A short story retelling the Greek myths of Pandora and Prometheus in the perspective of the respective Greek legends
Hope with a capital H. Do we not all possess Hope? Is it not something we all cherish, and that arises from within us when all seems lost? Hope, a feeling of trust- trust in the fate that everyone will have their "happy ending." Have you ever stopped to wonder from where Hope came? What is its origin? It is easy to pass off the source of everything on earth being the creation of a spiritual being, but Greek mythology adds a little spice to the story we all consider the truth. Myths do that. Since Ramayana and Mahabharata were everyone's "childhood story," let this myth be another one.
Pandora
Suddenly Greek mythology has become a new interest for people, and with the constant exchange of these myths, it's pretty evident that one can find here multiple versions of a story- this story. However, perhaps I could provide a different perspective from what you're used to. Maybe hearing the story from the real victim of it all will help you understand Hope, what it meant then and what it means now.
Everyone knows Atlas, punished to hold up the sky by the Olympians and all that. Everyone knows Medusa; she's maybe even a legend of sorts these days, snakes for hair and turning men to stone? At this point, I would be surprised if she wasn't regarded as an icon. How much do you know about Prometheus, though? Or his brother Epimetheus? The only two Titans to avoid any conflict with the Olympians. But you see, they were in charge of humankind and their welfare. When Zeus and his prejudiced, "almighty" self began to create unsurmountable barriers between humans and the Olympians, Prometheus couldn't help but step in. Could you blame him? You wouldn't have fire without him. And then where would things be? So yes, Prometheus stole some fire from the sun, only to give it to humans to survive on earth. In trying to aid humankind, however, he was subjected to Zeus' wrath. Zeus created me, Pandora, a beautiful, curious, charming, and clever "gift" for the Titan brothers but merely a cunning disguise for the abhorring punishment that was hidden underneath.
The life I had just been given was "gifted" away to a man. It's painful to see how centuries later, society subjects women to the same thing I felt I had left behind. I forced myself to get used to this life I had to be shoved into, make my peace with this stranger I would call my husband, and maybe come to love Epimetheus. He was kind to me, you see. But perhaps in the process, I forgot my real purpose. I forgot that I wasn't a wife but rather a weapon of destruction so cleverly concealed in this family that I had begun to morph into it and forget all else. A life I was meant to lead on the terms of the Olympians. Then they sent a jar to our house—that wretched jar. A gift for us, they said. A danger to us, my husband warned. I tried, I did, to not open that damned thing. But how could I have stopped myself when this was the reason I was created? I didn't want to, but I did it. I unleashed all the horrors humans "deal with" into the world. I'm the reason there's plague, diseases, famine, anger, violence, and everything terrible to do with this world. But I kept one thing trapped inside, Hope. I have been cursed, demeaned, and blamed. It was my fault, you'll think. Surely that's why you pass on this story calling it Pandora's Jar.
I had been written off in Greek history as the reason behind all the problems to have plagued this world. I could spend my entire life defending myself. Spend my whole life saying that I had been solely created to open that jar which caused all this havoc in the world. But tell me, when has anyone listened to a woman. I am God's creation, yes, but was I not just a tool for a man's game ever since I set foot into his world? Everyone continues to blame me, not realizing that the Gods they pray to are the ones who initiated this disaster in the first place. So I sit here, caring for the child I bore from my constructed marriage. Mourning for my departed husband. And my dear Prometheus, banished to the Underworld, liver eaten a golden eagle again and again cursed by being immortal and punished for being more humane than the gods. I'm sitting here right now with all these accusations for destroying the world while watching the humans who my family sacrificed so much for destroy it further. I'm sitting here with the cursed jar in front of me, tending to Hope, trying to keep it alive as I hope the humans do- keep Hope alive in their hearts. I'll be sitting by my window, watching centuries pass, Hope being kept alive in the jar, waiting for a world where I can set it free and be let free from the shackles I feel as a woman, as a pawn, as Pandora.
Prometheus
Deep in the vast abyss of Tartarus, the screeches and screams of the other damned souls are subdued. I feel isolated, not able to hear anyone suffering a similar plight as me. You see, we can be selfish this way. I would much rather someone suffering alongside me than feel this emptiness, this alienation. The only sounds I can ever hear are from the Fields of Punishment, the subtle clanging of metal being forged, a heavy reminder of what "betrayal" had led me to this point in my life. I had given humankind the fire and the skill set required to forge metalworks. So I spend eternity being tortured by the ripping of my flesh while hearing the constant reminder of what I sacrificed everything for. This is torture. I glanced down towards my abdomen, my very torn open and bloody abdomen. The eagle had just left with his meal for the day, my liver that is. A delectable diet, hmm. I had but a night, not to rest or recover but to suffer through the re-growing of my liver just for it to become the eagle's meal the next day.
In the first two years of my punishment, I counted down each day, desperate to be rescued from this torture. I happened to notice that at the end of each year, a small weed would sprout at the base of the massive rock on which I was chained, spread-eagled. I could now count thirty weeds. Thirty years had passed, and the torment ensued. I was lulling off into a dreamless sleep when suddenly, a bright flash filled my vision. When my sight cleared up, I saw a hazy silhouette approaching me. A man, I presume, with broad shoulders, shoulder-length hair, and thick beard was walking up to where I was chained. As he got closer, I noticed that draped across his shoulders was lion skin. From the strong aura surrounding him and with the way he carried himself, I immediately knew who this was. The giant eagle was flying closer from a distance, and I smirked a tiny smirk as Hercules drew his sword and charged towards my tormentor.
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