Elektra

by Jennifer Saint

I closed my eyes tightly. I could almost feel the sand of the Trojan beach trickling between my toes. The orange starbursts that exploded against my squeezed eyelids could be the flames of Greek torches.

If I could descend to the Underworld swiftly and painlessly, then I would.

I would gulp at the waters of the Lethe and let their soporific streams wash away every memory I possess. But I cannot.

Somehow it hurts more when the sniffling child at my side steels himself than it did when he collapsed into tears.

I learned it from my father, how everything dies away and comes back again, how we sow and reap the harvest every year. I’ve learned the rhythms of the seasons, and how even the harshest of winters is always followed by spring.’

I know it’s hard for you to see it, when the storms are raging and it’s impossible to imagine the dead earth will ever bring forth crops again. But it does – it always does.’