All in

Chapter 25

Salvete viri. Ergo deus est hodie Brizo. Gratias tibi. Fruor.

Translation - Hey guys. Today's god is Brizo. Thank you. Enjoy.

Very little is known about the Greek goddess Brizo, though she is known as both a dream goddess and a goddess of the ocean within the Greek pantheon. The Greek Myth Index indicates that she was a prophetic goddess whose Greek name stems from the word "brizein" which means "to fall asleep". Her prophecies were delivered through dreams after her worshipers fell asleep. Brizo's oracle would then interpret the dreams.. She was particularly attuned to prayers regarding ocean navigation and fishing.

Brizo is the ancient Greek water goddess worshiped in Delos and was considered the patron Goddess of the mariners. She was also patron of the fishermen and sailors. Brizo was often worshiped by the women in Delos who would pay homage to her by placing food in their small boats as an offering to the goddess. However, the goddess would not accept offerings of fish. This was considered extremely bad luck and would make the goddess angry. Most of the offerings were small items which Brizo's worshipers hoped would bring the goddess's protection, blessings of abundance and well-being.

Robert Graves, who wrote the mythography "The Greek Myths", reveals that Brizo was also considered a lunar goddess, or a goddess associated with the moon. He believes her name meant "soother" and that she was considered to be one of the three goddesses in the Byperborean Brigit. Many sources suggest she is also connected to the goddess Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis. Brito has another name called Britomartis, further connecting the goddess to Artemis. Britmartis is another patron of the fishermen and sailors, though she is also a patron of navigation and sea harbors.

Brizo governs over the moon, dreams, sleep, birth, mariners, navigation, and seafaring vessels.

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Jason's POV

I stared at the acoustic guitar in my room for a good hour before I picked it up. My dad had worked hard to make enough cash to buy it for me on my fifteenth birthday. He'd got it off some old guy out in the swamps, a poor bastard whose talent had been stolen by arthritis. The guitar was battered, beat-up, and used, just like a Gibson should be, and it was worth a small fortune.

I had, like, six guitars, but this one was my favorite. Partly because it was a '56 Gibson, but mostly because my dad gave it to me.

I used to play it all the time, but I hadn't touched it since the accident. Sure, I practiced scale runs on my electric because it was easier. The strings were lighter and the action was low. But that wasn't the only reason I avoided the acoustic. The Gibson reminded me of that night.

The only reason it had survived the accident was because I had left it at the party, too wasted to care about this special thing my dad had given to me. Luke had scooped it up for me. He'd kept it for months, and when I finally came out of the coma, it was the first thing he'd brought to the hospital. I think he thought it would make me feel good, you know, to see it. Touch it even.

But it didn't. Something about the guitar triggered a kind of blackness in me, and truthfully, setting it in the corner of my room was almost like punishment. Maybe one I deserved. A screw you for the stupid mistake that had landed me right where I was. On a road to nowhere.

I held the guitar in my hands, and it didn't even feel right. Didn't feel like there was anything there. No connection. No passion. There was nothing.

And if that wasn't scary enough, I sat on my bed and played a few chords, but nothing sounded good. Nothing sounded right. And that blackness, well, it was still there. Still invading every space inside me, falling into every nook and cranny that made up Jason Smith.