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Not good.
Not good. Not good. Not good enough.
He strummed a dissonant chord on his lyre, frustrated. Why doesn’t anything sound right. Why does it sound so bad.
Not good. Not good. Not good. Not good. Not good.
He paced back and forth in his room, frantic. It was a very simple wooden room – there was no mirror or fancy decoration, only his bed, a wooden dresser, an old trellised window with sprouting vines, a few potted plants. The life energy he could feel sprouting from the ivies and lilies usually soothed him. But the cold blowing wind outside and the silent cries of a thousand dying living beings were so much louder. He hated feeling powerless, he hated not being able to do anything to save them. If only his song – the song of Love that sprouted the world, as Hermes told him – could shelter them, harbor them at the moment.
He looked over through his window, the white wind, the white snow dripping from the leafless orchard trees. Eurydice was out there somewhere – trying to look out for food and firewood, she said.
Not that Orpheus needed food and firewood. He’s fine with a couple barley cookies and honey and milk – he’d rather die than be forced to eat the flesh of any living being. The soothing life energy and the breath of living things were enough to warm him. But Eurydice always wanted to reach for more. She hated to feel stuck, trapped in only one place at any time. Living through Music was never enough for her – she needed to feel connected to the Wilderness through a physical mean. He cannot blame her.
Maybe she was just tired of him. Annoyed by his constant singing. Needed time to be alone.
She’s going to be back soon. She assured him so.
What if she never comes back.
She’s going to be better off without you anyway.
The Wind flowed and billowed outside, a thousand white threads spinning and unfolding. Orpheus was sheltered in his room, but he could still feel its wailing in his bones – a cold, shivering voice in threefold harmony seeping through his brain like cold water slowly solidifying into ice.
She doesn’t love you.
She only agreed to come home with you because of that song.
She’s not going to survive the wind.
It’s your fault she’s in there.
She left because she cannot stand you anymore.
She’s not coming back.
The storm is going to kill her.
It’s your fault she’s in there.
She’s not coming back.
Where is she
Where is she now
Where is she where is she where is she where is she where is sh–
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to recompose himself. She is coming back. She is going to survive the cold wind. Because… Because Orpheus is going to expel the wind away.
He’s going to finish the song. He’s going to save the world. Take what’s broken make it whole. Bring the world back into tune.
He grabbed his notebook and his lyre, motivated. He’s going to make it. The song is going to be finished once she comes back. Everything is going to be flowing with life – the station, full of vines and beautiful flowers and fields sprouting everywhere, no hurtingly cold ice and snow suffocating everything, no wailing wind. She’s going to be so impressed! She’s going to love it!
Yes, because the only reason she’s on your board is because of your song. Once you’ve finished she’s going to grab everything she can and go away. She never loved you.
He could feel the wind on a crescendo outside, building up and up slowly to a climaxing storm, the vine on his window trellis resonating with a helpless tremolo. He could feel the slumbering orchard trees outside slowly bending to the wind, trying to stand in place.
Eurydice was out there somewhere. In the storm. In the wind.
He is going to shelter her. He is going to harbor her. He’s going to finish the song.
He took a deep breath and strummed his lyre, trying to feel whatever semblance of words and melodies would come through him. Quadratic hexameter rhythm. The dance of Nature.
A Love Song, sang by the Gods long ago. The Love Song that sprouted the world. The Love Song of Hades and Persephone.
Persephone. She went to soon.
Hades. He came to soon.
The world slowly dying.
The wind blowing colder and louder outside.
Not supposed to be like this.
Not supposed to be like this.
What does he even want with all of this? What does he ever gain by taking Spring away – taking everything away? Who is Hades after all, why is he doing all of this?
“King of silver”, he sang. Trying to keep his voice lighter, trying to reach the Sun through his words, just as Hermes have taught him. “King of gold.”
The snow glittered on his window, a thousand tiny diamonds.
“And everything glittering under the ground.”
The swamps through the mountains outside seemed to get progressively darker and darker under the storm, less life-giving water and more small pools of liquid dirt through a ravaged landscape. “Hades is king of oil and coal, and all the riches that flow where those rivers are found.”
Eurydice was out there somewhere. In the storm. In the wind.
“But half of the year with Persephone gone.”
She’s coming back soon. She assured him.
He could feel the wails of the wind slowly condensing in his bones.
“His loneliness moves in him, crude and black.”
Maybe she was just tired of him. Annoyed by his constant singing. Needed time to be alone, through the glittering bitter snow.
“He thinks of his wife, in the arms of the sun.”
She only agreed to come home with you because of that song.
Once you’ve finished she’s going to grab everything she can and go away.
“And Jealously fuels him.”
She doesn’t love you.
She’s going to be better off without you anyway.
“And feeds him and fills him.”
She’s not going to survive the wind.
It’s your fault she’s in there.
“With doubt that she’ll never come.”
The storm is going to kill her.
She left because she cannot stand you anymore.
“Dread that she’ll never come.”
It’s your fault she’s in there.
She’s not coming back.
Where is she
Where is she where is she where is she where is she where is she
“Doubt that his lover… will ever come back.”
NO SHE IS COMING BACK.
AND HE’S GOING TO FINISH THIS SONG.
FOR HER.
He took a deep breath and tried looking out for something in his room – an inspiration, some kind of visual grounding.
His carpeted floor, pitch black in the thin illumination.
“King of mortar.”
The wood tiles in his wall, old of age, the markings of decaying wood giving it a vague semblance of stacked bricks.
“King of bricks. His River Styx is a river of stones.”
The skies outside darker and darker with a thousand thick clouds stacking against each other.
“And Hades lays them high and thick, with a million hands that are not his own.”
He’s going to finish the song. He’s going to save the world. Take what’s broken make it whole. Bring the world back into tune.
“With a million hands he builds a Wall.”
The song is going to be finished once she comes back. Everything flowing with life – beautiful flowers and vines and fields sprouting everywhere, no hurtingly cold ice and snow suffocating everything, no wailing wind. She’s going to love it! She’s going to be so impressed!
“Around all the Riches he digs from the Earth.”
He could hear the outsides of his walls creaking against the storm, against the wind. Everything momentarily flashing bright in the fiery light of lightning.
“The pickaxe flashes.”
He could hear the thundering clouds crashing outside, in anticipation of a storm.
“The hammer falls.”
The wind outside slowly building up and up on a crescendo, spinning and pressuring on a climaxing storm. The slumbering orchard trees bending to the ravaging wind, trying to stand in place.
“Then crashing and pounding, his rivers surround him”
Eurydice was out there somewhere. In the storm. In the wind.
He is going to protect her. He is going to save her. He’s going to finish the song.
“And drown out the sound of the song he once heard…”
His voice one with Nature: his soul, an energy he shared with every living thing.
“La la la la la la la…”
The song of Life dancing through his body, unfolding through the world as the lilies and ivies in his room unfolded to hear his song.
“La la la la la la la…”
The wind blowing and billowing colder and louder, the flashing and falling storm crashing outside. He tries to sing louder, to shed the storm away.
“La la la la la la la…”
She is coming back. She is going to survive the cold wind. Because Orpheus is going to expel the wind away.
“La la la la la la…”