A Mother, Before All Else

Rebecca Martin

Fear nothing more than a vengeful woman, unless that woman is a goddess.

Fear nothing more than a vengeful goddess, unless that goddess is a mother.

Fear nothing more than a vengeful mother.

Fear. Nothing. More.

The storm came in the form of a woman. She made her way through the forest, head down, knowing it by heart. No branch scratched her skin, no root tripped her feet. Nature recognized and welcomed her. Dawn arrived as she met the edge of the landscape. Mostly quiet, only the earliest critters were waking to hunt. The field was a true sight, lush with wildflowers of every color. One caught at her wrist as she waded through the tall grass. It snaked around her arm with a mind of its own. The woman drew it away from the stem, holding it tenderly in her palm. They were her daughter’s favorite. Even now, she could see her dancing among them, covering herself in their

scent, but never taking them from the vine.

“You can’t pick them,” she’d say. “They have to stay connected to everything.”

The woman swallowed as tears pricked the creases of each eye. Air seized her lungs when she tried to breathe. Hands shaking, fingers twitching, the torrent inside grew. An ache welled up in her chest, a scream on the precipice of eruption. Under a blurring glare, the flower withered and rotted before it was crushed and thrown to the ground. It was a wonder the gods created things that were so easily destroyed or lost. In a second, anything could be gone, leaving you empty, void of everything but pain. Pain… such an unfit word to describe agony. It did not convey the sensation of a heart, shattered with loss. Even loss was an insulting jumble of letters, incapable of expressing genuine torture.

Grief. Rage. Despair. Desperation. These were nothing more than words. She had used her words- to bargain, to plead, to ask for help. No one so much as lifted a finger. They showed empathy, gave condolences- this only stoked the fury. To this point, she had contained what stirred inside, for the consequences of letting go would surely lead to destruction. Not that anyone would heed her warning. Humans underestimated her, Gods undervalued her. Now, both had ignored her most important role; for she was a mother, before all else, and they would regret dismissing her as such. 

If action was what it took to be heard, she would make them hear her. If she had to feel the swell of grief, then she’d channel it into something they’d all feel.

She dropped to her hands and knees with a rippling thunk. Clamping her eyes shut, she dug her fingers into the dirt so harshly, her nails bent back. Every toe curled in, every muscle in her body was fit to explode. Skin pricked with cold, blood heated with fire, the two worked against one another, creating a force. Quickly as the God’s themselves willed anything, a storm unleashed like a door flung off its hinges. The sun disappeared. Thunder rode in on violent clouds. The wind picked up, tossing her hair back from her face. It was a terrifying rush of power she’d never utilized before. Elsewhere, unsuspecting people ran to their homes for shelter while knowing Gods watched the consequence of their indifference.

A flash of lightning met with a cracking boom as the skies opened. Rain poured from the sky, firing drops like bullets from a gun. Rapidly, the dirt turned to mud, sinking under the weight of her hands. Even with eyes closed, she felt the earth as it rotted from the touch. The roots which connected to everything took the poison she fed them and spread it like a virus. For so long, she’d been responsible for the fertility of the earth. Not anymore. Had they forgotten what was given could be taken? She would remind them. She’d make it a shell as hollow and empty as her.

The ground anguished, soil drowning in water which gushed deeper into the burrowing

tunnels. She kept going, determined to finish what she started. If her limbs waned, if her power fatigued, she thought of her daughter and the thief who stole her, and the cascade flowed mercilessly once more. The Gods reached out, calling her by name but she ignored them. The tempest only subsided when the decay turned her own fingers gray. Dark clouds dissipated into an overcast sky and the rain continued, plastering the goddess against the muddy ground where she’d collapsed. Then she cried. She sobbed until the dying earth encompassed her in sympathy, despite being the recipient of her wrath. Clutching her arms around her, she wept until there was nothing left.

Nothing left.

The God of the Underworld rubbed his neck in a way that suggested he was disguising

nerves. He’d never felt rage from such a soul as gentle as Demeter. It caught him by surprise, ignited a slight doubt which came far too late. He spoke aloud, his voice echoing off the walls of the chamber.

“I think your mother’s quite angry with me,” he mused. “What do you think?”

Persephone perched on the edge of a lounge chair, twisting the stem of a dead flower

between her fingers. Her mouth drew a patronizing smile and she gave a shrug.

“I think I told you so,” she replied, her voice haunting in its sweetness.

Fear nothing more than a vengeful mother, for nothing is so fearsome as her.

AUTHOR BIO