[ XI ]
Matilda left in the crowd of dead-eyed savages that moseyed beneath the circus tent on her land. She began to dance and shuffle past the mosh pit of screaming madness out of boredom of having already observed the horrors before. Matilda casually reached the center of the red and white tent and stood in front of the Redwood pillar that lay cornerstone. She opened the small door and entered the space that held the emboldened Minotaur hostage as he sat aloof waiting for Matilda to return with aid. She gave him the rope that held tethered from her waist and told him to continue to pull it: to this labor he felt contention and Matilda gave him a single rude glare and it seemed the beast understood. She left them the chaos to go scale along side the swaying pillar once more, and blatant haste to leave the company of the busy Minotaur: shooting himself in the foot. Matilda was ready to leave the random jackasses standing at all directions, and so she turned back to her quest and remained persistent.
Matilda stepped outside the Redwood pillar and stood started directly beneath a pale naked Viking looking down upon her with a scowling frown. She began plans to ascend the pillar and unwound her rope as to throw it in the air, and to her garland casting the the world was almost impressed. She ignored the man who stood near and quietly judged her, and when she finally broke and asked what: to her mighty voice he grew animated. She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the timing and knew he were to stubborn too possibly reason with, and so she began to climb holding her tongue. She turned to leave, and didn’t notice the invisible tether the Viking had bound to her petite waist. She made her way to the plateau of the pillar, and felt stress tightly bound from her hip and spine, as she had reached the end of the literal rope binding her to the Viking who stood yelling below. Matilda took hold of the silver rope and fell asleep tired of the countless surprises this quest had held. She remained there cursed for eternity asking the man to stop yelling as she relentlessly giggling at what this situation meant. One day she lost her temper and finally yelled a response asking why he was yelling at her specifically: and to this deep question he finally remained quiet and lost in thought. It had happened for so long now: at some point the Viking himself had forgotten who he was yelling at in the first place, but as he was he was stubborn beyond all words he had blindly decided to remain persistent.
No matter what Matilda listened to on top the pillar flat: she paced in circles and was only left trying to find interest to distract herself to the yelling that came from beneath her feet. She felt a pull of force throwing her back at the floor throughout the day, and became ill-ridden from the physical strain the silver conductive rope cast upon her waist bound cord. He disrupted her sleep with his dreams aboot situations he wished for: in which he would double up on the yelling he took delight in, and the girl lay as a beached whale on the floor helplessly and sarcastically wishing out-loud for anyone to help her. Matilda missed the simple things: sleep, Christmas and her two best friends, and so it became her mission to find way to contact them through aid of the gold that lined her magic book. Matilda finally took time and moved aside her prides as she told her besties of the Viking holding her rooted: to this information the three agreeably laughed at and/or with her. The two women sent gold rope by sky for her to cut down and repurpose. She handled the net until she had the strength to successfully solder it directly to the silver one based at her hip: mending her tether to be endless in length. She climbed down the falling net as it graphed along the outside of the red and white tent: heading north to visit her two best friends, as their friendship proved strong enough to transcend time and space. Matilda loved the two Indigenous Warriors and often bragged of their accomplishments wherever she went, as they too: were brave like the kind Argonauts and fought for the children living with little hope. They upheld honor to their friendship in this way, as the three prepared their weapons of silver and gold each day with united plans to finally restore justice to their lands. Without them she was helpless and for this reason: she left behind the yelling man that declared himself a Viking and went forth armed: knowing and persistent.
Matilda continued her way north and arrived at the entrance to her familiar land that remained divided by the dirty river, and now it had apparently eroded: bearing resemblance of a soggy pit. It were overcast as usual, but in center now lay a large three headed dog that took up three whole city blocks, as its massive weight had now made the urban metropolis a puddle. The beast appeared to be sick, as each of its heads seemed unwell in illness and strife. The head to the right hung his head low as it cried tears unending whaling in sorrow. Whenever he opened his mouth to cry: out projected horrendous sounds cast by echoing iron-sticks of fire and children crying. The dog had become ill from sleep deprivation and the static blinding his vision. Matilda asked what she could do to help, and he stopped growling as he saw she was a friend: she sat still and told it of her nickname of Farmer John and how she may as well claim to be a Romanov. The sound of her accepting toned voice calmed the beast, so Matilda told him stories of truth and justice: stories of hope and courage that she had encountered with the Argonauts. She pet the crying beast tired from the growing chaos and violence, and told it the endless stories she had read of the kindness of those who occasionally stood in solitude with the children who now haunted the dogs dreams. Matilda told the dog about her best friends and the hoods donned by the brave men and women that knelt in solidarity to prove the injustice. The dog became sleepy as Matilda told the countless stories of the brave educated Warrior Woman who had stood up to the Boar and his drunk friend. These stories of calmed the sleepy beast, as hope often does: Matilda lay its head down to finally sleep as she moved to observe what ailed the other two heads of the Cerberus: to her quest she proved persistent.
The middle Cerberus head sat stiff upright by his front paws and seemed startled by Matilda and her brevity, as it began to choke when she walked up to it without hesitation. Matilda had never performed CPR on such a large animal: rendered helpless to watch the beast choking and pulling at his throat. He drooled endless puddles of ominous black oily substances that were putrid and crude. Matilda took a step toward the beast: uncaringly until she slipped without grace, and to this blunder the beast laughed. Matilda was pretty tired of life at this point, so she laid there defeated stewing and muttering to herself self-remedy complaints thanking Obama. At this humour the dog chuckled with amusement: the beast laughed so hard she felt the wind had given reflex that suggested dislodging of whatever it was currently choking on. Matilda often fancied herself a decent comedian and carefully stood up and began a short skit. She held up her dainty little hands to the agitated beast and she quoted the famed Boar as she pointed to the floor at the nothingness with concern...“Whose boat is this boat?”. Matilda had said this line with a passion that was beyond seriousness as she confirmed the dogs worried eyed with theories of rival. The dog looked at the nothing and laughed to itself as he’d taken delight in her delivery. she got on with set holding up her small hands like a bewildered teenage stoner and said: “Look at these hands...these are good...strong hands...I’ve always had people say... Donald...you have great hands.” The dog doubled over in laughter as she held stern and stayed fully in character despite the stupidness. The dog hacked up a wad of plastic garbage as she finished the monologue with the strong closing line: “I know words...I have the best words. Believe me” Waving meaningless gestures at nothing, and taking a bow as she reassuringly began to pat the coughing Cerberus behind his ears. Matilda spoke soothingly to him while he finished coughing up toxic and waste until the dog panted: finally able to breathe freely. She sat with the second dog head until he finally slept, and Matilda moved to the final Cerberus head: to heal the indisposed beast in the hopes that they could eventually join forces she remained persistent.
The last head of the Cerberus howled in his great pain, for he was tirelessly old and wished to die. The dog smelled of a pub and had powder frothing from edge of his nose and mouth. He wallowed in self-pity as he had grown sick with the vast substances being forcibly feed to him by the public. Matilda needed to know the poisons that had defeated the majestic Cerberus into submission, and so she took taste of the discharged drool and somehow awoke on the floor. The toxic concoction was the poison of Hera: laced with a deadly drug commonly known as Fentanyl. Knowing the fatality rate of this diagnosis left Matilda feeling hopeless, as she didn’t know why anyone would feed the poor dog such poisons. To heal the dogs lost and tired mind she began to sing gentle songs of the skies and the stars. Matilda repeated the words of healing that her best friend Krista had once gifted her and repeated: “You is kind...you is smart...you is important” over and over. She sat there patiently and held poor weakened creature as she hummed the melodies she had once loved to sing in her youth. Matilda sang countless songs: beautiful words encouraging changes and the promises of better dayz as she simply asked the animal to keep its head up. To these songs of honesty and self-forgiveness the beast found strength to sleep off the substance induced insomnia, and Matilda was left sitting there holding the beast that now slumbered in a huge pit. She moved its last sleeping head aside and bid the beast goodnight: she gave it ice to lay upon its aching back and sealed her remedy with loving kisses on each of their puppy heads. Matilda pitied the dog that suffered alone and promised the beast that her own anger in life had been unwarranted, and she forgive herself for the prideful inability to remain unsatisfied with her own self-efficacy and took a victory nap on its soft fluffy tail as reward for finally having helped enough.
-A Traditional Yurok origin myth composed and re-mixed with Greek myths by:
Matilda Brooks
US Federally Recognized Property #562-6146, Yurok Tribe, CA.
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from Short Stories https://ift.tt/2ElDgHc
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