Bacchus
Time has stopped.
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I was in my golden, cheetah-pulled chariot; dancing, enjoying the life and the craziness that gives me the wine running through my veins. Then, suddenly, at the soft sound of footsteps and a quiet gasp, everything has gone silent and still. I’m barely aware of the tumultuous riot that comes behind me; fading memories of a bunch of drunken people, jars of wine, music, laughter, satires and slaughtered animals. Even the image of my adoptive father sleepy on his donkey is indistinguishable from the blur of faces and noises that has become my cortege. But nothing matters. In front of me I have the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen in my life. She is frightened; scared of the scene that has unfolded in front of her eyes. But there is something more than fear in her eyes, vibrant as the sky above us. There is deep sorrow in the deep sea of her eyes, and salted tears have carved bright silver paths in her cheekbones. Also her clothes, soft linen red and blue tunics, are messily scattered on her body as if she had to put them on quickly, on a hurry. Her silken shawl is on the ground, next to the vase she must have dropped. I don´t know who she is, I don’t even know who I am; but, if the pain in my chest caused undoubtedly by one of cupid’s arrows is any indication, I know there’s no way I’m going to let her go.
Time has stopped.
.
.
.
.
.
I was in my golden, cheetah-pulled chariot; dancing, enjoying the life and the craziness that gives me the wine running through my veins. Then, suddenly, at the soft sound of footsteps and a quiet gasp, everything has gone silent and still. I’m barely aware of the tumultuous riot that comes behind me; fading memories of a bunch of drunken people, jars of wine, music, laughter, satires and slaughtered animals. Even the image of my adoptive father sleepy on his donkey is indistinguishable from the blur of faces and noises that has become my cortege. But nothing matters. In front of me I have the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen in my life. She is frightened; scared of the scene that has unfolded in front of her eyes. But there is something more than fear in her eyes, vibrant as the sky above us. There is deep sorrow in the deep sea of her eyes, and salted tears have carved bright silver paths in her cheekbones. Also her clothes, soft linen red and blue tunics, are messily scattered on her body as if she had to put them on quickly, on a hurry. Her silken shawl is on the ground, next to the vase she must have dropped. I don´t know who she is, I don’t even know who I am; but, if the pain in my chest caused undoubtedly by one of cupid’s arrows is any indication, I know there’s no way I’m going to let her go.
Ariadne
Everything has changed.
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.
.
.
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I was looking at the horizon where Theseus’ ships were going away without me. I had been left in the island of Naxos, on my own. I was so mesmerized in my own pain and humiliation that I didn’t hear them come. Their apparition was like a thunder. My eyes went first to the origin of the disturbance. I had never seen a bacchanal before but I recognized it as soon as I saw the riot. A small satire was dragging a goat’s head while another man was waving one of the legs; two nymphs were playing instruments and singing, there was a passed-out man on top of a donkey and other people, probably slaves, were carrying big amphorae of wine. All of them seemed to be pretty drunk and my first instinct was to turn over and flee. Then I saw him; the leader of this madness. Glorious as a God should be, in his golden chariot pulled by cheetah. I can’t keep my eyes from him. And it seems that he can’t pull his from me either. He must have sensed my fear because he’s jumping from his chariot quietly asking me to wait, concern painted in his handsome face, clouding his divine golden eyes. Suddenly all the noise that had startled me before has gone quiet. I don’t ever hear the barks of Argos, my loyal dog, who has jumped to defend me from the riot that had appeared all of a sudden. Don’t go! I can clearly read this in his eyes. He’s quiet but all his body is telling me this. Don’t go! Afraid that all the noise and commotion that I’m seeing would make me flee. Don’t go, his eyes are begging. How could I go? If I went now my heart would forever be in Naxos, the place where my life has changed for good.
Everything has changed.
.
.
.
.
.
I was looking at the horizon where Theseus’ ships were going away without me. I had been left in the island of Naxos, on my own. I was so mesmerized in my own pain and humiliation that I didn’t hear them come. Their apparition was like a thunder. My eyes went first to the origin of the disturbance. I had never seen a bacchanal before but I recognized it as soon as I saw the riot. A small satire was dragging a goat’s head while another man was waving one of the legs; two nymphs were playing instruments and singing, there was a passed-out man on top of a donkey and other people, probably slaves, were carrying big amphorae of wine. All of them seemed to be pretty drunk and my first instinct was to turn over and flee. Then I saw him; the leader of this madness. Glorious as a God should be, in his golden chariot pulled by cheetah. I can’t keep my eyes from him. And it seems that he can’t pull his from me either. He must have sensed my fear because he’s jumping from his chariot quietly asking me to wait, concern painted in his handsome face, clouding his divine golden eyes. Suddenly all the noise that had startled me before has gone quiet. I don’t ever hear the barks of Argos, my loyal dog, who has jumped to defend me from the riot that had appeared all of a sudden. Don’t go! I can clearly read this in his eyes. He’s quiet but all his body is telling me this. Don’t go! Afraid that all the noise and commotion that I’m seeing would make me flee. Don’t go, his eyes are begging. How could I go? If I went now my heart would forever be in Naxos, the place where my life has changed for good.
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