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[personal profile] fishmouse
While researching for costume ideas the other week, I came across this on devient art:

And wrote two stories which I'm sharing with you today.

With her butter yellow dress trailing in the dirt, Medusa made for a lonely figure, alone in the playground. It wasn't her gawky, angular limbs, large round glasses or smattering of freckles that set her apart from the other Children of the Gods. What made her different was her hair. From the top of her skull grew a thick thatch of bright, glowing,golden snakes. The kind that made people momentarily stiff and a little grey, even when tied back in her usual fashion, a great mound atop her head.

'You shouldn't worry so, Medusa darling,' her mother would tell her every morning while fastening her hair before school,

'You are beautiful. One day you'll stop people in thier very tracks when they see you, so taken they will be of yourbeauty. Try your best to ignore thier teasing, dearest. The children will grow out of it soon enough.'

Try as she might, Medusa couldn't block out her classmates taunts. She also was unable to make them stop playing thier new game, Statues, whenever they saw her. It didn't matter that they'd 'grow out of it,'as her Mother phrased it, she had no friends and it hurt. Alot. Medusa sat at home, alone, night after night while her Mother attended yet another social event with no company but her snakes, listening to thier plans, accepting thier adivce and relishing the comfort they gave her as

she cried. She feared that as she grew older and, as her Mother insisted, more beautiful, that she'd grow more powerful and eventually turn anyone who looks at her into a marble statue, permently.

Unfortuantly for her, both Medusa and her Mother's predictions came to pass.


Misstress Medusa sat to the side on class photo day, gazing at the camera with fascination. It was at her request that she sat out, knowing full well that her cheeky snakes would freeze the camera and ruin the photograph. They liked tricking people like that. She didn't mind really – her reflection could be seen any time, gazing back from a pool of water, burnished bronze mirror or the back of a spork. What she really wanted was a picture of the rest of her class before they wanted her hair wanted to play 'Statues' instead of 'what's the time, Mr Wolf', again. One day she'd get them to behave.

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fishmouse

June 2010

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