The day came when you could no longer lie to yourself and feed yourself the chicken feed you called Inspiration. Your grandmother helped you every step of the way into the temple. You couldn't resist anything she wove for you, so to say. The queen of the gods, Athena herself, smiled down and blessed you with a year of anger and frustration. You were in there an entire day, and you never stirred from your room, regardless of the blaring sounds of drums and pipes from the far corner of the temple. You did go out once, though, to get some fresh air. The people of the city, being smart and caring women and men, had come to you with pomegranates and places to sit. After all, you had an Important Position to fill, and you needed to stay healthy so you could fill your position properly.
You saw the queen of the gods then as you made your way outside deep in thought. She smiled at you and bent down so her head was level with yours. You were pretty sure your pupils must have blown up like saucers and all but jumped out of your head. She began to speak to you. “I know the best way to motivate you, my dear.” She said in a low, raspy voice. “You need to marry me.”
The last thing you thought of before blurting out “Are you telling me to marry you?” was “How do you know I want to marry you?”
“Nonsense.” She said, raising one delicate, perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I know how you want to marry me, because I know you to be the advanced sign of true love.”
“True love? No... no... no... no... no!”
She looked at you with the most stern and intent look you have ever seen. “No? You see, daughter, true love is a thought you have to have. It is not something that is only love when it is received. It is something you recognize and wish to experience. Think about it.” She expectantly began saying. “Think of the best thing you have ever done. Think of the person you wish to be with. Think of the best man you know.”
You felt your entire head twitch at her words.
“Thinking is the most important thing you can do. Once you have thought of everything I’ve said, you must write it down in a very perfect, correct letter.” She said the last sentence with a grin so wide it could have rivaled the sun. “Only then do you have the true desire of true love.”
Ever since then, you have never gotten a good night’s rest, despite your parents trying to get you to sleep. You opt to continue to listen to the drums and the sounds of pipes, even though the people have been worried. They complain to you. You have been given the title of Oracle. People always seem to come to you and small talk or ask you for advice.
“What is the state of my love life, Oracle?” One man asks.
You think you can make a good guess. Lips curling in a small smile, you say “Nothing.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you have nothing to back it up. You’re sure you didn’t get any names.
Another man comes to you with a plea and a weirdly cheerful look written all over his face. “I am in love with the 19th century romantic poets.” He says with a grin on his face. “For one, they are very good with the love poems and writing.”
You nod and command your hands to make a scribbling motion like a pen or pencil. “She says yes.” You say, almost believing it yourself.
The first man lifts his head in triumph. “Yes! Who could have guessed?” He says, jumping to his feet. “I have to go tell my friends.”
You advance your head from its original position of supported position and say “No. No!”
He looks at you oddly and shrugs, turning to leave.
It’s not long before you get another go on the audience, hoping to keep them coming back, but you don’t. You have to ask your father about it. He gives you the answer: people do not want the truth.
“How can they?” You ask. “Everyone in the world could know deep and true love.”
“You can’t give that to them.” He says. “They don’t deserve it because of the many fakes who will put on that love mask to have someone along with them.”
You nod.
“But what if” You start.
“What if?”
“What if I could?” You ask. “What if I could give them the answers they want?”
“It would ruin them.” He says. “They would not be preparing for love. They would not be trying. They would not be themselves.”
“And they will know they'll never get the love they wished for.” You conclude.
“That is what we’re here for.” He answers. “To give them the love they truly desire.”
“I’m not sure that’s completely true, father.” You say, brows furrowing.
“What is not true?” He asks, confused.
“I don’t think it is.”
“What do you mean?” Your father asks, angry.
“I think--” You begin, but you’re about to say something when, suddenly, the sound of drums become quiet. The people at the far end of the temple, who up until then had been holding their drums, stop abruptly.
src
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