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Rated: E · Short Story · Fantasy · #1798324
Based off of Oscar Wilde's 'Charmides' poem, my own take on the myth.
CHARMIDES AND SCYTHROPE

Many, many years ago, when the Sun was in his youth, and Greece was bright with unspoilt splendour, there lived a fair, naïve, but headstrong youth by the name of Charmides. He was of sunny and lively disposition, with loose long, honey-coloured hair and wide laughing green eyes.
    Naïve he certainly was -- so naïve that young Charmides dared to brashly step his foot into the cool and quiet temple of Athena, the most lovely maiden goddess. Charmides beheld the marble statue of Her beauty, and in his heart blossomed a tremulous and terrible love. He fell upon Athena's cold, grim marble bosom with kisses! -- kisses! He brushed her marble cheeks with lips of careless amorousness, and embraced the polished white stone.
    Athena became livid with fury, but waited until the next day, when poor, foolish young Charmides was by the river. She swore she would get her revenge for his sacrilege.
    The rays of sunlight illumined Charmides' careless locks of pale gold hair, and he seemed very serene. Amidst the wild daisies he sat, as lovely as the shadows of the world of Art could be -- far lovelier than our world. But, oh, had he but never crossed Athena! For Athena had assumed the guise of a water-nymph, with warm brown eyes and a cloying smile to hide Her murderous intent. Her head appeared from amidst the water-lilies, and with outstretched hands she reached for Charmides, murmuring words of enchantment.
    "O come just a bit closer, lovely Charmides! Let me see thy beauty, O mortal boy!"
      And bewitched, Charmides could not refuse. Athena, suddenly revealing Herself as full of scorn and contempt, dragged him into the cold waters of the river and drowned him, leaving him to float away.
      A little bit downstream, there was a naiad named Scythrope. She was not a very good siren, for while her sisters' songs were enchanting melodies, promises of unattainable love, alas! Scythrope's song was a mournful dirge that could only promise a watery grave forthrightly. But what did she see? One whose grave had already been met, and could have no fear of her!
    Charmides's white and bloodless corpse floated down the river to her. Scythrope put her comb back in her tangle of dark hair, and swam to his floating corpse. So strange and fair was he, even in death, that Scythrope fell in love and sought to awaken him. But what could she do? She sang softly in his unhearing ear, and pressed wan lips to his, and desperately clawed at his white flesh with her nails that she almost drew beads of scarlet blood. But nothing would awaken Charmides to life again, nothing! Not beauty, not love, not pain. So at last, Scythrope died of a broken heart.
      O what hopelessness! But the more compassionate goddess Aphrodite chanced to cast a sympathetic eye on their lonely corpses floating together in the river, and She took their pure and lovely spirits to the flowering fields of Achenon, where they were content to remain in the bliss of Art and Beauty till the end of days.

THE END
© Copyright 2011 Natalya Chekhov (emiko444 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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