Chaos. Hope. Love.

Homer and Heartsongs

The idiots on Olympus had it wrong. Coffee was the best drink on earth. The first taste after sleep was simply blissful. I sighed with contentment, inhaled the scent from my cup and savored the taste on my tongue.

Ah. Amazing. I lazily stretched my body and carried my cup to my disaster zone of a room. Setting the cup down so I could pick out something to wear, I scrunched my nose. Most of my clothes lay scattered across the floor, which meant they were wrinkled. Meh, I'd tidy up later. One blouse by my feet didn't look too bad, so I picked it up. I rotated about, seeking something to match. So I was the goddess of chaos. Didn't mean I had to look like a beggar in hand-me-downs. It took me a while, but I found a nice pair of high-waist pants and held them up to the blouse. Wouldn't look bad, but was it too formal?

Nah. I got dressed, keeping the top buttons open, then did my night-black hair into a messy bun at the nape of my neck. I kept my make-up light. Just some mascara to accentuate my bright blue eyes and some lip gloss. Done.

I pulled on a pair of kitten heels and dissolved into thin air. It was a nice trick, dissolving. Becoming part of everything and nothing. Being able to influence things without people even realizing I was there.

Also, it beat traditional modes of travel hands down. I could reappear literally anywhere within minutes, and moving from place to place gave me the best rush in the world. Even after thousands of years of doing it.

I oozed down the stairs and into my bookstore. It was huge, but in this form, I could do a lot of work. Funny how I used my gifts to clean. Once, I'd used them to create mayhem. Two things happened, though: I lost my appetite for chaos and the mortals proved they didn't need me to create it. They did fine all on their own.

Not that I'd call myself completely reformed. For one thing, this bookshop hadn't had books placed in any particular order since long before the day I'd bought it. I wouldn't have felt at home otherwise. Thousands of books were stacked at random, in shelves, on the ground, on coffee tables surrounded by old mismatched sofas. Oddly enough, people enjoyed the place. They liked exploring, the thrill of discovery.

And...order was boring.

As soon as I'd dealt with the worst of the dust, I returned to my human form by my wooden counter, leaning against it so I could survey my domain. The antique silver cash register gleamed. Everything was perfect.

Then I saw it. The Iliad stood upright on a pile and glared at me with its baleful presence. Exactly at eye-level.

"Stupid Homer," I muttered and knocked it down from its perch while strolling past. Customers enjoyed moving books about, arranging the ones they liked on top so they would draw other customers' attention.

Why anyone liked that story went above my understanding. It was ridiculous. Of all the ancient texts to survive this long, it had to be the Iliad that lasted. Shaking my head in disgust, I turned the open/closed sign around and unlocked the door.

It was quite chilly, so I went back in and stoked a fire to life. I glanced toward the Iliad, then picked it up from the floor. Just as I was about to toss it into the fire, Betty walked in.

A dear old bird. She was somewhere close to eighty, but didn't look a day over sixty. And as sharp as could be. Her eyes peered through her glasses at the book in my hand. "What are you doing?"

"Er..." I shrugged and tossed it aside. Even now, two years after I bought this place, I still didn't have a believable explanation for my aversion to Homer. Hard to explain it reminded me of that one time I started the Trojan War. "Nothing. Really."

Betty's eyes sparkled. "You should read it."

Pass. "I'll get to it one day."

"Young people," Betty grumbled and sauntered off in search of something to read.

"Mortals," I muttered under my breath. Make 'em a few decades older than other people and they think they know everything.

The bell over the door rang. A rich, warm sound, but a chill shot up my spine. I stilled. Deep inside me, a sort of music played. I could hear it when no mortal could. I felt it into the depths of my soul.

The music was a sign of someone with Olympian blood nearby, and each one's was unique. This person's heartsong felt strange. Grave, but happy at the same time. Yet not discordant, unlike mine. I didn't recognize this heartsong, but just the fact that I felt it was enough. I had my back turned to someone who could be here to take me down.

Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoy this short story! I'll be updating once a week on Fridays until it's done. If you enjoyed this, please do leave a like and let me know what you think. ;-)