The Sixth Life of Medusa

“Come on. Armando treats us well, and we don’t even pay rent. Do you know the potatoes I used to make yesterday’s gandinga were from the back garden?” Medusa asked with a proud grin. “I even gave—” 

Her smile slipped at the look on Antonii’s face. Since he returned home that evening, something felt off. She had caught him watching her with sadness more than once. Now they were about to sleep, and he wouldn’t drop this topic she absolutely despised. 

“But look at you.” His tone was grim—defeated. “You are too refined to live in this… and with the baby coming.”

Medusa burst into expletives as she ripped off him. Again with those lines. When would he stop? As she paced, she bit her thumb. Five steps covered the length of their bedroom. Everything about their home was small and bare, but she adored it all the same. 

“I hate it when you’re like this. Should I scar my face? Dress like a hobo? Is that what you want? I’ll do it.” And she was serious, but Antonii wouldn’t know.

“Don’t be like that.” Groaning, Antonii pushed his curly hair away from his brow and knocked the back of his head against the headboard. “Just think about it for a moment. We’ll need a plan. Kids are expensive. And what if there are birth complications? I don’t like your giving birth at home idea… and the baby, what if it gets sick? With the farm so far away from the next—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Medusa said mid-pace. “And our baby will never fall sick.” Neither will I.

Sighing, Antonii observed her with tired eyes. He seemed so sage-like, as if he could read her thoughts and knew her more than she knew herself. And he always acted ancient—very ironic when she was the ancient one in the relationship. 

“You don’t know that,” he finally said.

Ha, if only you know. Moments like this were a prod to the heart. Guilt urged Medusa to lay everything bare. All her secrets. Antonii would believe her, right? But fear and doubt sewed her lips shut. Out of the lives she lived, this was the only one she accepted the love of another or willingly carried a child. It was too precious to ruin.

“Listen, May. We can be careless with ourselves, but the case is different when our kid is involved. Living here…” he glanced around and shook his head. “Living here, I don’t think it’ll do. Let’s move back to Almonte.” 

It stung; his words were needles. How was it that he couldn’t see things the way she did? Before agreeing to be his wife, she had shared her dream, and he eagerly promised to make it come true. What was this now? 

Stopping her pacing, Medusa stared at a coin-sized stain on the worn carpeted floor. No amount of scrubbing could get it off. “Do not look down on our home.” Working on a farm in a peaceful Puerto Rican town was a blessing. Work wasn’t back-breaking labour either. Yes, their house was small and their belongings sparse, but they weren’t poor. 

“I’m not looking down on our home.” His gaze turned imploring; he appeared even more exhausted. “I just… I just want more for us. I can get my former job back when we move.”

Who is filling your head with nonsense! Medusa bit her lower lip instead of yelling those words. Antonii was not to blame. It was understandable that he would be like this, after all, she had not met him on some remote farm in the outbacks. Gah, this was annoying!

“You don’t have to agree with me immediately,” he said in that low please-be-understanding voice. And it was working. Medusa was beginning to see a dot of sense in his argument. “Give it a thought. We still have months before the baby is due.”

“Fine.” Marching back to their bed, Medusa settled next to him all the while grumbling. 

“Don’t be mad.” He grabbed her hand and wove their fingers. 

“I’m not mad,” Medusa muttered as she rested her temple on his arm. 

“But you’re pouting.” There was laughter in his voice. 

“I am not pouting,” Medusa shot back with an annoyed huff.

“Your cheeks are all puffy like a chipmunk’s. You are totally pouting.”

Medusa batted his hand away when he poked her right cheek.

“Yep, like a baby chipmunk.” When he poked her cheek some more, Medusa fought but failed to stop her smile. 

“Stop already.” She lost; he must have heard the smile in her voice. She hugged his arm and sighed. They had each other’s love, a roof over their head, and he was healthy. What was making him so worried now?

“I just… lately, I’ve been having this unsettling feeling in my gut.” He swept a thumb over the back of her hand. “Been feeling like we should move. This place isn’t—” 

“I choose you, Antonii.” Medusa tightened her grip around his arm. “I deeply longed for the life we’re currently living. I am content. You don’t need to try so hard.” She looked up to his face and searched his warm brown eyes, hoping with all the hope in the world that he saw her sincerity. 

“You made my dream of a simple life come true. You gave me this. If anyone should feel bad, it should be me. You get to see your family only once a year because of me. Your sister loathes me.”

“Elena loathes everybody.”

They both chuckled. When Antonii pecked her forehead and beamed down at her, her heart melted into a gooey warm puddle. 

“Apart from Elena, who loathes the entire world, who can ever hate you?”

Medusa immediately dropped her gaze. In this world, maybe none hated her to an acidic degree. But there was another world out there, one she was grateful to be severed from. 

Snuggling against his warmth, Medusa shut her eyes. “I’ll think about us moving. Just promise you won’t overdo it to give me a better life.”

His chuckle was a soothing rumble against the side of Medusa’s face. “Fine, I promise not to overdo it.”

Drawing back, Medusa searched his eyes again. There was sincerity there, and his small tired smile was everything. “Good.” Smiling, too, she pressed a kiss on his lips. “Let’s not fight.”

“Don’t steal my words.” 

Perhaps he was correct. Raising their child away from their home town may not be the best for it. Tomorrow, she would tell him to start making plans to move back. They had lived five years in this secluded haven. Wasn’t that enough sacrifice on his part? Perhaps now was the time to make a sacrifice of her own.  

***

A constant trickle of water.
That damp coldness of the cave.
The sharp sting of burning steel against her neck.
Wriggling snakes for hair held in an iron grip. 

Help me! The words were fused to the walls of Medusa’s throat, unable to find freedom. 

Something was not right. It felt too real—

Medusa opened her eyes with a gasp, her heart a ricocheting ball within the walls of her chest. The dream was too vivid. She had never had one like it in all her lives. That memory she buried and hoped to never recall. 

She swallowed against a dry throat; she needed water. As expected whenever she woke up, her body was slow to catch up. It always seemed like a hundred versions of herself had to wake up before her physical body could follow suit. 

As she sat up, she looked around. It was dark, but light spilt from the bottom of the bathroom door and faintly illuminated the room. Was Antonii in the bathroom? His spot on the bed was cool. Blinking at the space beside her, she flinched when she heard it. A sharp whine. 

Rico, their four-year-old mutt. 

The vivid dream Medusa suffered through doubled back and fuelled her rising panic. This familiar but unwanted feeling—the same feeling that paralysed her in that cave and heralded her first taste of death.

Fear.

Fear, thick and heavy, atrophied her body like slow poison. Every movement felt sluggish. Breathing was hard. 

Casting the bed cover aside with a shaky hand, Medusa stood. With weak legs and a wildly beating heart, she walked to the bathroom and pushed the door open. It was empty.

Her breathing grew harsh. There was no need to panic. No need at all. This feeling of terror was ridiculous and unfounded. Antonii simply went to the kitchen. She would open her bedroom door, walk to the kitchen and find him stuffing his face with last night’s leftovers. But her heart would not believe it, and with every step she took, she sunk deeper into the quicksand of every pessimistic possibility. 

Despite the haze of rapidly rising panic, Medusa managed to make it to the kitchen. He was not stuffing his face with last night’s leftovers or anywhere within sight. 

Be calm. Outside. Antonii must be outside. 

Outside doing what at this time of the night? Hysteria yelled. 

Urging her stiff legs on, Medusa made it to the living area.

“Finally, sleeping beauty joins us. I almost came to wake you.”

That voice. Even though he spoke in English, Medusa still recognised that voice. 

The bringer of her death had found her. Fear bubbled over, hardened like wax and rooted her to the spot at the doorway. An inner voice begged her not to look, but her eyes were rebellious. They moved and stared.

They had hog-tied Antonii and made him lie on his side with a cloth tied across his mouth. His face was a mess, and his eyes, swollen from beating, widened when they met hers. He shook his head. His fists were bloody. He must have fought. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

Standing frozen, Medusa held Antonii’s panicked gaze. He was speaking with his eyes, but she was unable to understand. The sound of a weak whine drew her attention. It was little Rico. He was lying in a sea of red, pinned to the ground with a silver dagger. She blinked, fighting and failing to comprehend what she was seeing.

“Eyes up.”

Dragging her attention from her dying dog, Medusa did as he commanded.

Even with Perseus’ eyes hidden behind the rounded-frame dark glasses, Medusa still recognised the face of her killer. 

Heroic. Perfect. At home amid horrific violence. 

Perseus sat with careless ease, suit jacket open and finger tapping a beat on the arm of the only wingback chair in the living area. To his left and right were two large stoic men Medusa did not recognise. 

When Perseus smiled, it was easy and bright. “You have been very difficult to find, Medusa.”

Perseus casually pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster. “It’s good you chose a secluded hovel to live in. And so separate from the main house? Nice.” He flashed another white smile. 

After retrieving a silencer from one of his men, Perseus began twisting it on with complete focus. “This is necessary. I find the loudness of gunshots… uncomfortable.”

“P-please,” Medusa managed to say for the first time since this nightmare began. Her tongue was bitter with fear and her head throbbed in time with her heavy heartbeat. Forming coherent thoughts was hard. Coming up with a plan was impossible.

“I can see you have a thing growing in you like that time we met.” He gave her belly a pointed look. Nothing in his expression gave away what he was thinking, but Medusa did not need to read his expression to know what he thought of her. 

“I promise not to hit a major artery… yet.”

When Perseus aimed the gun at Antonii, strength left Medusa’s legs. “I beg you—” 

Perseus glanced her way. “I need you to watch.”

The suppressed sound of a gunshot. 

Medusa muffled a horrified yell with a hand as her knees buckled. Blood oozed from the wound in Antonii’s thigh. His smothered groans battered her heart, clawed at it, ripping it to shreds. 

Shoot me instead. Shoot me. “Why?” Medusa managed to whisper.

“It is not for a beast to understand why it is punished or slain.” Perseus’ voice was flat, emotionless. “Receive your destiny with obedience.” 

Another shot. This time in the second thigh. Medusa crawled forward, desperate to reach Antonii, but she was snatched by the hair. She hadn’t even noticed when one of the men moved. 

As the hand squeezed and pulled, Medusa was hauled back to that awful moment in the cave. That helplessness and swelling sense of inevitable doom. 

Though Antonii’s eyes appeared unfocused, his chest was moving. He was dying before her eyes and she could do nothing. This man whose only crime was loving her was dying and she was absolutely powerless. 

Tossing the gun aside, Perseus flicked his wrist and without ceremony a familiar sword materialised in his grip. Its golden hilt was wrapped in black leather, and the air around its sharpened edge moved like mirages from heat. Medusa blinked at the weapon. Memories. Horrid memories pressed in.

“I see the recognition in your eyes. That is good.” Resting the flat of the sword on his shoulder, Perseus strolled over to Antonii and hunkered down. “Let me give you a revelation about the thing you married.”

Medusa froze. Don’t say it. Please, do not tell him. Please! She yelled on the inside. Wailing. Begging for time to stop. 

“May is not your wife’s true name. Do you know what a gorgon is?” Perseus cocked his head to the side, thick brown hair shifting across his forehead. “The real name of the thing you married is Medusa and she is a twisted version of a gorgon—an aberration of the species marked for death.”

Medusa held Antonii’s eyes, begging. This one secret she had kept from him, this hesitation that stretched through seven years was back in its most hideous naked form.  

“I perceive that you wish to speak.” Perseus untied the cloth keeping Antonii from speaking. “If you plead right, I may spare your life.”

Wheezing, Antonii glared at Perseus. The rage in his eyes. “I do not know who you are, but I know my wife. You have done enough to show me who the monster is.”

Oh, Antonii. Medusa’s heart broke. Bitter tears spilled down her cheeks. 

“Hmmm…” Appearing in deep thought, the corner of Perseus’ lip dipped as he tapped a finger against the hilt of his sword. “I presume you are correct,” he said with a nod.

Smartly rising to his feet, Perseus turned and pointed his sword at Medusa. That oppressive aura the sword possessed. How could she ever forget it? “I would have to perform a demonstration for the ignorant man you married, Medusa.”

It happened in an instant. One moment, Medusa was kneeling and the next, her head was severed. 

Agony like liquid fire. Her vision blurred. Biting cold rushed in. This feeling. This hideous transformation was happening before Antonii. Medusa’s soul recoiled within itself; shame, anguish, denial, and a fervent desire to cease to exist reigned over her senses. 

No amount of disbelief could turn the reality of the horror unfolding.  

Try as she may, Medusa couldn’t shut her eyes. And the hissing sounds around her. Slithering reptiles. Her hair was alive. Angry. They moved, twisting and writhing. She could not feel her body; it must have turned to ash. A foot stopped the roll of her head. The thought of what Perseus was about to do—

“You said she was no monster. Now your eyes are wide and terrified.” An enraged cry cut off Perseus’ chuckle.

“What have you done to my wife!” Antonii’s voice grew raw. “What the hell have you done to her, you beast!” He sobbed.

Medusa fought to shut her eyes even as tears flowed without end. How she longed to see Antonii but doing so—No! She begged the gods, even Athena. Like a fool, she shouted memorised pleas of supplication to the deity that most thoroughly ruined her life. 

Blind me. Shut my eyes forever. Do not let me see him. I BEG YOU. I BEG YOU, BLIND ME.

“Look at him weeping for a beast.” Disgust corroded Perseus’ words. 

“That’s enough noise. I’ve grown weary of this moving display.” Perseus bent and picked up Medusa’s head. His touch was fire. 

There was movement. She saw their cabinet that held pictures and memorabilia. The left wall she had covered with a horrendous painting of lily meadows. The hand that held her squeezed, burning even hotter. The snakes remained limp in obedience. Soon her life force would fade and a mindless petrification tool would take its place. This pitiful fate.

“Look.” Perseus’ hand guided her sight. First was Rico’s still form. Then the blood around Antonii’s legs. His chest. Neck. Chin. Finally, Medusa met his eyes. 

The transformation always started with the eyes. Flesh to stone.

Medusa watched it all, detached and yet present. Antonii became stone. Everything was gone. A woman with nothing. 

“Still effective.” Perseus unceremoniously discarded her head. Her vision rolled before it stopped. Eyes on the ceiling. The only sound her ears registered was a ringing. 

Unlike the first time Medusa experienced decapitation, she did not feel empty. Another feeling was rising. Something foreign. A swelling of emotions, an unstoppable force, crashing over and pouring into what should be hollow. A fierce rejection from the innermost part of her being. 

Something snapped. A silent explosion. The force of its rupture was thunder in her head.

A violent wind ripped through the living area. Frames flew off walls. Furniture disintegrated. Glass exploded. A force pulled at Medusa, lifting what remained of her body from the ground.  

Perseus was yelling something but she was deaf to his words, all her focus was on Antonii’s petrified body. Then she was torn from whatever connection she had with her physical form. It was like free-falling from a cliff only to be embraced by soft clouds. 

Then the chaos grew still. 

Shards of wood and glass, even drops of blood hung midair. Perseus and his men had not escaped this frozen state. Upon Perseus’ face was a snarl of determination, his sword aimed at where her head once floated. She knew what to do. 

All it took was one touch. First, they turned to stone then crumbled to fine dust. She stared down at the heaps for the longest time. Nothing. She felt nothing. Should she have made them suffer? No. She would not taint these final moments with Antonii. 

Turning away, she floated to Antonii’s stone form. Kneeling before him, she placed a gentle hand on his face and noticed for the first time the state of her body. Her hand possessed a strange glow. Though her human form remained, it appeared transparent and emitted a soft green light. 

Sitting cross-legged before Antonii’s statue, Medusa took in every detail. Something black unfurled in her but she paid it no mind. There was no will to observe the strangeness of her current situation. 

“I am sorry.” Medusa placed her hand on the cool statue once more and willed his body to turn to dust. “Rest well.” 

A stone urn materialised in her palm and with it, she gathered his dust. Next, she walked to Rico. After pulling and discarding the dagger, she repeated the action. 

Now she held what remained of those she loved, and like a child lost in a crowd, she did not know what to do. Never in all her existence had she felt more alone and in pain.

Staggering to her bedroom, Medusa carefully settled in her bed. She considered her lives so far. All five of them, the best being the fifth one. Those precious years where she loved and was loved in return. Very good years in a very good house with a very good dog and a very good husband. Her entire being wept even with the absence of tears.

This time, stop. I do not wish to live again. Let me stay dead. I am exhausted. Please, stop.

With a weak sigh, Medusa released the force that held everything still and succumbed to death.

You can find the ongoing fictional series here.