The Scenic Route

Andromeda

Chapter one: Andromeda

Father Time crippled Cupid.
The painting was morbid, an old figure cutting off the wings of a baby-like being with a scythe.
Father Time's face was twisted into a grotesque grin as he committed the act. Cupid was in helpless agony as his feathered wings were torn away in brutality.

"Quite a fowl character, don't you say? I don't know if I like him being in charge of the clock." Michael jeers at his daughter Rachel who stood beside him, politely observing the painting for herself.

Rachel smiles and turns to her father, though 75 years old, still had a sarcasm and wit to him no one could wipe away.

"All the God's from mythology were messed up. Chronos was no exception." She remarks, moving on to the next painting with her dad who had already made his way towards it.

This work was Chronos dragging one of his children by their small limbs, one of the children he had eaten, according to the mythology legend.

Michael nodded after looking at it for a moment, "I stand by what I said earlier, not a good fellow."

Rachel snorts, "Good thing he doesn't exist."

Michael's face all of a sudden goes serious, clouded by a a dark brow, "Be careful what you say there, the Gods may hear you and soon you'll be be the one who gets dragged up into the sky and eaten."

Rachel went from momentary concern to rolling her eyes at her father's antics, pushing his arm lightly. "You literally just insulted The Father of Time, I think I'm the safe one here." Rachel claims triumphantly, pressing her hand to her chest matter-of-factly.

Michael's face cracks and he smiles at his daughter, raising his eyebrows and hands as if getting caught doing something, "I better watch out then. I don't feel like being castrated today."

Rachel sucks in her lips and shakes her head at her father, breathing heavily through her nose in an act not to laugh. "You're an idiot, you know that?" She tags, walking to the next work in The British Museum.

"Honey, I've known it since I was born."

***

"And you two what?"

Helen Gibbens, Michael's wife since 1966, a woman of great intellect with a cool head questions her husband and her youngest child who was now all grown up, why they were soaking wet when they returned.

"Lost our umbrellas. Don't know how that turned up to be, we left them at the front of the museum where they kept our coats." Michael explains, smiling a bit. "But it's alright, a bit of rain doesn't hurt."

"A bit of rain? You two look like you took a dip into the Thames! Silly, you two!" Helen scolds, shaking her head and tutting, but you could tell it was faux irritation, she hid a smile behind her pout.

"Blame father, not me. He's getting old. He's forgetful, I'm only middle-aged, not ancient." Rachel accuses, smirking to her father who was equally as drenched as her.

"Oh, get off it. I'm as sly as a fox. My brains just as clear as it was when I was 43, just like it was when I was 20. My brain never deteriorated, you know?" Michael shakes his hair a bit, like a dog, water droplets flinging everywhere. Both Helen and Rachel sputter.

"Shake your hair somewhere else! You're going to make Rachel regret visiting us." Helen pushes Michael towards the hall so he would get the hint to change into some dry clothes.