A Family Tragedy

Jayne Chivers has given me permission to put up the following piece which she read at the last Thursday class. It was written as part of the Myths and Legends theme.

A Family Tragedy

The gods regard us with disdain and arrogance.  All nature is at their command and how cruelly they choose to use it to amuse themselves.  From their lofty summit we are tormented and mocked into submission, with one callous gesture to the elements our lot is decided.

And so it happened that as a consequence of their mighty thunderbolt which pierced the skies my sister was conceived.

She was born in the middle of the night, a scrawny mite with flaming hair and blue eyes, her destiny was already written. She would be the healing child sent to stem the tears and soothe the pain.    The shoes were already there waiting to be filled. The way half trodden.

Her hallowed task was to win the love of her procreators through delightful displays of talents that the gods had bestowed upon her. She would be pretty and dainty and sing and dance like the wood nymphs. She would draw and paint flowers and birds to raise their spirits. She would run and jump with the finest athletes for their wonder and approval, only to be dismayed by the unceasing comparisons.  And like Sisyphus, once she had reached the top she would have to begin all over again. 

The void was too deep to be filled by one small life, one little girl’s endeavours to please and to heal.

And always in the background there was the taunting image of that happy family group. Mum and dad, brother and sister smiling at the camera. The family she would never be part of.  A picture postcard from the past.  Birthday parties, learning to cycle, camping holidays, cousins at Christmas, the puppy. So many stories, black and white photos, cine films in flickering, faded colours, endless running on beaches, blowing out candles.  Inane memories locked in an eternal loop, slowly being eroded by their ghostly repetition.

But, of all those stories, one was never told. Not a myth, not a legend, just the Terrible Truth. The day the gods took control.

On that balmy, summer Sunday we were lured by their trickery first into the beautiful gardens, then down to the Temple of Diana by the lake. Overhead dark clouds were congregating menacingly, but as we scampered down the bank our thoughts and eyes were anywhere but upwards.  The first droplets did not deter us either, we continued to play in the long, dry grass not caring that it scratched our bare legs or that our arms had trickles of water running down them. Only when the downpour became torrential did we scatter, vanquished, and run up the steep slopes looking for cover under the great oak trees. Above, the storm raged and its roar echoed down their creaking branches. The sky was lit up by flashes of electricity that crackled and danced.  And all the time there was the incessant pummelling of water. In the lull before the next bellow of thunder I saw my chance and bolted through the lashing rain towards home. Under the canopy of the majestic oak, alone and unsuspecting, my brother sheltered.

And in the instant that his heart was struck by the fulgurating force from the heavens, the impotence of our condition was laid bare for all to contemplate. One little life was snuffed out on a whim. A year later it was replaced by another.

The gods do not love us. Remember this. They are shallow and contemptuous. They relish in their futile games and we on Earth just act out our parts. And I was sent to be the narrator.