Medusa was finally asleep. The whole earth shuddered in thankfulness.
But not for long.
She laid herself out like a long stretch of fertile Nile Green Ness, a Bad Idea, a fertile plain that nobody dare touch.
And the Vipers sang on her head, as they always did (though she had no idea, why would she, when she dreamed of android sheep who did the twist in go-go skirts on Venus, only for her, to tunes she was very interested in, and in fact the music became the reason for her sleep in fact a more than thinking-wise kinda place for a mind to go, like a dream but sorta not quite.
So the vipers came out, as they tended to so, when Medusa slept. Many a night this had kept her awake, altho she had amended her ideas to of who and of how she was until who thought of these pythons as simply unreasonable curls. . . . . .
But here they come, because of Senor Fritz, whatever you will call her, the green thing, the Green Belle, from whence you will: there she lies.
Here come the vipers.
Each one has a personality. Each one waits their time, bids their moment, pleads upons her generosity, simply put?
Her snakes come outta her head because her vipers are in her mynde.
It is not a joke. And what makes her strong is what kills her inside.
But she survived when she was little by killing every thing that hurt her and she used every thing. She used her long legs, her witchcraft, and her mynde.
So her mynde grew tentacles. And those tentacles grew myndes.
Each viper, for a head. Each one with a Godlike vengence that wishes someone dead. Well, vipers are like that, there’s no workin’ with them, I tell you.
And Medusa, the Green Belle, she had no idea.
So every time Medusa falls in love, she eventually brings herself to his door, or marries him (PLANETS FORBID< SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE STOPPED THEM) but it happened.
Someone woke up dead.
It wasn’t her fault.
She didn’t even know about it.
They were happily conjoining in marital bliss, and
the man was dead as the proverbial…..
doorstop, doornail, doormouse.
The man keeled over in mid-flight I tell you.
This is the terrible secret of Medusa.
She didn’t hate them, she loved them.
But the Jungian vipers in her head remembered injuries done to her long ago that she never would. And they arise, forever, for centuries, if she falls in love, it will be what is fore told. Deadly.
Kinda like death.
But more deadly.
So it is gonna always be bad news all ways round for poor Medusa.
Who no body dare acusa,
for always fallin in love, because that is why she is really
(this is a secret. . . .do not make me KILL you, hush)
Her dreams have become real and when she dares to sleep they come out and turn men to stone. It’s both metaphor, curse and redemption. It is a salvation. It is a blessing.
It is one damned sure hard mention.
It’s nothing she ever asked for.
She was just a normal gal, so she thought, at the time.
If we told you who had truly fathered her, we would have to blind you, and then….
I halt here. I am but a lowly narrator.
Nobody put threats and that other stuff in my file.
I can’t reveal secrets beyond what I am allowed,
I don’t want to die by viper or by swamp or by….
hey, I’m jes doin my job!
**furious tap dancing ensues**
~Way down upon the swannee river, down upon the ohio!!!!~~~
(Y’all want me to kneel or take off my pants or…. )
Humble narrator flees the scene.
From out of the sleeping Medusa’s viper’s sleeping heads comes a song.
“She’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist,
She don’t Look Back”
And they were so sound asleep (they could never hold a tune if they were awake
even if Medusa had a knife to dey throats)
“Bow down to her on Sunday, and so on and so forth and whatever he said”
The sight of these snakes lifting off of her scaly green face, asleep, as they sang together
it was terrible and fantastic. It was like seeing a river run backwards, I suppose. I never saw either one, I won’t lie. I am telling you a story told to me by a friend of my very first teacher. Yep. *spit* Swear.
And the vipers were in such a deep sleep that they harmonized all around her green shining face as if she was a childe of three, and they did so moste mysteriously, to no reason at all.
Medusa never heard a thing, she sleeps like dat, she born in New Orleans, so she can sleep through merriment or sadness or badcess.
But as your long lost narrator, I hope you heard what I am still trying to get a-cross to all a you. It’s a hard thing to bear, so look into her sleeping green face and wonder, “Could it be true?”
Fathered by a cat.
Where did Bob the Cat get off to? Ha. Figures, he one slippery dude, I tell ya true.