Greek Irony

By Perry McDaid

It was that time again. Leaves withered. Harder days were ahead. The vitality of harvest offerings at Demeter’s altar bled into the soil, following the fateful passage of her daughter. Persephone never could pass up a pomegranate, not even the fruit of Elysia. Silly bint.

Heracles the demigod could sense virile worshippers huddling together for winter as he stared at a statue no longer infused with the essence of the Goddess of fertility.

She’d perfected her expression of displeasure over many winters, sucking life from the land while increasing the mortals’ libidos.

“You’re one twisted bitch, Demeter,” he told the statue.