I Play For the Gorgon

Let me just start by saying that the stories that men tell about me in the cities are absolutely fictitious. They describe me as a monster that waits in the shadows, eagerly awaiting to punish those that gaze upon me so I can turn them into stone. I’m here to set the story straight by saying that is absolutely not true. Can I turn people into stone? Absolutely. Do I mean to? Never. The leaders of Greece have spun these lies for so long, that, in their warped ways—they actually started to send ‘sacrifices’ through the years. I have found that the word sacrifice is too prestigious for these men, because the truth is that they are just men who have committed heinous crimes that the city would rather dispose of—than to waste their resources on. So, with their pathetic logic—they drop these dangerous men off on my isolated island, thinking they can knock out two birds with one stone. Letting me dispose of their trash while keeping me ‘content.’ These men actually cause me more trouble though, because as much as I want to be left alone, their fear overtakes them and they all do the same thing when they get here; which is to try and take my head. In the end, my island is left covered in a horde of statues that all show to any onlooker the same ugly, angry emotions these men felt in their last moments. But I’m not here to tell you the story of turning a man into stone. No. . . This story is about my first sacrifice that completely baffled me and rocked my solitary life into chaos. Why, may you ask? Because it was the first time. . . They sentenced a woman. ---- There lived a lone woman on an island that was covered in thick swarms of trees. The outskirts of the island was covered in pale sand and large rocks that the ocean beat against. From a distance, it would look as if it was a populated island due to all the figures standing all around, but it was only an illusion. For if one looked at the same sight long enough, they would notice that none of the figures moved. They were stone statues that were scattered all around the shore. Any onlooker who hadn’t visited those parts before, or knew about the snake-haired woman, would immediately leave due to the ominous statues alone. The sound of nature lulled through the isolated island in a way that was like music to Medusa’s ears. The sound of running water from the river was getting louder, indicating to the pale woman that she was headed in the right direction. She didn’t even need the sounds to tell her she was headed in the right way though, because she had been on this island for hundreds of years. It was her small, quiet paradise. Some may have thought she looked lonely, but she never was. She had a head full of problems that kept her entertained all the time. Troublesome, playful problems. The woman wiped the sweat that was rolling down her forehead as she shifted a wooden, old bucket to the other side of her hip. A part of her daily tasks was going to fetch more water, but due to the sun beaming down causing the heat to be a tad more intense than normal, the snakes on her head were irritated. Due to that irritation, it instead caused a delay in her getting the water. One of the snakes was coiled back in an offensive position, ready to strike the other snake. “’Cleo—stop tormenting Ophe!” Medusa yelled as she arrived at the river that ran through the middle of the island. The smell of the wet rocks welcomed and calmed the woman, but it apparently did nothing for her snakes. White scales adorned the ball python-like snakes and their eyes glistened with a pale ocean green color that matched Medusa’s eyes. Unlike the snakes’ eyes, hers had long white lashes that perfectly crowned her eyes. However, now—her eyes were being covered by the snakes. “I said stop fighting! “As she started yelling at her two pesky snakes that caused the most trouble, she started losing balance on her knees. In a moment of panic- she tried to brace herself with the bucket in front of her, but as the bucket laid on its side—her forward pressure sent the bucket rolling forward. In one swift motion, the pale woman fell with the bucket into the icy, cold river. A shrill gasp escaped her lips as she sat up in the water. She just stared forward as her snakes all shrank back from the shock of the cold water. Irritation, she was past. Instead, anger bubbled internally, and as she was about to lose it on her snakes—a melody could be heard in the wind that gently rolled through the trees. Did they drop off another sacrifice? Medusa thought as she immediately felt her abdomen tense up. The snake-headed woman always had to be on guard the minute those corrupt men were put on her island. They would always try and attack, as if to protect themselves from an inevitable future. A future that didn’t have to happen if they would just leave her alone. Growling under her breath, she wobbled up to her feet against the current from the river and waded to the other side of the river. Medusa was headed against the wind, which was causing her to get closer to that sound. Something else that caught her attention was the snakes. They normally bounced around playing or fighting with each other, but at this moment, they were the most still she had ever seen them. Was it the music. . ? They almost swayed and their heads were all pointed towards the direction the music was coming from. Interesting. . . Medusa thought curiously. Never had a sacrifice played music on her island. The men were always so busy finding something to use as a weapon, that no one ever just got dropped off to be killed and played something so enchanting. If this music was calming her snakes, maybe after the song and dance of her sacrifice trying to kill her—she could turn the convict into stone so she could take the instrument. But I don’t know how to play any instrument, the pale woman thought miserably. Through the trees, she saw the rays of sun beaming through, which meant she had made it to the clearing of the rocky shore. As she winced, Medusa saw the same old wooden boat in the distance heading away from the island. So, they definitely dropped off a convict, her eyes rolled as she felt more and more like they used her island like the sewers where they let the filth go. The music stopped the woman’s train of thought as the melody got more melancholy. It was a stringed instrument, and the precision the person playing the instrument used was phenomenal. For the first time, Medusa felt a squeezing sensation in her chest. How was she going to ever hear this sound again if the sacrifice was turned to stone. . ? The grass beneath her feet was soft and luscious, making it easier for the snake-headed woman to sneak closer to the person playing the instrument. All the assumptions running in her head of this man were spinning and just as she got within ten feet of the sacrifice her green eyes widened. What caught her eyes was the long raven hair that almost glistened with specks of violet gently floating around the person playing the instrument. Medusa’s eyes traced over the person’s body from behind and saw a white dress loosely hung from exposed tan shoulders. There was a maroon red sash that was tied around the sacrifice’s waist that drastically showed a delicate narrow waist along with curved voluptuous hips. This was not a man. Medusa gulped. A corrupt woman. . ? Now curiosity was burning in the pale woman as to what in the world this woman did to end up a sacrifice. But she was there on a mission, and she needed that instrument to be able to calm her snakes. Obviously, she could never play as well as this strange woman did, but maybe. . . Maybe a woman wouldn’t be as aggressive as a man. Medusa had one little ability that she could use on unsuspecting people, where, if they looked into her snakes’ eyes- she could hypnotize them. It had helped her in the past to escape from narrow encounters of running into men in the past when she hadn’t realized they had been dropped off on the island. You know what to do, my snakes. . . She thought slyly as she creeped up behind the other woman. Her own eyes were shut, because the last thing she needed to do was turn this woman into stone. Not when she could make the sacrifice actually be a sacrifice and tend to her own needs. Medusa stood over the other woman, causing the other woman to notice the silhouette of a shadow lurking behind her. The music stopped, and she whipped around quickly with her eyes widening at the intrusion, but immediately her hands slumped down to her sides and the stringed instrument fell with a soft thud on the grass. Her blue eyes were locked on the snakes’ eyes and her face, which had a split second of surprise, turned devoid of any emotions. Medusa had succeeded. She could at least get the other woman to go to her cave, peacefully. She couldn’t even fathom how she would even drag an unwilling victim and try to explain to keep their eyes shut so they could play her some music. The snake-haired woman picked up the instrument off the ground and inspected it. It was made from rich, honey-colored wood and looked completely worn out. This woman must play this instrument a lot, she mused as she looked at the woman’s fingers that were down by her side. The pale woman timidly lifted the limp hand up and inspected the other woman’s fingers, which contrasted in color so heavily as they rested on hers. They were long and calloused at the joints near the fingertips. Medusa’s eyes were careful not to look up at the other woman’s for fear that, in a heartbeat, this sacrifice would turn to stone. She needed to hurry and get her back to her cave so she could fix that problem.