Hera -The possessed Goddess
Short Stories on Greek Mythology
Short Stories on Greek Mythology – A short Story based on the connotation of the Greek Goddess Hera with a married woman who is in love with an artist since their early days.
In the bright summer morning, her bleary eyes saw him forming his craft. The sunlight’s glimmer scattering from the blinds reflected the fierce colors being filled in the painting.
The touch on her bare skin which was warm and sedate was not his. It was the wind that blew softly. She got off the bed, rubbing the dizzy feeling off her eyes that kept her captivated there for long. She wore her gown and pulled the bed sheet in place whose countless wrinkles depicted the story of last night. She once again wished if it had not happened.
But her one clear look at his painting made her want him even more…
Hera, the Goddess of the Gods was holding the disheveled cuckoo to her chest to give him warmth. Later she would know it was the Zeus and his trickery to possess her for life.
The concoction of colorful hues segregating and blending at appropriate places was the work of his exquisite hand that could put anyone in a quasi-mythological world.
His invincible focus at giving origin to splendid masterpieces makes her love him in indeed a spiritual way. So did it during their adolescent years. So will it as far as he looks like a Roman God, busy in creating a mystically beautiful world that comprises both noble and evil. She could watch him paint for an eternity.
But she needed to leave him with his art alone lest her husband would know, a businessman who holds no relation with either art or love and who would never understand how the two are related to each other. She collected all her belongings and kissed on his right hand which was hitherto stroking the brush. His hand halted once to recollect that she was going.
He feigned a half smile and shifted his eyes back to his work, lest his colors would dry. She understood that. She should not come in the way of his passion.
One last time, she looked at the painting, almost finished. The vivid characters seemed to be resuscitating from the inanimate canvas and knocking on her senses. He had given Hera her face. But the bird, though he didn’t paint it this way, strangely appeared to be him.
She understood the gesture. She had always known it, but could never escape the shackles of love until it all ended up in a curse. Hera should not live like that. So she left without letting him know about the seed of their love that was growing inside her womb.
