The twilight sun colors the clouds in purple and red. The
last fading rays of light cast long shadows on the tall
grass. A herd is marching idly down the rocky slopes,
confidently led by a young man.
He is wearing plain leather sandals, and a simple wool
tunic. In his hand, he is holding a long wooden shaft.
Smiling to himself, and whistling an old Shepard's song, but
he is no mere village boy.
His radiant blue eyes and bright golden hair give him away.
His name is Apollo, The son of Zeus, an immortal god.
The herd walks down the hill and enters a small valley,
where a shallow spring is flowing steadily. The wind is
blowing gently through the branches around them, and autumn
leaves of laurel and vine are floating on the slow current.

The disguised god sets the beasts free, so that they may
revive their strength with cool water. And himself goes
about to inquire the trees and flowers that grow along the
stream.
As he strides among them, a sweet sound comes to his ears.
The voice of a woman, singing, her melody as exquisite as
anything the god of music has ever heard before. Slowly he
follows her song, brushing away the leaves from his face. He
arrives at a clearing in the heart of the valley.
There he finds her, bathing in a small round pond. It
receives its water from a modest stream that pours down from
the nearby rocks. She is unaware of his presence. Her wet
skin captures the early moonlight, transforming each tiny
drop of water covering her pale body into a sparkling
pearl.
Intrigued by her song and rare beauty, the sun approaches
her. He is standing on the bank of the pond when she finally
turns to notice him.
The song freezes on her lips, and her eyes widen with alarm.
Knowing that she is trapped, she makes a hopeless attempt to
cover herself, but the gesture only makes her more
irresistible to him.
He speaks to her, assuring her that he means no harm, his
words are soft and his voice hypnotic. His unearthly beauty
captivates her; she nods dumbly at his empty words. The sun
then tells her who he is, and reveals to her his shining
magnificence. His bright light surrounds her. And his
laughter, like ringing bells makes her shed away her fears.
Defeated, she spreads her arms and invites him to her. He
enters the pool and covers her trembling body with his own.
Tears rise in her eyes as she takes him inside her, and the
boiling water around them glitters with silver and gold.

Far beyond the hills and ocean, the city is waking up to yet
another evening of life and energy.
Mary and I pass through the spinning hotel doors.
We walk, hand in hand, up the narrow alley. A spinning
rainbow of colors and sounds welcomes us when we arrive at
the piazza.
We joyously make our way among the noisy crowd. I put my
hand in my pocket and hold on to my wallet. One can never
know in such circumstances...
With my other hand I strengthen my grip on Mary's wrist,
lest she get separated from me in all the commotion.
We leave the piazza and wander into a quiet, desolated
street. We find sanctum in a little cafe. The charming old
shop houses embrace us; a fiddler is playing nearby for
coins. Mary whispers something in my ear, and we both
laugh.
I can't remember when was the last time I felt so happy.
We take a taxi to the Fontana, like we do almost every
evening. We each take a coin and throw it in the water. They
say anyone who throws a coin, will return here again some
day.
The evening is almost over. We climb up the steps, and stop
to look at the square below. I take her hand, and pull her
to me.
"Promise me Mary, that you will never leave me", I say to
her, "Promise me now. I love you, and I want us to be
together forever."
She smiles, and kisses me.
"I promise", She says.
I cling to her like a child in the dark, and we kiss again,
passionately.
"I am nothing, without you", I whisper, as we head back to
the hotel.
One last disturbing thought crosses my mind before I lose
myself again in the beauty all around me. Right now, I am as
happy as I ever will be. Things can only go downhill from
here.

Time passes by. The gray autumn skies are taken over by rain
clouds, conveying the wrath of winter. But as always, that
wrath is short lived, and soon the heavens blush clear blue
again. Bearing the endless blessings of spring.
The young woman raises her eyes to the skies. Not with
arrogance or contempt, but with hope. She rests her hand on
her full belly and smiles.
Her heart is singing a prayer of love and longing so pure
that like a ray of light it ascends to the very halls of the
gods. Every morning she prays. The sun swept fields, are her
shrines, and tears, her sacrifice.
For many days her mute vows are left unanswered. Until one
morning she looks down from the heavens, and he is standing
before her. Her entire being cries out with joy when she
sees him.
"You have returned to me, my shining one!" she marvels.
But his face remains cold and remote.
"Why do you bother us with your insufferable pleas, woman?"
The sun demands.
She lowers her eyes in shame. Her heart is broken. Yet she
gathers her courage and looks up again at the golden figure
before her.
"Will you let the vine tree die in the snow after you
enjoyed the fruit, my lord?" she begs, her voice trembling.
At this the golden one laughs.
"What do you ask of us Clymene? To marry you, make you,
little Clymene, the bride of the god of light? Poor Clymene,
how ignorant you are. The sun belongs to the world. Not to
you. Be thankful for whatever grace we bestowed upon you in
the past, and ask no more of us. Forgotten Clymene, do not
dare call our name again, or you will reap the fruits of our
fury!"
The sun turns around and begins to walk away. The young
woman falls to the ground, tears running down on her face.
"Will you spare yourself of your unborn child as well?" she
cries behind him in desperation.
The god of music pauses. For a long moment he considers this
in his mind. Then, slowly he turns around.
"No", He declares, "We will not deny ourselves of our blood.
But for him to come with us to Olympus is impossible. Our
father will never allow that. No. You will raise the boy
among these Shepard people. Tell him nothing of his true
origin, teach him how to play the lyre, and tell him to
plant both his legs steady on the ground before he let loose
his arrow. Keep him away from wine, and the company of old
men. When the boy comes of age, reveal to him his true
heritage, and send him to seek us at our temple in the city
of foresight. When he will come, we shall accept him as our
own."
The sun god looks deep into the young woman's eyes, and
adds:
''Remember, Clymene, you may never marry another man! If the
boy is to be fathered by another, we shall deny him of our
grace forever!"
After saying these words the shining one turns, and
disappear in a blaze, Leaving the young woman weeping, the
sharp rocks cutting her knees, and a stream of tears running
down her face.

The river is wide, and its water dark and murky. Green and
brown rot covers the decorated inscriptions on the ancient
marble tables.
I cross the stone bridge in fast paces. The weight of my
thoughts so heavy on my mind, that I ignore the two figures
walking in front of me.
Unaware of her presence, I bump into the old lady rather
hard. She lets out a shriek of surprise as she stumbles
foreword and falls to the ground.
The man by her side leaps after her, but fails to catch her
in time. She cries out in pain, and grabs her ankle with her
hands, while he crouches above her and tries to help.
I walk pass them without slowing down.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" the man calls after me,
but I keep on walking.
It's not my problem.
I have been this way for the past few days, ever since Mary
disappeared on me.
It was a perfectly ordinary morning. I called her number,
but nobody answered. At first I wasn't too worried, she
probably left on some private errand without her phone. So I
just kept calling every hour or so, I even tried calling her
directly to her room a couple of times, no one was there.
By evening time, I was freaking out, but I kept telling
myself that she just lost her phone or something, and was
otherwise all right.
Yesterday morning I began looking for her everywhere. I
checked with the hotel where she was staying, but no one
there had any useful information. I asked around in the
local shops, in case she stopped to buy anything there. In
my desperation I even tried bribing one of the cleaning
girls to let me in her room. But all my efforts were in
vein.
I had to start facing the facts.
She was gone.
This evening I waited for her by the Fontana. But it was
just my wishful thinking, she never showed up. I sat on a
bench watching the people passing by, and there was one
woman there, she looked just like my Mary from where I sat.
I called to her, and she looked at me for a moment, then
gave me a small ironic smile, and walked away.
So I return defeated to my room, my mind is filled with
horrible images; I am unable to shake away.
As I lie down in bed, I can feel her presence in the
darkness, as if she is there somehow, the silhouette of her
body rising and dropping steadily, so close to me.
I reach to turn off the light, but I know my worried mind
would not grant me any sleep.

The image of the full moon is captured whole on the
mirror-like surface of the lake. It is a hot summer evening
and the gray windswept slopes are all but bare.
The boy marching down the paved road tries to hide his
enthusiasm. But his eyes are constantly searching, and his
fingers are restlessly twisting and turning with excitement.
Before him he can see the gates of the magnificent temple.
Tall marble pillars ascend to the air and support beautiful
statues of gods and goddesses, intricate patterns and
symbols are carved on the broad wooden gates, and the huge
round roof is covered with gold and silver ornaments
imitating the dome of the sky.
The boy walks inside, and is immediately lost in the plenty
surrounding him. Painted murals, mosaic floors, golden
statues. Glamorous wealth is everywhere, splendorous and
grand.
The boy brushes away the hair from his face. He has golden
hair like his father, and green eyes like his mother. He is
a thin, frail boy, rather shy. Sometimes his friends say he
is awkward, because he has a tendency to drift away from
reality, in strange and wonderful daydreams.
"Phaeton", a voice calls behind him.
The boy turns around startled.
Before him stands an old woman, her hair is silver gray. She
is wearing a long yellow cloak and her hands are folded
inside her broad sleeves. A gold medallion hangs down from
her neck; it is shaped like a small sun.
"How do you know my name, lady?" the boy asks.
The priestess smiles and nods.
"We were told of your coming here, Phaeton, and knew of your
arrival today, even when you were not yet born."
The boy's eyes widen in amazement, he stares at the old
woman speechless.
"Follow me..." She says, and starts walking slowly down the
long and wide corridor. They walk together in silence into
the deepest and holiest confides of the ancient temple.
Finally the priestess stops before a large golden door. And
places her right hand on the smooth shining surface.
"Beyond this door..." she says, "Even I, the highest of the
sun's disciples, am not allowed to continue. It is the
holiest of chambers, only the sun himself enters here."
The priestess then slowly pushes the heavy door open, and
gestures with her hand to the boy.
The boy does not move.
"Go", She says, "Your father awaits you."
The boy musters all of his courage, and enters the chamber
of the sun.
The bright light blinds him at first, but after a while his
eyes adapt, and his vision is slowly restored.
He sees before him a mighty hall, and at its end, a throne
of pure light. Sitting on it, is a golden figure, the image
of a man wearing a crown of white flame, the man smiles.
"Come here, Phaeton", the sun says, his voice as majestic as
a lion's roar, but his words as soft as silk.
"We have been expecting you."

The light of the sun flickers through the autumn leaves.
Yellow brown and green and an occasional blast of white,
like bits and pieces of a fading dream, still caught in
memory.
I pass the avenue, walk down the narrow street, and enter
the building. It has been a bad day, and I am exhausted. I
decide not to go up to my room right away, like I usually
would have. The thought of sitting there by myself with
nothing to do is far too depressing. Trying to deal with
being alone, when I'm around other people, is tough enough.
So I walk down the spiral staircase and into the hotel
lounge. The place is almost empty, except for a bunch of
seniors who are playing cards, and a young couple, sitting
by the bar and talking in mellow voices.
A piano plays softly from a large speaker above the bar. The
elegant music escorts me to a dark corner across the room. I
take my seat, and order a drink.
As I seat there, waiting, I can feel the melancholy taking
hold of me again. It is during such short moments of
passage, that my solitude hurts the most.
A waitress serves me my drink, and smiles politely.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asks.
I tell her no.
She is wearing a red jacket over a white blouse, and black
pants, "Melinda", her nametag says.
She hangs on a moment longer, then turns around, and starts
walking back to the bar. Two weeks and five days had passed
already, since the last time I saw her.
Today I went to the embassy, to declare her missing.
They thought I was crazy when they heard my claims.
"The girl's not missing, she just had a change of heart,
buddy", The clerk there said. But I insisted that she would
never leave me, not without saying goodbye. They only smiled
patiently, like I was some teenager in love.
"Her name doesn't even appear in the records", another one
said, "That means she either gave you a false name, or she
doesn't exist..."
I walked out of there outraged at their rudeness. How dare
they accuse others of their own incompetence?
I finish my drink, and pay the bill. I have about half an
hour left to burn before I head out to the Fontana again.
Maybe tonight she would be there.
Lately I see more and more suspicious looking characters
hanging around that part of town. I just pray that she's
ok...

The tall branches sway idly in the cool breeze; all is
peaceful and still save for the whisper of the dry leaves.
Night's kingdom covers the holy valley.
The boy looks west at the barren mountains, and smiles. His
father stands behind him, his face full of remorse.
"Do not do this, Phaeton, I beg you" the sun pleas, "Do not
take advantage of my reckless words, to throw away your
life. Ask for anything else, and I will grant it."
The boy looks up defiantly at his father.
"My mind is made up, father, you will let me ride your
chariot, like you promised," he says impatiently.
The sun sighs, and shakes his head in frustration.
"You have the stubbornness of a god in you, Phaeton", he
says, "Listen to me carefully now, my boy, riding the sun's
chariot is not an easy task.
One must be strong enough, both in body and mind, to
successfully control and navigate it. The horses are wild
and untamed. You must let them know at all times that you
are their master! Should they sense weakness or fear in you,
they would run amok, and never obey your commands again. The
path climbing up to the heavens is narrow and steep, stray
from it, and you will fall deep into the darkness of the
abyss. Once you ascend to the roof of the sky, the road
becomes even more treacherous. Terrible beasts and monsters
lurk in the shadows between the clouds; they would snatch
you with their claws, should you come close enough for them
to reach. After that comes the most difficult part, I tell
you now, boy, that even I, the sun himself, dare not look
down during the long descent over the western sea. You must
plant your legs down hard, and hold on to the reins with all
your might, if you wish to..."
"I know all these things, father!" The boy interrupts his
words, "You are just like mother, have you no faith in me?"
The shining god looks in his son's eyes for a long moment,
and sorrowfully nods. "You are mistaken, my boy", the sun
says, "I tell you these things not because I lesser you,
know that no other god dares to ride the chariot but me. Yet
I honor my promise to you, and let you do it. But you must
take heed of my warnings, son, for they are not empty
threats made to cower your heart, but genuine council to
help you face the hardships ahead."
But the boy is already too excited to listen, he smiles, and
points to the heart of the valley.
"It is almost time now, father", he says, "Wish me luck."
The god of music embraces his son, and kisses his golden
hair. He then watches the boy run down to the bottom of the
sacred crater. He can hear the horses moving restlessly, as
they wait for their master to arrive.
The god of light suddenly feels something slithering down
his cheek, a single tear drops to the earth from his chin, a
single tear of the purest silver.

The fashionable neon lights above the shops make sharp
contrast to the ancient pillars and arcs, on which they
project in colorful rainbows. It is the never-ending
dialogue between past and present that gives this city its
reputable atmosphere and grace.

But such beauty means nothing to me as I shuffle amongst the
rubble of men crowding the piazza.
In my mind I curse them all to hell.
Loneliness is leprosy, and like the mortally sick hate the
healthy, so does the lonesome hate and envy the loved.
Could it really have been a year since I lost my Mary? Since
they stole her from me! It is difficult for me to keep track
of time.
I was a visitor here once, but I have become a permanent
resident after they kicked me out of the hotel.
I wasn't able to leave this city without getting answers to
my queries, and I couldn't afford to stay in that fancy
suite any longer.
So I rented a crummy room down in the suburbs, where no
questions are asked, and I've been living there ever since.
As for Mary, the less I succeeded in tracing her steps, the
harder I kept trying. She became something of an obsession
for me.
Sometimes, while I lie in bed, and stare at the lights
coming from the streets through my window, I can hear that
voice in the back of my skull demanding that I must give up
my quest. And carry on with my life.
I guess that I agree, but I just can't let go.
In my imagination I have found her a thousand times, the
circumstances for her vanishing are always different, but
her response is always the same when we meet. She swears
that she never stopped loving me, and prayed each day that I
would find her, so that we could be together again. And this
time nothing would come between us.
It was this happy scenario that followed me to dreamland
every night, and gave me the strength to carry on through
another day every morning.
Something disturbs my train of thought suddenly.
A rat of a man, stumbles into my lap.
He is whining to me in his native tongue about his troubles.
His face is covered with soot, and his clothes are filthy
and torn all over. But what strikes me as most offensive is
the stench.
An ensemble of various odors, each unpleasant in its own
right, mixed together to create foulness, powerful enough to
unnerve one's sanity.
I turn away from the lowlife, but to my amazement he grabs
my arm in his infested little hands, holding me back.
Then something happens, the like of which has never happened
to me before. I feel myself stepping aside from my body, or
more accurately, stepping back.
I see my two hands jetting foreword from my body and
pressing against the slob's chest. The impact causes the
little vermin to lose balance, and he is sent flying in the
air, his arms and legs waving helplessly as he hit the
pavement with a low thud.
I regard the whole scene as an outsider, one without control
over myself. Like I'm a bystander, a stranger to my own
person.
The one who once was me, jumps over the misfortunate roach
struggling to get up from the floor, and grabs his throat
with my two hands. The poor creature is fighting to free
himself, but I hold him firmly to the ground.
''You are a liar!'' I hear myself scream in his face, "Tell
me where she is! What have you done with her?"
Around us, a small crowd is forming, and a few of them are
now moving to restrain me. My newfound archenemy is still
coughing and twitching under me like the maggot that he is,
his face is turning blue, and I realize at the last minute
that if I don't get off him soon, he would die.
A second later, I am in control of me, again, I let the
purple shapeless face in my hands drop to the ground, and
get up to my feet.
I look around in confusion, trying to understand what just
happened.
The people in the background look at me with contempt, but
no one says a word to me. Finally they lose interest and
move on.
I check to see if anything is missing in my pockets and turn
away, as if nothing happened. Not offering my defeated
counterpart with a last glance, let alone an apology.

Glorious light blesses the lush earth, washing away the
shadows, to their dark hiding places. Revealing green
pastures, flowing rivers, and rich meadows.
The boy looks down from his illuminated thrown at this
abundance, and calls out with joy.
He knows that he is the light.
For the first time in his short life, he feels true
exhilaration. The horses are pulling him up fast, and his
heart beats faster with each thundering stomp of their
mighty hooves.
His golden hair waves wildly in the wind, and a sense of
danger mixed with pleasure rushes through his body. He whips
hard with his silver reins, cutting the horse's flesh,
causing them to gallop upwards even faster.
Stretched before him, is the dome of the sky in its entire
splendor. The clear infinite blue of the heavens dotted with
the hazy white of passing clouds.
The boy looks down at the miniature world beneath him, and
tears start running down on his face. So much beauty, he
thinks to himself, it is perfect.
The world is perfect.
But riding the chariot uphill took its toll on the boy. He
is breathing heavily, his shoulders ache, and his arms are
tired of grabbing the heavy reins.
A low cloud comes drifting by. The boy stretches his arm
upwards, trying to catch some of the fluffy white substance
with the tips of his fingers. He is unable to see the sharp
turn on the road, straight ahead.
The boy stretches his body as hard as he can. Standing on
the tips of his fingers, he manages to touch the edges of
the cloud. Fascinated, he examines the pallid matter, as
cold as ice to his touch.
The chariot swerves abruptly sideways.
The sound of the screeching hinges shakes the boy back to
reality, but it is too late. He loses balance, and is cast
screaming to the floor.
Desperately, he holds on to the reins, but the horses, gone
mad with freedom, are out of his control. He holds on a
moment longer, before their powerful necks rip the reins
from his hands.
Phaeton cries out in pain and frustration. Slowly he pulls
himself up, and looks at the road ahead.
He can clearly see the long descent to the fore. And this
time he knows that he is doomed, not even his father can
save him.

Dead dry leaves lay scattered on the pavement.
During the past few weeks they had been torn off their
branches by ferocious winter winds. The trees along the
avenue now stand bare, powerless against the raging cold.
Was it on a cold winter morning, like this one, that they
picked me off the street?
I don't know for sure which annoyed shopkeeper, or concerned
citizen, had tipped the local police about me.
Nor do I care, but someone must have done so.
They must have called in, early in the morning, and
whispered that there is a lunatic rampaging in the piazza.
Harassing the crowd, scaring away the tourists, screaming at
the pigeons, very disturbing indeed.
And so they came for me one morning. Asked for my name,
asked for my papers, and finally, asked me to get in the
car.
The following few days are a blur. I had no papers, and they
had no records of me. When they asked me where I came from,
I said I don't know.
I talked with some people later on, some of them where
doctors.
That's how I ended up here.
They told me this place is not a prison, but I am not
allowed to leave. Said it's not a hospital, but I will get
better here. And I have been here for a while now, getting
better.
Used to have violent outbursts at first, but the medications
took care of that.
I spend most of my days now, staring out the window.
Watching the seasons change, looking up to the mountains,
trying to figure out where it all went wrong.
Sometimes during the evening, I look out as far as I can,
till I reach the ocean. Through my barred window I can see
the crushing waves on the sandy shore, I can see the amber
sky stained with clouds of gray, and hear the voices of
seagulls hovering above the water.
I can see a chariot of red fire cast down from the heavens,
the sun of my life crashing to the waves.
And it is on such occasions that I hear inside my head the
screams, it's mostly incoherent chatter now, but one voice
rises above the rest.
The one calling out your name, over and over again, Mary!
Mary! Mary!
Were you ever there?