Prometheus is being portrayed by D.M. White, a blogger and aspiring author from Yorkshire, England. From a young age, his fascination in ancient civilizations and mythology has occupied a large part of his brain and it was inevitable that it would eventually spill out onto the page. His current long-term project is a novel set on Atlantis, which intertwines - rather aptly - with the Greek myths.
The old man stops and contemplates the question. “Most simply call me the Inventor. Few know my real name. Truth is, it’s a long time since I’ve said it out loud.” He stops, adrift in his own thoughts. “Daedalus.” He says it slowly, as though recalling each syllable.
I’ve not seen a human with his height and strength for a long time. Biceps and triceps bulge from his arms. Pectorals dance on his chest. His deltoids have a life of their own. Whilst his physique is impressive, all humans have their weak spots. As the architect of humankind, I know every one of them.
Eros and Atë turn to have a conversation, and Clio and Erebus talk amongst themselves, leaving me standing awkwardly between them. I wish I’d brought my phone, at least then I could pretend to be talking to someone on it and could excuse myself. I consider disappearing to the toilet when a loud bell sounds.
Why would she be looking for me? “I’m here on business,” I say. “I’d heard they’d let you out. I would have visited, but, well, you know…” I look Atë up and down and raise my eyebrows. The outfit hugs her figure, accentuating her curves, and I don’t need to use my skills to know what every man in the bar is thinking.
The door slams open, and there is a marked change in the atmosphere. My senses tingle, but I refrain from looking at the newcomer. A frosty silence hangs in the air. I’m sure there was music playing a few moments ago. I hear stilettos crossing the floor. Slow and steady. The entire bar holds its breath. Then a shadow falls on me. I see curves and long flowing hair, and I smile inwardly.
That’s right, follow your family tree back far enough and you’ll find that you’re related to a lump of clay. Most of mankind has evolved since then, thanks to fire. What can I say except, you’re welcome. I say most because there are still a few humans out there with the IQ of a plant pot.
It looks like a firefly, and it pings around the cave like a pinball machine, and then flies straight at me and disappears into my abdomen. Fire burns inside of me. It runs through my veins like lava. The pain is excruciating, and I’m sure I must explode. My eyes bulge, my muscles tense, and my bones strain as my body fights against the invasion.
“Welcome back, Pro,” he says jovially and jumps off me. I let out a gasp as my body breathes freely again. “You’ve been out for quite a while. I was worried we might have lost you, and that would have ruined my fun.”