'Nother English Assignment

This story is from that same creative writing assignment as Flight, only based off a different myth. Maybe you've heard of it. The one where Hades kidnaps Persephone for his bride, and Demeter (her mother) rages because she's missing, so Zeus (king god) orders Hades to give her back. 'Cept it's too late because she's already eaten a few seeds from a pomegranate (food of the dead). Instead, she has to return there for a few months every year, because she's tasted the food of the dead.

I wasn't sure if I should post this, because the last post was kind of like a goodbye, and this makes it seem more like a "haha, just kidding, it's not" when it isn't.

Anyways, the story.

Oh, and really lame title, but I couldn't come up with a better one on short notice. Oh well.

Gardener of the Underworld

The throne room is the only place in the underworld that is paved in marble, and that was where I stood, between piles of gems heaped like stars on top of a solid night sky, as I received the orders.

“Show her the ways of the garden,” he said, with less steel than usual. “Make her feel at home.” I took his words with a duck of the head and slipped away from the scrutiny of a thousand glittering beetle eyes. It wasn’t until I had left behind clicking echoes and the floor beneath my feet gave way to dust that I realized Lord Hades had not given me the most important order of all.

Did he forget? Or did he mean for her to stay of her own accord? Blinded by love as he was, Hades was a god, the god of Death no less, and he had seen the demise of countless lives. He, of all people knew better than to deal in hope. So, then, perhaps Persephone was more forgiving than the rumours claimed.

I strode towards the garden, leaving muted footprints in the ground. The dust here was heavy with countless memories of so many souls, and it did not swirl into the air.

As I approached my poplars I held out my hand to let their whispers trickle into my open palm. That was how I found her, arm outstretched, unfurling tendrils of white light from her hand, watching as they sank into the cold flesh of a willow. I had no doubt that above the Earth’s surface, her radiance could put the sun to shame, but here, washed in shadows and frozen by time, it was dim enough pluck from her fingertips.

“It won’t work. They cannot bear flowers. They live solely on your deepest secrets and most desperate wishes. Your power has no purchase here,” I told her as she startled, the flickering light melting like water back into her skin. She snatched her hand away, as if I had caught her in a shameful act.

“I just wish this place could be livelier, that’s all. There are no flowers, no fruits.” I waited for scorn in the arch of her eyes to cast itself at my feet, but her reply held only dejection.

It struck me then, that she was never bitter at Hades for bringing her down here. She simply did not belong in the stillness and silence of the Underworld, and this was not something Hades could understand. Joy was a foreign taste in his mouth, and he did not know that her innocence, while sweet, was poison. He knew only the fragility, not the resilience of life.

I was just a gardener, but I could see that Persephone would not stay of her own accord. And while I could not stitch together their jagged pieces seamlessly, I could give them time to wear down their edges.

“Come,” I said. “There is a single fruit that grows in the underworld.”