Dionysus ~ The Twice Born God

We will do it anyway.

(Authors notes: This story is loosely based on Greek mythology, purely my interpretation so please, no judgy judgy, thanks. Oh, and enjoy.)

I downed another glass. My fifth, actually.

Swirling the dark liquid around my mouth, I relished its smooth, rich and earthy zest. Not that I'd toot my own flute (okay, I would) but, it's one of my finest yet. I picked up the almost empty wine bottle and sighed, whirling the liquid around twice before pouring the last of the dregs into my glass.

I parted my lips and lifted my glass, tempting the wine on my tongue. Like the wine, the pub—my pub— was almost empty, just the last stragglers left behind. They were my favourite. The ones who arrived early and stayed late. The ones who partied hard and let their hair down. They fueled me, not just with their revelries but also with their patronage, devotion, and love.

Scraping wood on tiles echoed around my small establishment—the sound sad and heavy, like a bull on weighing scales, in my ears. Two men stand up, their fingers gripped in fabric, holding onto one another for support. Both stumbled and giggled as they stood, their cheeks pink with wine and eyes bright with merriment.

I recognised them both.

I tipped my head and smiled, sleep unmistakable behind my eyes. My limbs slow and my heart light, I glided over, running a finger over each table, the cool wood tingling, curling around my fingers with each touch.

"Alright, my fella?" One of the men, Arnam, hollered, his mouth wide, brown skin glowing under the warm lights. He tilted forward and poked a finger to my chest, to the green vine sewn into my shirt, leaving it there for a second before dragging it back, letting it fall limp at his side.

I sat down, perching on the edge of the table and swirled the last of my wine. "Why don't you stay?" I asked smoothly, staring at each man.

Arnan grinned sheepishly in reply and rested his head on his friend's, Oz's, shoulder. Similar to Arnan, Oz's brown skin glowed like a jewel, but where Arnan's eyes still shone, Oz's became hard, serious.

"Do you ask a lot on men to stay?" Oz inquired, his voice curiously sober for a drunk man.

"Men, women." I shrugged nonchalantly. "Everyone in-between. But we don't have to do that. We could talk."

"Tempting and honoured," Oz said, shaking life back into the resting Arnan. With both men grunting, they stumbled past me, the bottom of Oz's coat brushing the top of my knees. "But we should go," He continued.

"If you must," I sighed dramatically and brushed a curl of hair from my eyes. I trailed behind them towards the front door, my empty wine glass dangling dangerously from my finger. One slip, and it'd tumble.

Within seconds, the door emerged, its face staring blankly at the bar. I leant back, my glass nestled away, my elbows resting comfortably on the edge of the counter. "You'll be back?"

"We always are," Oz said, and his eyes sparkled, warming once again.

At that, my chest warmed. I smiled, nodding a thank you and a see you later. Gratitude and a promise.

Oz nodded back, "Laters, Dai."

"—Bye!" Arnan shouted absentmindedly, tripping out the door.

I watched as they left, off into the dark, their arms curled around tight, bodies close. I admired their friendship, relishing it, yet hating it—cursing it—all the same. I could make them stay, force them, give them more special wine. But what would be the fun in that? It wouldn't be fair; it wouldn't be real.

My ears rang, my eyes dry, the silence painful, lonely. My pub empty, my staff and customers long gone. I pushed up, my arms aching, and floated around the chairs, tables, my shoes slapping, echoing loudly on the floor.

Growing up, I was never alone. Always surrounded by people I saw and thought were my family. But because of the people they were, I—

A bang sounded loudly on the door.

Hope grew foolishly in my chest. The possibility of the men's return, that they'd changed their minds.

Another strike on the door. Louder.

I sauntered over, resting my hand on the handle and second before opening it wide enough for my head to poke through. "Lads— or not..." I said, seeing not Oz and Arnan but a group of three strangers.

The stark outside light shone down on my new arrivals, their bodies wrapped in white cloth, indistinguishable of gender and their faces covered by a smooth, featureless mask except for the two black holes for their eyes. I rubbed my eyes, flashed a smile. "Come to party? I have wine."

Ignoring my question, one of the arrivals stepped forward and spoke, their voice low and muffled, a small lightning bolt pinned to their chest, the only thing that separated them from the rest. "Are you alone?"

"Ominous. What's the occasion?"

"We," The speaker began and looked at their companions briefly before turning back to me. "Need a sacrifice, and we always feel better if we ask beforehand."

Something glinted at one of my visitor's sides. Something long. Something sharp. I took a fraction of a step back but kept my hand firmly on the door. "A sacrifice? Splendid." I mumbled, "So tell me, what will happen if I decline this..." I thought for a second and rested my head against the door, "this gracious offer to participate?"

The person behind the mask (who I bestowed with the name Deke) chuckled or choked on spit; it was hard to tell. "We will do it anyway."

I nodded solemnly. "Thought so."

I took a breath.

A crisp, sobering wind blew through the gap in the door. Leaves rustled outside in a hushed chorus, singing, whistling me their secrets.

I took a breath.

Then Deke attacked.