Waiting for Sunrise

Part 1 🔆

Some background!

Hyacinthus (or simply Hyacinth) was a beautiful (hella beautiful) spartan prince and the lover of Apollo, the sun god.

Hyacinths' young life ends in tragedy as he and Apollo were playing a game. Hyacinth tries to impress Apollo by catching a discus that he Apollo and thrown and some meddlesome being killed him, making the discus hit Hyacinth in the head.

This is my depiction of what happened before the jealousy, before the pain and despair, before Apollo's efforts to heal his loved one fails; before he even threw the discus at all.

                   ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

    'Even though the sun rises every morn, he leaves us, cold and alone in the gloom when it's time for dusk.

Nightfall does have its own feeling of magic and peacefulness in a strange way. It almost gives me clarity. Furthermore, with time to think and relax- take a break. But it's too foreign to me. There are too many lies and secrets in the night, along with dark beings and things and...just ugh. Always hiding in those long cast shadows, lurking and spying. Cries in the night. Death.

Simply put: I am NOT an admirer of you, our dear maiden Artemis. You leave me, dare I say, wondering...why can it not always be morning? Even if you are my lover's sister...'

I swipe a green grape from a bowl full of small fruits on my left and exaggerate a bored sigh, not really enjoying the slightly bitter and tart flavor that follows. Continue my somewhat petty lamenting.

'I convey, morning is filled with the light that gives us life! I can run through fields when it's light out and feel the warmth from the sun- MY sun, against my skin. I can swim in those clear blue waters. I hate that it is indeed a fact that there can be no light without darkness.'

'I am not afraid of what is hiding in the dark. I am afraid of the darkness itself. So vast and empty and never-ending. I swear I can hear Nyx laughing at me down in Tartarus, that irritable Goddess.'

By the time it is finally dawn and the sun is just ever so slightly above that hill to the East, next to the laurel tree, I'm grabbing my bow and arrows, along with the simple lyre he's provided me.

It makes a hideous sound when I accidentally smack it against a wall in my haste, the strings still humming when I start running faster. Not that I'm late or anything. Or excited. No, not at all. Well, maybe just a little.

All the women in Sparta would be jealous out of their minds if they knew that their dear prince was having a dalliance with a God. A GOD.

Dirt and dust fly up and get in my sandals. The wind hits my face, makes my white chlamys and silver himation flutter and sway. Everything smells like earth and spice.

When I finally reach the top of the hill, the first thing I see is the laurel tree. It looks healthy as usual and kind of 'happy', the wind making it seem almost it's branches sway as if it is waving greetings to me. I set my bow an arrow down next to me and lean against the tree, the lyre in my lap.

It mocks me, almost as if it wants me to make all of Greece's ears bleed. But he had encouraged me to practice after our last rendezvous...

"If you don't practice, how will you ever become better?" The question he had asked me really caught me off guard.

"You're a god," I practically screamed at him. "That isn't fair! All you need to do is literally pull a few strings and you have all the youths of Sparta drooling at your feet."

He hadn't even acknowledged my yelling at him or gave me some 'godly-advice' like I thought he would. He just smiled.

His smile might as well be the sun itself in all its friendly and loving ways. I think I was partially blinded at that moment, too. All I do know for sure is that when I summited down down down into the hectic way of the gods, into my heart, he fell too. And no one could prepare me for that, nor save me. And no one will ever replace him.

I scowled as I tried strumming the lyre a little, making sure I didn't break it while rushing to get to the tree. It sounded beautiful when he played it. When I played, it sounded pretty dull. Dead even. There was no emotion whatsoever.

It might play a role that he sings when he plays too, though, I could never sing, even if my chance to Elysium depended on it.

Once I got the feel of it and the rhythm of the lyre again, I started playing a song he recently taught me, Seikilos epitaph.