Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Persephone's Prison

Sitting atop her throne, the great lady and goddess gazed upon all of her subjects.

Personally, she probably would have enjoyed such a high position if all of her

servants weren't lifeless, speaking in whispers and bowing constantly as if afraid to

enrage their hostess. She wished beyond anything else that she could be anywhere

but here right now, because she knew that today her mother would be mourning

her. All of her precious gardens and forests around the world would slowly die

because the goddess of nature would not attend to them.

Long dark brown hair laid on her back, curling amongst her lacy dress and

seemed to make her pale skin glow. Against the dark backdrop of black stone and

gray ghostliness, she was like a single candle, glowing all alone in the solidity of the

oblivion's depths. The Underworld held no beauty like hers and its mighty terraces

were nothing compared to her godly charm. But what use was this charm in the

Underworld, where only skeletons and ghosts could attend to her, the prettiest of

those goddesses above? She shut her eyes, feeling shards of ice open a void in her

chest. For sure, Zeus and Athena and Hermes would be enjoying their time,

lounging about in the great castle of the sky, where she could no longer go now.

Persephone was here now because Hades, curse him, had stolen her away from

her mother and father and family. Demeter was weeping above, she knew it, and

her salty tears would slowly kill the beautiful growth and gardens that they had

worked so hard on during spring and summer. And now, thanks to Hades, that was

all in vain. Goddesses can't die, but they can shed tears and Persephone did now,

wishing more than anything that she could be with her mother now, tending the

mighty gardens of the earth and planting many orchids, which was her favorite

flower.

Her hand fell from her glowing face to her side and brushed the cold stone on

which she sat. Glancing down, the young goddess blinked in astonishment. The

throne on which she sat was, indeed, a black orchid. It had been carved with great

mastery, done with care, to trace each and every petal, each and every curve to

the beautiful leaves on which she now sat. Looking up, Persephone stared at the

Hades' throne, made of bone-like stone weaved together. How is this, that the god

of the underworld, the gloomy god of the dead and all under the earth's glorious

reaches, knew to make her throne the flower she loved the most. For a moment,

she thought that perhaps he had done so to spite her. But then, she remembered

the reverence and respect the obnoxious Charos had given her and knew.

Even though he had stolen her away from her dear mother, Hades was actually

trying to make her happy. Persephone couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Every

other mighty god had a wife and many children, a realm to govern over. Zeus had

the skies and Poisiden, all the oceans and seas. Hades had the Underworld and it

was a lonely place. Perhaps he had felt lonely without anyone but the spirits and

ghosts to keep him company. The shards of ice that had hardened in her heart

slowly melted as she realized that she pitied the mighty god. Even though he was

god of the Underworld, there was something in him that spoke of humanness and a

wish for company. Perhaps living here for two seasons would not be so horrible

after all.

Persephone sat up straighter on her throne, holding one hand on the cold

orchid petal to comfort herself. She could do this. She was a goddess and there was

nothing she could not do. Indeed, she was the goddess of planting and spring and

that was not exactly something you could do under the ground, but now that she

knew he really had a heart, everything didn't seem so dark.

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