I’ve forgotten how many years have passed. Years of searing pain, agony, and suffering have etched themselves into my memories as even the thought of my beloved creations dulled in the face of the screeching predator circling above me. I have given up on pulling at the chains binding me years ago-- my fate was sealed, my legend finished.
This wasn’t how my ending was supposed to be. No, I was to watch my creations thrive with the instruments I would place in their trembling hands with a proud smile of a father. They were to multiply among the earth and spread, their adoring eyes always returning to mine as I extended my arm to those in need. It was somewhere along the line that my story was thrown off the rails with a single lift of a finger by a being strong enough to overpower his own father.
I never expected to be the overarching power roaring commands from the heavens and smiting those who disagreed-- that was never my dream. My actions were never self-oriented: I didn’t move my chess pieces and expect to turn and see crowds of mortals cheering my name. Perhaps I should have been less frugal with my pieces-- maybe I shouldn’t have protected the pawns.
But, no. That would make me as cruel and stone-hearted as the Olympians, who would throw their worshiping pawns into a blazing inferno if it so benefited them. There wasn’t a hint of malice in my blood when I cared for my “pawns,” the mortals. They were like puppies-- adorable and unaware-- helpless. They drew me like a moth to a flame to their aid, on their knees with pleading expressions. How could I say no?
In the moments of clarity that I receive in between every excruciating dive that the eagle makes, I think back to the gratitude and pure joy that shone in the faces of every mortal when I emerged from the darkness bearing a vessel containing light and warmth-- and it’s worth it. Every injury, every scar inflicted by that spiteful beast feels like a sprinkling of snow. The pain ebbs away for a fleeting moment as I close my eyes and recreate that image in my mind.
My story is over. My name won’t be sung in worship, my name won’t be emblazoned on swords or written in temples. I won’t receive any mouth-watering sacrifices telling me that the mortals were aware of everything I gave up for them, telling me they were thankful for the sacrifices I had made.
I’m done with resisting. I knew consequences would await me the moment I chose to defy Zeus, and I ignored them. Maybe I would have been okay physically had I not chosen to help my creations. Maybe I would have been laughing and drinking with my brethren, or even dining with the Olympians.
But I wouldn’t really be okay. I wouldn’t be okay with watching my creations stumble blindly in the chilling darkness, falling victim to the monsters and evils awaiting them. I wouldn’t be okay with watching the Olympians sacrifice my creations as their pawns for their own twisted plans, clinking glasses with each other as they boasted of every mortal they manipulated to do their bidding. I wouldn’t be okay with that.
And that’s why I’m okay with this. I’m okay with my fate, however gruesome and terrible it may be. If I were to remain among the gods as another pawn in their scheming plans, I would be aching on the inside for my little creations. I may be chained to a mountainside with my only company being a feathery brute feasting on my flesh, but I did the best I could do for my creations. I did the best I could for their futures.
My story is over.
...
But why do I hear footsteps coming up the mountain?
References:
Prometheus Brings Fire by Heinrich Friedrich Füger.
Wow! What an amazingly well-written article. Rich content, beautiful sentences. I thoroughly enjoyed every word of it. Thank you!