Work Text:
All the tales the same
Told before and told again
A soul that's born in cold and rain knows
Sunlight, sunlight, sunlight
At last can grant a name
To a buried and a burning flame
As love and its decisive pain, oh my
Sunlight, sunlight, sunlight
Apollo’s blue eyes widened when he noticed the terrible scenario in front of him.
The scenario which could not be stopped.
An unstoppable destiny which would be carried out like a sword of Athens, which pierced the body of a Spartan.
The fate had been sealed inexorably and even he as a god was powerless to do anything about it in the last seconds of this misfortune.
All he could do was watch helplessly.
Watching inactively as the discus, he had just thrown, was heading for the young son of Sparta.
The discus took a turn, which could only be steered by the wind.
Hyacinthus ran. He laughed his radiant laugh. He was still so brave in his actions, blinded by what was about to happen. He wanted to impress Apollo, show him how fast and athletic he was by running after the discus and catching it in the run, but he had no idea what evil deeds were behind it.
Apollo was frozen. His body was lame. He clenched his hands lightly into fists. His eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
He wanted to do something about it, he want to call after him, tell him to move away from the discus, but it was too late and his body didn’t react.
He may have been a god, but he wasn’t a god over his body. Not at the moment.
Then he jerked hardly noticeably when he heard the horrible noise.
The sound that could only be heard as soon as something sharp and heavy cut through flesh.
Apollo just couldn’t believe what had happened.
What had been happening there visibly in it’s terrible elegance, right in front of his eyes.
The god screamed without restraint.
Angry and grieving, he verbally lamented his suffering.
So loud that he was sure that Poseidon would hear him at the bottom of the sea and he would also awaken the deep sleeping god Hypnos.
All that was shown to me, sunlight
Was something foreknown to me, sunlight oh sunlight
Oh, your love is sunlight
Oh, your love is sunlight (sunlight, sunlight)
But it is sunlight
Oh, your love is sunlight
Oh, your love is sunlight (sunlight, sunlight)
But it is sunlight, sunlight
Apollo was again slowly becoming god over his body and his senses again.
He rushed over to Hyacinthus, caught the falling lifeless body of his young lover and settled down with him on his knees.
He held him in his arms, mourning his young lover over his loss.
The God of the Sun couldn’t and wouldn’t accept that his young love was taken from him.
He was taken by accident, which was visibly to prevent but couldn’t be prevented in the end, because something else was involved.
Only a god could paralyze another god by means of the gift, and Apollo could think who here was acting out of jealousy on the principle that if he couldn’t have the young Spartan son, no one should have him.
Apollo wept bitterly.
His clear salty tears dripped down his cheeks onto Hyacinthus, pure beautiful skin.
The otherwise bright eyes of his young beloved looked up at him empty and lifeless.
Apollo ached at the look.
Nothing could ever justify his death, Apollo knew that.
Tenderly he stroked with his warm hand over the cheekbones of his dead lover, leaving a trail of gold on the tanned skin. He leaned down to him and kissed his lips, which would never move warm against his own lips again.
Apollo’s tears wouldn’t stop and ran down his cheeks mercilessly, wetting his warm golden skin.
Oh, Hyacinthus, why you my beloved?
The discus should have hit me, not you.
But you have fallen victim to the jealousy act of the God of the West winds, just as I fell victim in whom I lost you, my beautiful beloved.
All these colors fade for you
Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight
All these colors fade for you
Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight
Apollo slowly pushed the lifeless body of his beloved down from his thighs to the green soft meadow below. He wouldn’t want Hades to take his soul into the underworld. Surely Apollo wouldn’t let that happen, no way.
He stroked one last time with his fingers over the tanned skin, over his full lips.
Then he closed his eyelids.
Bittersweet was the picture that presented itself to him.
Some might think that Hyacinthus was resting in the meadow, but the dark red liquid that was running from his throat spoke a different language and so it was clear that Apollo’s young lover wasn’t resting.
On every touched spot the god left golden fine particles, which gave Hyacinthus something divinely beautiful.
He wept bitterly over him one last time, before the god closed his eyes.
A golden glow, like the light of the shining sun, surrounded Hyacinthus lying in front of Apollo.
When Apollo opened his eyes again, he held a flower in his hand.
The hyacinth. Named after his beloved Hyacinthus.
He took a deep breath and lovingly planted the flower in the earth, so that the flower could grow on it again and again, so his beloved would stay forever among mortals and Apollo had something to look with a sad smile and whose beauty would remind him forever of his young lover.
But now he had to return to Olympus.
He had some unfinished duty there.
He strokes the purple blossoms of the flower one last time, leaving a golden shimmer on it.
Oh, my sunlight.