Prometheion: I'm Dating Hermes!

aled something was burning. I stopped mid-hallw

ng eerie about them. Nothing in the universe is so simple yet so, so appealing. In the Sand

ourage, I face

s daring me to question. From his anachronistic toga to his winged sandals, he was a blaring

ap. The stranger's grin

you a

heckered scarf

rme

bra

ough the air in a snazzy salute. "G'mo

ed, and I didn't hear any breaking glass." I looked him up and down.

hen ah'ed appreciatively. "By Jove's hairy derriere, what a drink. Wine pales in comparison. To the gods of

were?" I looked at his hands. They were tapered lik

tranger was, in fact, like taking the firs

the scarf," he sang, o

s edge, tipping the mug over the rail

his sacrifice of vessel and drink. A blessin

ed my cof

ds likely to smile upon you. Just don't pull a Tantalus, m'k

worth my

the back. "So, love, the reason I'm

he porch. The so-called He

ed. I was twelve. I came home and found the house empty. Things were always hard for us, and my parents were alw

didn't want to. The man

im!" I stumbled back into the

of tea appear

sweetened with ambrosia

ever crap the lunatic had spiced it with tasted bitt

metal come to life. His proud face as I showed him my

g in the Catskills. I'd watched as he built a

mallows. His eyes, sometimes, grew strange to me.

ue. Toys painted just for me. The stories he'd spun, of

ps looked everywhere. No trace. They cycled me into a hellhole of

y. If there had been, your father would hav

cup. "Yeah. Right

company. I remember that night.

ike saucers. "Wha

died my sha

rally, into the cup. There'

my delu

es dances across it as he whispered in Greek

at me, his face contorted; his cry rang. I jolted: the cup clat

r's figu

rocks.

le," I whispered

face w

isn't real. Someone must've

d out at his conjuration. "That's not

," Hermes

ion had alr