Dating : The Thesiad

They walked up the stairs to the palace of Apollo — to have some of his time to explain their need for the charm without having to obtain it by force. Theseus was hopeful, but yet not too high. Four guards awaited in front of the palace, and approached Theseus, alarmed and protective, with their spears gripped tighter with their hands.

“I am here to see Apollo. Where is he?” Theseus demanded.

One of the guards said, “At the library, writing poetry.”

Apollo was at the library, sitting at his desk, isolated from other Delphians in his private office room — while editing his poem and concentrating while reading it aloud in a whisper. His two guards were behind him, having their backs turned from him, ready to protect their God.

In an unusual manner with somewhat feminine energy, Apollo called to his guard again for an opinion of the poem. The guard left his post and attended to Apollo, behind him, next to him.

“My fellow Angelo, forgive me once again for bothering you — ”

“You never bother me your Greatness,” he said.

“You’re so kind hearted my darling now, what do you think of these changes of the stanza? I changed it completely, I shall read it to you now, so it goes, ‘For his touch, only felt like a continuous pulse around my heart. This only occurs through his fingerprint — around my skin.’ What do you think?”

Angelo read the line over in his head before answering.

“I like it, Your Highness. But may I suggest to get rid of that em dash and place a comma?”

Apollo turned to Angelo and was filled with admiration and studied his face.

“You have quite an eye for words, Angelo. I am very impressed with your editing skills. This is the tenth time I have called you over, and you have been helpful each time! Tell me, were you an editor?” Apollo said, while looking at his bare hairy chest, abs, legs, beard, penis-print on his tight undergarment, and every attracting aspect in him, but mostly the grey eyes that carried emotional complexities around the ring of his pupils.

“I was a copy editor for Delphi Classics for two years, and a published author,” he said, while blushing and feeling embarrassed about sharing his editorial experiences.

Apollo’s eyes widened, “That is amazing, Angelo! Why haven’t you said anything?”

Angelo was silent, as he smiled and shrugged his mighty broad shoulders.

Apollo continued, “What kind of book did you publish if I may ask?”

“Fiction, a novel, I say.”

“Summary, please? But not too much, I want a copy of it.”

“A guard and his duty, protecting a princess, and ultimately, falling in love, Your Highness.”

“Do you still write?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Why on Earth not?”

“I came to the belief that I am not as talented as I would like to be.”

Apollo scoffed, “Oh please, talent has nothing to do with being a successful writer. Why, look at me!”

“Just because you need improvement on editing does not mean you are not talented, Your Highness. Working with you has made me miss writing — you do inspire me with your lovely poetry.”

Apollo looked at his poem and stood on top of his unstrapped sandals, then laid his hand to Angelo, waiting for his side to be shaken for an upcoming agreement.

“Angelo, I want you to be the editor of my works, and you will be fully credited and compensated. Honestly, it won’t be a huge difference in amount like your guard duty, but it will be a little more, and more is always good! You cannot stop writing, and you must keep publishing books. That will be part of the contract. You strike me as someone who doesn’t do things for the money and may be someone who is losing faith in himself and not fulfilling his purpose. What do you say?”

Angelo started to hesitate about the offer. His guard mate could not help but look and engage at the conversation.

“I need an answer now. I want my editor to be decisive you know?”

“Yes. I will do it Your Highness, and shall be forever grateful to you.”

“Well, shake my hand!”

Angelo then shook Apollo’s hand and dangled his slender arms with the movement of excitement.

When they stopped, Apollo then sat back down and said, “It is a gift. To love what you do!”

Angelo nodded and blushed with the excitement of the proposition. Theseus and Hercules entered, as the guard announced their presence.

“Angelo, I officially dismiss you of your duty. Come back tomorrow at the same time and we shall get started shall we?”

Angelo felt the intimidating tension that now filled the library, emanating from Theseus and Hercules.

“Are you sure you won’t let me accompany you today, Your Highness, for one last time?”

Apollo only grinned, “Oh please, go home! These are my friends, do not be worried about me. Hercules and I go way back do we not?”

Hercules said, “Indeed.”

Angelo knelt before departing, “Your Highness.”

“Oh and please stop saying ‘Your Highness’ when we start working together. Call me Al please.”

“Yes, Your Hi — Al,” Angelo said, and walked away, meeting the eyes of Hercules when passed.

Apollo told his other guard to leave them alone as well. Closing his book, he stood upon again — pushed his seat back inside his desk and sat on it, facing them, sandals on the ground, his feet, the bottoms black with dirt, dangling like two pendulums cutting the energies, the feelings, from the stories within the books — and them.

“Did you manage to eat all of your flocks, since you couldn’t send me a message that you were coming?” Apollo asked, while planting his bare feet on the floor, walking to the nonfiction section and picking books out with his finger, like they were about to fall but were released back to their original space, while his sights were still on books by books, shelves by shelves, thump, thump, thump.

“But then again, I love surprises,” he said, with a playful smile at Hercules.

But Theseus stepped in front of Hercules, blocking him from Apollo’s sight.

“You will be talking to me, Apollo. Hercules wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. You should think about minimizing your joys right now and start being serious.”

“I know you’re not here to see me, dear Theseus. Despite my joys for Hercules, I find some of you, too, and I’m not talking about the friendly banter.”

“I know you’re not,” Theseus said, and Hercules was starting to hear something odd from the bookcases.

“I am here to claim a charm from you; I need it.”

“Oh? Whatever for?” Apollo said.

Hercules left the two to have their conversation, while he walked to the bookshelves and investigated the whispers. The shelves were tall and widened with books — history, literature, global science — and Hercules noticed how the books were shaking, as if they were crawling out of a hole to liberation.

“… I don’t have time for your games. Where is the charm, Apollo?”

“I told you. It’s a form of a book. You’re going to have to go through this library to find it, however — ”

“However, what?”

“You must go through me.”

Books then started to fly and flap their binders like wings, attacking Hercules like bats. Whispers from the texts of the books were supersonic, rattling into his brain of the sorrows of colonization, and other disheartening personal experiences.

“Your Highness!”

Hercules called out, while being reduced to paper cuts around his arms, and thighs. He managed to grab some of the books and tear them in half. The books began to close in to Theseus, but his instinct allowed him to act quickly before they would get a hold of him. Theseus threw his dagger right in to Apollo’s notebook — on his desk. The books stopped flying and tumbled to the floor.

Apollo’s grin just grew wider.

“How did you know?” he said to Theseus, who was still in the same throwing position.

Theseus stood up straight and said, “I can sense importance from a distance, and I assumed that it must be a charm.”

He looked to Hercules, “Are you alright, Hercules?”

He nodded in response.

Apollo removed the dagger from the book and placed it on his desk.

He had torn a page, a poem, and said, “This poem is called, ‘A Son to a Man.’ So it goes, A babe, cries his manhood away. His tears, emasculating, his flustered face is the color of rage and frustration to being a man. A father will sacrifice his strength, for his son… to save the bonds of men.”

“Give it to me. Now,” Theseus said.

“You two weren’t the slightest definition of entertainment,” Apollo levitated the paper — the charm — and flicked it like he had hit a fly, and the paper spun — and was heading to Theseus with incredible speed — spinning toward him like it was a shuriken.

Theseus caught it as gently as he could, with a straight face as blood was spilled to his palm, to the page, and even drops running down his wrist as he raised the charm up. Theseus looked down at the page and saw the words that Apollo had written in the short poem were glittering blue. Theseus turned around and left the corridor, so Hercules and Apollo were left alone.

Hercules sighed deeply and said, “I’m sorry.”

Apollo picked out a book that looked like a play by Sophocles and sat down, back against him. Hercules approached him and placed his two hands on the bare slim shoulders gently.

“I know that I never thanked you for making me immortal, and I am sorry. I know that you feel as though I took you for granted. Understand, at the time, when you ordered me to go to the city of Tiryns, to serve that cruel king, Eurystheus — ”

“Twelve years, twelve labors,” Apollo said, and could not help but listen to Hercules, no matter how much he pretended not to pay attention, unable to take what he was reading off the page.

“What I went through — I feel as though you still do not understand, nor show any sympathy. You could have… you could have… it’s just, we were friends, and you gave me this ultimatum.”

“Don’t even think about saying it.”

Hercules began to tighten his grip around Apollo’s biceps.

“I do not grant immortality to people out of whim. I need to see how worthy you were if you wanted it. Twelve years is nothing compared to infinite years of centuries and perfect, youthful age. I do not want to regret my gifts, and one can never be sure of someone’s capabilities of this matter, no matter how familiar the person is to you. Do not mistake immortality as not a serious subject. You are smarter than this.”

Hercules began to relax his grip, and Apollo turned to him and said, “You were more attractive when you were mortal. Not because of your twelve years of difference, but the way your looks were slipping away day by day was fascinating to me. Now you’re just a walking sculpture… a great piece.”

“Are you done insulting me?”

“I’m not insulting you. I only want you to know the cons of immortality, since there’s this misconception that it is nothing but great. There is no such thing as eternal life.”

Hercules lets go of him, and Apollo said, “I accept your apology, and I am sorry for being so hard on you, my friend. I’m glad you’re happier.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Hercules said, and bowed, and with a friendly pat to Apollo’s back, walked away.

“Now what else should I steal?” Apollo said, while annotating notes of the play.

Theseus and Hercules were sailing away in their boat.