the graciously gay greek gazette

apollo and hyacinthus

    In the ancient times, there was a man -- a man so beautiful that even gods desired him. Apollo, god of light and music, and Zephyrus, god of wind and spring, often fought for his affections. Oh! How luxurious, to have two gods of such high status and power long for you, yearn for you so badly that they feuded, over a mortal, no less!

    This man, Hyacinthus, was indeed coveted throughout Greece. His sleek dark skin sparkled in Apollo's sun and the tight curls that framed his soft features blew in Zephyrus' wind. Both gods tried desperately to get Hyacinthus' attention, sending him the warmest of days and the gentlest of breezes. Hyacinthus was flattered and humbled by having the gods' favour, but could not decide between his suitors. How could anyone choose between two gods so different? Apollo, in his youthful and sunny glory, versus Zephyrus, wise and strong; it was like comparing olives to laurels. Poor Hyacinthus wracked his brain for what felt like months, and still could not come to a conclusion.
   
    One day, Apollo came down from Olympus to see the subject of his devotion. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his eyes lay on the mortal man he wanted so dearly. He called out to Hyacinthus, to which he got a white toothed grin in reply. The two men embraced each other with instantaneous passion. The warmth of the god's body was enough to enamour Hyacinthus, and he decided then and there he favoured Apollo. With loose curls of rose gold and eyes as brilliant as the sun that he guided across the sky every day, a warmth unmatched and the sleeping rage to boot, Apollo had finally gotten what he had wanted for so long.

    Zephyrus watched on as the man who he felt was rightfully to be his fawned over his rival. A strong anger burned in the pit of his soul and jealousy whirled around inside him. Winds whipped around his hardened and furious heart as if to fill his lungs further with hot air, ready to release a tornado. If Hyacinthus could not be Zephyrus', then he could not be Apollo's either.
    
     Weeks later, Hyacinthus and Apollo became better acquainted. The sparkle of the god's golden eyes enraptured the mortal like nothing else had before. Hyacinthus was undoubtedly in love, and the feelings he had for Apollo were undoubtedly reciprocated. They lay in a field, holding each other with a tightness that may imply they thought the other was going to fly away. Apollo's bright white skin contrasted Hyacinthus' dark skin greatly, but they both found much beauty in their differences and their similarities alike. A god courting a mortal was nothing new -- gods did it all the time! Many gods came to be that way. Dionysus, for example, and even Heracles. Apollo wondered what beauty he and Hyacinthus would bring to the world, what new flowers would sprout at their feet as they traipsed along the Grecian countryside. Maybe they'd unearth untapped magic! Perhaps he'd gain a new animal to his name! Ravens, dolphins, swans -- the possibilities were endless!

     As if to break through Apollo's daydream, Hyacinthus suggested they play his favourite game: discus. Apollo agreed, always the athletic type, and up they went. They threw the heavy disc as far as they could, marking where it landed by standing in its place. Hyacinthus always ended up throwing it father than his godly counterpart, but he could not help but feel that Apollo was doing that purposefully. 

     Zephyrus saw this as his chance to strike. When the metal discus left Apollo's fingertips, Zephyrus manipulated the breeze, causing the discus to head straight for Hyacinthus' throat. Apollo's warning cries were lost to the wind as his lover's head disconnected from his body and fell into the grassy field. 

     The young god dropped to his knees and a blood curdling scream escaped his mouth, red hot tears streaming down his face. His love was gone. He crawled over to Hyacinthus' head. The grass around it, once vibrant and green, was now bloodied, a sickening sight. Hyacinthus' bright eyes were dulled, looking through Apollo with a vacancy that shattered the god's heart. Another scream echoed throughout the field, but was eventually muffled by his own hands. Seemingly metallic tears from Apollo's eyes hit Hyacinthus' face. He had no words. His whole body was engulfed in rage and heartbreak and sadness. Apollo had no doubt that this was Zephyrus' doing, but he was so consumed with grief that he couldn't bare to consider revenge. He retched, and wept, and bemoaned his lost love.

     The body, that beautiful body, lay limp in the grass a few feet away. With weak legs, Apollo traversed the short distance and wept over the body he held not hours before. What was left of Hyacinthus began to disintegrate in Apollo's hands, melting into the dirt and sprouting purple flowers before his eyes. The head did the same. Soon, that portion of the field was filled with the flower, which Apollo named after his lost prince, and the metallic smell of blood was replaced with the gentle floral smell the plants gave off. This was not the future he had hoped for, this was not the future he had foreseen. What cruel women were the Fates! This was not supposed to be the flower that sprung up under the young lovers' feet! Hyacinthus' life was not supposed to end so soon, so unceremoniously! All Apollo could do was cry, and continue to will this flowers of mourning to cover the grassy field in which he sat.

    To this day, all hyacinth flowers remind Apollo of what could have been, what should've been.