, turning me from a creature of light into a demon of the night. I remember I began to laugh with the joy of power, the glee of revenge dripping from my lips and running down my chin. I felt... alive.
I came to myself within the light of false dawn, cold and naked and of all things, blessedly alone in a small hidden wood. The beauty of the coming morn was lost upon me, and I remember pondering it when I heard the screams. I had barely managed to get back to my room in my father's house when my mother began to beat upon my door. I drew on a robe as she came in, bearing a horrible expression. My betrothed had been found dead with another girl. I ran out of the house with a thousand alibis building in my mind. I need not have worried; Hera provided me with one. She had sent the sounds of a broken heart to my mother's ears and she swore I had been in my bed crying all night. I was safe.
I never grew old. I realized it soon after my sisters married and began spitting out more soldiers and obedient wives for Greece. In the dark of night I fled on the wings of fright, fearful my secret would be discovered. I ran away from the shell of a girl that died along with her first love. A newly embittered woman entered the hall of Hera's temple. A new recruit for Her cause: revenge upon Her husband's greatest creation, humans.
Over the centuries I learned much at Her feet and through my own ventures. Humans are cattle, nothing more, an endless crop of fodder to dine on at my leisure or pleasure depending on my nightly mood. Mother always said never play with my food but she never said anything about toying with them. They are such frail weak creatures, humans, you'd think Zeus would have prepared them better against creatures like me.
The scent of evening grows stronger as Apollo beds his chariot for the night. He has only seen the after effects of my feedings, burning the scars of my sins upon my immortal flesh with his judgmental rays. Alas, his jeers at dawn no longer sear me; the scars have grown too thick even for him. He moved on to better victims long ago; 'tis Morpheous who taunts me now; my only witness to my crimes of nourishment. He offered to make me Queen of his realm once upon a time but he soon learned never try to cage one of Hera's chosen ones. Now, he too bears a scar as pretty as mine.
I lick my lips with remembrance and realize I can still taste my dinner. I stumbled across him in a shady club in lower Manhattan. Dark eyes and darker curls with a touch of cool olive to intensify his effects on females, his body betrayed him for what he really was: food. I smiled expectantly as he gave his speech. I made small sounds of eagerness, a long practiced habit. He looked at me with decided eyes that spoke of a one-night stand. I looked back with eyes that answered with challenge. He was up for it... for a while anyway.
The motel was clean at least but not that it mattered. What we did was far from clean. Simple foreplay quickly turned to sweat and saliva. His, mine and ours. I've always found it gives me a better appetite, an edge to my hunger and lust. At last we lay naked, with him on top. He pulled my hands over my head and bound them with his tie. Then he decided to turn ugly. I hate when they do that.
'My lil ho think she's all that in her leather dress and high boots?' SLAP
'My lil ho think she's gonna run the show?' SLAP
'Do you think you're better than me, bitch?' SLAP
'How 'bout I fuck that sweet lil ass for you, cunt? Huh?' SLAP SLAP
