Fiction

Medusa

The revenge of a Goddess

Medusa sat silently by the pool, gazing at her reflection in the water. When the gorgon subsided, she took on the appearance of a normal woman. The way she had looked before the curse. A beautiful woman, smooth, dark-skinned, with clear hazel eyes and dreadlocked hair.

She had once been a high priestess, someone who had possessed an unusual ability to commune with the spirits of plants and animals. And even though now she was part monster/part human; the collective spirit of the plants and animals seemed to remember her former glory and loved her still.

As if in answer to her thoughts two sparrows flew down beside her. One of them stood on the pool’s edge, and the other rested on her shoulder.

All animals loved her; they felt like her only friends in this world — wolves, tigers, lions, bears, birds, and even crocodiles had sat next to her and comforted her. She loved them all in return. None would hurt her in any way. They seemed to revere her.

But the jealousy of a Goddess is not something to take lightly. The Goddess Athena had found Medusa in the arms of the man she herself loved and desired. Had found them lost in a moment of heated passion on the floor of her very own temple. In outrage, she punished them both. Smiting Medusa with the gorgon curse, so that when she looked into the eyes of her lover — he was immediately turned to stone.

From that day on, Medusa was cursed never to love another again, cursed to wander the earth alone, to try and make sense of what had become of her. Cursed to live with the memory that she had turned the only man she had ever loved to stone.

The revenge of a Goddess.

Over time though, she had grown accustomed to what had happened to her. And learnt of ways to subdue the gorgon; finding she could will herself back to how she had looked before the curse.

But regaining her original beauty gave only the appearance of control, for within her the gorgon would grow restless with its hunger for death — and taking over would go upon rampage after rampage, killing and leaving nothing but terror in its wake. The dark reminder of Athena’s curse.

So, Medusa had learnt to work with her darker self over the long hard years, learnt to give it what it wanted in exchange for it giving her what she wanted… her former self back.

But she was tired now, so tired, for too long she had wandered this earth… too long. She desperately wanted release — longed for death. Many people dreamed of what it would be like to live forever, but she knew, and she hated it.

Tears welled in her eyes as she watched the happy/sad mortals go about their daily lives in the park. A lone poet sitting with a notebook under a tree. Lovers on park benches discussing the politics of romance. Rollerblading keep fit fanatics wearing headphones to drown out the concrete stress.

One day, they would all die, all of them. They would no longer be tied down by the laws of gravity or the unfair economic and social systems of this world. They didn’t realise how lucky they were. Death wasn’t something to be feared or fought against. It was God’s gift to them.

As she watched, she began to remember her former mortality. But that time was vague now, just the odd glimmer of what it had been like before she had become this monster; like a pleasant dream she desperately clutched at for some semblance of hope. All the lives she had taken since that fateful day… so many lives. Surely, she was cursed now never to taste the sweet fragrance of heaven.

She stared intensely at her reflection in the water and as she did her dreadlocks came alive and changed into hissing snakes, her narrowed eyes shone translucent green.

The sparrows startled — flew away. She gazed at her gorgon image in the water, but nothing happened. She had tried it many times before, but the spell didn’t work on her. She relaxed, her hair changing from snakes back to dreadlocks again, her eyes going from green to hazel.

She got up and made her way back to her flat. It would soon be time for work, and she needed to get ready. She worked as a singer in a nightclub.

Medusa was a good singer, with a haunting voice; it was as if all the ages she had lived through had become part of her voice. When she sang, people wept, people were enchanted, people changed… well some of them.

A large number of people who congregated in these clubs were the wealthy and upper classes. And occasionally, after her performance, she would get approached by some of them in her dressing room, asking her if she would like to sing for them at a private party. She would agree to do this.

Medusa over the long years had grown to hate the upper classes; had grown to despise the cruel divide between rich and poor — felt anger at the injustice of poverty and exploitation.

And this was one of the ways that she gave her gorgon self what it wanted.

She would sing for these rich men and women. Go back to their luscious pads of sickening comfort. Wait till they were alone, seduce them, lull them into a false sense of security; listen with disdain as they made their pathetic excuses for lack of compassion towards the less well-off.

Listen with boredom as they talked endlessly about themselves and their great achievements. How they lolled in their egos and piles of wealth — me me me.

Oh, how they talked. She would watch them silently as they undressed… their genitals aroused with heat and passion for lovemaking. Her ancient naked body filling them with dark desire.

She would watch and then let her gorgon self have its prey.

The look of horror on their arrogant faces, the look of shock, of disbelief, oh though she hated her curse, at times it gave her great pleasure. Great satisfaction to become their worst nightmare, to torment these selfish tyrants. She loved watching them plead with her for their lives. Her green snakes hissing at them. Her green eyes burning right into their souls — devouring them.

How they hated to see themselves as they truly were. No one could gaze into the eyes of Medusa and live, no-one. For those eyes reflected the truth, drained you of your essence — petrified you with your own darkness.

Oh, that wonderful moment when they became inanimate stone. A sculpture, a work of art. Cold statues of heartless greed.

That’s what the gorgon stare had become to her now: a tool. A tool for creating works of art. She was an artist: framing these miserly people in their most naked greedy moments — freezing them for the world to see.

On every statue, she signed her name and gave it a unique title describing the piece; then made a discreet phone call to the authorities.

The police didn’t have a clue that they were dealing with the real thing. They nicknamed the serial killer ‘Medusa’ believing them to be a clever scientist, using a new technique to turn their victims to stone: a technique they believed speeded up the process of fossilization — a technique which of course the military were very keen to get their hands on.

It made her smirk when she read the papers or turned on the TV.

Humans with their technological triumphs, safe in their illusions; forgetting that there are still things that walk the earth which they know nothing about. Old things, ancient things. Things they are better off not knowing about.

Medusa now to them was the many screens of their technological devices. How could she even begin to compete with that? Billions upon billions of frozen people sat staring into the mass-produced gorgon of technology.

Staring at their screens while the real gorgon walked among them un-suspected — creating modern works of art. Their disbelief in myths her invisibility… and also her beauty.

© Richard Cuthbertson 2024 (all rights reserved)