𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 | 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

77| The Black Dog.

77 | The Black Dog.

| Sage's POV |

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"That's weird." Mom said, her voice resembling an eerie whisper you'd hear in a children's scary movie.

"He's always weird." Rory replied, picking softly at her burger as she watched me flip through the pages of the book in my hands. "You sure you aren't hungry?" She asked. I nodded, my eyes meeting hers for a second. "Yeah, I'm sure."

She smiled before redirecting her attention to mom as she spoke. "No, I mean my premonitions have been about death. About my death."

"Maybe a Greek god or goddess is trying to communicate with you. Dreamed of and or heard of a titan named Prometheus lately?" I asked, tilting my head as I looked at her. "Through visions of my death?" She responded, eyes wide. I shrugged, taping my pen against the previous annotated pages of the Iliad in my hands. "The oracle can work in mysterious ways."

She waved me off. "The thing is, they're all silly."

"Silly?" I questioned. "What do you mean silly?" Rory added on.

"In one, I slip on a banana peel and fall into a giant vat of whipped cream."

"You mean vast?"

Her eyes snapped to mine, a teasing glare swirling in the blue. "Hush it." She grinned, tapping my nose once. "And yes, I think so. I don't know what the difference is. But," she said, her attention snapping back to Rory. "In another, a turtle eats me."

"A turtle?" Rory repeats, her eyebrows creasing.

I snorted, my lips pulling up into a smile. "Who are you, Aeschylus? Was there an eagle involved?" I teased, my smile slightly faltering when they both turned to me, equally confused.

"Nevermind," I sighed, looking back down at my book. I'd been stumbling back into my 8th grade Greek Mythology phase. I didn't mind it one bit.

"But in your premonition you didn't run away from what is perhaps the slowest land animal on the earth?" Rory taunted, taking a bite of her burger. "His first bite injects me with immobilizing poison."

"Well you left that part out." Rory said.

As they talked about something involving a shotgun, Daffy Duck, and head spinning, I centered my attention on varying between my book propped on my knees, which were tucked against my chest as I sat on the diner chair, and my open notebook on the table in front of me, my textbook right beside it.

I ran my eyes over the excerpt printed on the latter, using my wrist to push up my glasses as my hands were preoccupied with one holding my book open and the other preparing to write.

"Neither Hera nor Athena nor Zeus are the things which those who consecrate temples and walls to them consider them to be, but they are manifestations of nature and arrangements of the elements. Agamemnon is air, Achilles is the sun, Helen is the Earth, and Paris is the air, Hector is the moon." My eyes wandered down just below the final line, landing on the rest.

"But among the gods, Demeter is the liver, Dionysus is the spleen, and Apollo the bile." A writing from the Greek philosopher, Metrodorus of Lampsacus, from 5th century BCE.

As I moved to sit up straighter in my chair, my eyes wandered up and froze when they met Jess'. He sat across the diner on one of the counter seats. He had a book folded in his hand the same way I'd always tell him not to, along with a pen, which I was sure was one I'd left with him accidentally, sitting softly between his teeth.

I tried not to stare, but he made it difficult when his head tilted and his lips lifted up at the sides. It was as if he was daring me not to look away.

When I heard the bell to the door ring and blonde hair bounce into my peripheral vision, my eyes snapped down and I refocused on my notebook and the pen that was almost out of ink in my hands.

I tired to ignore the sound of her walking up to him as I cracked my knuckles and started writing in an open page in my notebook.

Summary of Metrodorus—His words held a multiplicity of interpretations, yet the core meaning resonated with me profoundly. In our contemporary understanding, we do not experience divinities floating amongst us, directly communicating, engaging in tangible actions, or even visiting us in our dreams as numerous ancient sources vividly describe. Instead, celestial beings serve as symbolic representations of deeper truths, carrying forth wisdom or guidance that manifest as blessings or curses, rather than corporeal entities interacting with the physical world.

When we examine the humans he referenced, it becomes evident that they are intrinsically linked to elements of the natural, physical cosmos. Each human character embodies a fragment of the tangible universe, grounding their narratives in the observable and the material. They represent the physical attributes and dynamics that shape our reality, anchoring their stories in the concrete and the measurable aspects of existence.

Conversely, the depiction of gods diverges significantly. These divine entities are not confined to the physical realm but are instead portrayed as profound and allegorical representations of the human condition and the existential questions we grapple with. The gods symbolize the depth of our introspection, the moral quandaries we face, and the abstract concepts that transcend the physical world. They are embodiments of the intangible, reflecting our aspirations, fears, and the philosophical inquiries that define our human nature.

His words, therefore, illuminate an earnest dichotomy in the way we perceive and narrate the stories of humans versus the tales of gods. When we speak of human stories, we are recounting the physical attributes of our cosmic reality. These stories are rooted in the tangible, reflecting the concrete aspects of life and the universe. They are grounded in the here and now, in the observable and the experienced.

In contrast, when we delve into the tales of the gods, we are engaging with a different layer of reality. These narratives delve into the fathomless ideas and questions that lie at the heart of our human nature. The gods, in their allegorical representations, invite us to explore the profound mysteries of existence, the moral and ethical dilemmas that shape our lives, and the abstract concepts that elude empirical observation. Their stories are not about the physical cosmos but about the inner cosmos of the human psyche, the intangible and the ethereal dimensions of our being.

Thus, his words highlight a significant distinction: the stories of humans and gods serve different purposes and occupy different realms of our understanding. The former grounds us in the physical world, while the latter elevates us to the realm of abstract thought and introspection. By appreciating this distinction, we gain a deeper understanding of how narratives function as mirrors of both the tangible universe and the intangible depths of human experience.

In essence, his words challenge us to recognize and appreciate the dual nature of our storytelling traditions. On one hand, we have the physical, natural cosmos that shapes our everyday experiences and the stories of humans that reflect this reality. On the other hand, we have the allegorical tales of the gods that push us to explore the deeper truths and questions that define our human nature. Both are integral to our understanding of the world and ourselves, offering us a comprehensive view of reality that encompasses both the seen and the unseen, the concrete and the abstract.

My wrist stopped moving and the ink in my pen ran out just as I finished writing. This time I was the one daring my eyes to look up.

She was kissing him, which I'd expected. What I didn't anticipate, however, was that his eyes weren't closed or even on her. Instead, Jess's lips were on hers and his eyes were on me.

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