The pain never stopped.
It was relentless, prodding, picking, tearing, clawing, screeching, repeating.
Prometheus had nearly forgotten what it felt like to have a full liver. It had been years—decades?—now with no relief, no news, no companionship. He had felt no prayers—and why should he? He was powerless to help himself, he could do nothing for others. This was the life—or rather, eternal death—that he had chosen. He was proud of that choice, glad to know that Epimethius and Pandora had been given a chance to continue on together. Their happiness was still his everything…but…it hurt, so much, so long…
An eagle fluttered down to rest on Prometheus’ thigh. Once, he had thought these birds majestic. Now, they looked worse than vultures to him. Scavengers and thieves, peons of pain. The eagle cocked its head at him, perhaps trying to gauge emotion, perhaps wondering what flavor he would be today, most probably grumbling to itself that it had to be an all you can eat liver bar, any self respecting eagle would prefer sushi. But, even an eagle knows not to look a gift-course in the spleen.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Prometheus looked defiantly back at the eagle, as he always did. Its black eye was unreadable, as it always was. Then, something beyond the eagle, past the mountain in the sea caught his eye. It was a ship. Rough wood, huge sail harnessing the wind to cut through the water at a respectable clip, fine, functional workmanship in its own way. The work of the children and children and children of his children.
The eagle began its grizzly work.
Prometheus smiled faintly before he screamed.
this must be what it was like for Prometheus as the eagles ate his liver every day, knowing that they would come back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Thus came the poem posted here in the description of this book. I came the realization that there was arguably no figure in either Greek or Roman mythology who did more for humankind, suffered more for his moral compass, and was generally ignored more by priest and commoner alike than Prometheus. And yet, there was no figure so deserving of worship as he. Suddenly, for me and with no effort on my part, Prometheus was the most compelling character in Greek mythology: while Zeus was getting drunk, turning into various well endowed creatures and generally chasing anything with a heartbeat, Prometheus was inventing, protecting, and ensuring the continued existence of the creatures who would ultimately ignore him in favor of his ill-mannered nephew and the accompanying gang of misbehaved gods. What surprised me, then, as I wrote, was the empathy that I found for not just Prometheus, but Zeus as well, raised by absentee parents with a father who would literally have killed him and a badly damaged mother who never seemed to be able to see beyond herself, I started to marvel that Zeus even turned out as well as he did.
The Mentalist was told that "curiosity killed the cat," he replied, "It also cured polio, but, whatever." Throughout history, we have seen each of the things traditionally released from pandora's jar systematically conquered by the same curiosity which was blamed for their dominion in the world. Being a point that was, by no means, limited to Greek mythology, but also features in Judeo-Christian creation stories (Eve's curiosity causing her to eat the forbidden fruit), I found it's near-universal relevance sweeping me along in the task of writing upon it.
