September 2009 — Dead Teenagers at Make-out Point

by Aubrie Dionne

Statues stood all around her, stone faces frozen in horror and defeat with glaring eyes of malachite and stricken lips of crusted lime. Her fingertips traced the granite brows furrowed in constant fear and her fingernails chipped mica from hardened locks of hair.

She placed them lovingly in rows, one by one, scraping the earth by dragging the heavy bodies close. The ring of relics was her personal audience, her gallery of those that came to slay her, gawk at her ugliness, or claim her powers for their own pursuits.

Medusa sighed. The tangle of serpents sprouting from her head writhed, hissed, and dribbled venom down her neck. How could one surrounded by people be so lonely, so destitute? She was cursed.

She languished in her silent city, playing dolls with stone and sand. It was only when the wind blew from the east in warning that she hid in the depths of her cave, covered by shadows, cringing from the light. Two days ago her last victim came, following her into the ruined metropolis like a tortured soul into oblivion.

The warrior descended swiftly from the mountain, blocking the entrance to her dark cave. He was smarter than the others, for he tied a blindfold around his eyes, relying on his other senses to claim his prize.

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