Melquart

I, Melquart, god of the unknown, welcome you into my story, my realm, my tangled web of fiction, my sea of interpretations and fantasies. Welcome stranger, welcome friend, welcome victim, welcome misfit, welcome everyone.

Before we begin, can I interest you with a glass of wine, straight from our generous vineyard, kissed by the sun, squeezed under the feet of our maidens, can I tempt you with festive alcoholic juices of nature?

Drink now, drink till you’re full, till you can’t lift a finger, nor open your beautiful eyes, stories are best heard when asleep.

I want to tell you my story, to reveal everything. I figured, it's time to do so. See, I'm going to die. But Gods don't die, you'll say. I can read minds too. I'm planning my own version of death. Don't tell anyone. I'm just tired and I want to rest. Isn’t my right, after all? After all the centuries of trickery, the only one I truly want to deceit is myself. I am the only one worthy of a real prank. It’s time for self-love. Where was I, right, as I was telling you, dear, I want to die a simple death, nothing too fancy, I'm not "Adonis" nor "Ashtarout", those guys are too dramatic for my taste. I will let in a little secret, you know how "Adonis" was supposedly killed by a wild boar, and died. Well, this isn’t what really happened, forget what you read in all those good for nothing history books, the truth resides somewhere else. It resides with me, or in a glass of wine, as our roman brothers say. Sure, sure I’m not the god of truth, there is no such thing, have you ever encountered one, I ask you? Only “Veritas”, that coward, you know she spent her days in the bottom of a well, that sums it up for me. Who would want to listen to god living in well, that moldy water, that smell. She was the one who started using the expression “the ugly truth”, she was describing herself, if you ask me. As I was saying, truth gods are a rarity, practically, such entities don’t exist. No god is that self-righteous. Anyway, I was talking about “Adonis”, that handsome, stupid young one, he was neither killed by Apollo nor by Ares who allegedly metamorphosed into a wild boar out of jealousy.  

It was I.

I confess. I, Melquart, God of stories and trickery. Trickery for the most part, but there is no trickery without a setting.

It was the beginning of spring, the source of Afqua in the mountains of Lebanon, never looked fresher nor greener than this particular moment. Cool water, descended like a long awaited queen, crisp grass and flowers welcomed their visitor with a ray of sunshine on their surfaces.

Adonis was hunting. He loved to hunt, a noble sport, he would say, where you are in a competition with nature, a true test of your core.

I saw him chasing after a wild boar, and it hit me. Why don’t I make it a bit harder for him? He used to say, that it’s a competition after all.

“Bring it on!”

I made the boar fly, dance, wriggle his tail, transform into a dragon, a lion, into medusa even.

It was hilarious, the poor Adonis was traumatized, that poor lad, rubbing his eyes, pinching himself. I remember his expression of fear and disbelief.  And then I appeared in front of him;

- Hello friend. I saluted him.

- Who are you? He replied.

- I am a shepherd, I lost my sheep, have you see them?

- No, I’m afraid not.

Adonis, opened his mouth, and sheep began to crawl out of it, like vomit. Twelve sheep in total.

I was laughing while trying to maintain my shepherd character, but his sight was a something to remember for centuries.

His eyes wide open, his mouth stretched like a volcano, erupting wool instead of lava and his muscular built twerking like a terrible earthquake of the soul. It continued for seconds, then everything stopped.

As I stepped closer, I found him dead on the ground.

He might have died of surprise, of shock, of heaviness. I really don’t know. But seeing a god die was a real spectacle. Something to think about. Something to recreate.

I pulled his body and place it next to an abandoned cave, I covered it with scratches and wild boar imprints.

I didn’t mean to kill him. But shit happen and that’s life, I got a laugh and a story out of it though. That’s what really important. The essence of life. I saw his death as an opportunity, I went to “Ashtarout”, his beloved and told her that a wild boar killed him.

-        But how? He’s a young strong god. How can a wild animal kill him? She sobbed, hiding her face with her long black hair.

-        I don’t know dear; it must have been a special animal.

I offered my arms to comfort her, I held her tight, in the sacred temple.

-        A special animal? What do you mean?

-        Could be an enchanted animal, some spell of some kind. That’s the only explanation.

-        Oh, you are right. I have my suspicions.

-        You were always beautiful as were clever dear.

I left her temple, knowing she would blame Apollo for it. Or Ares. I didn’t mind. It turned out to be an entertaining soap opera that lasted a couple of centuries. The fighting, the bickering, the love hate relationship, the love triangle, the whole drama.

I do what I do for fun, for the trill and the adrenaline rush. I do what I do, to feel alive, through stories, to create mayhem and contemplate it consequences, it’s the flow of life. To ask the what if questions.

I will tell you now my secret plan, since I’m the last surviving god, having assumed the lives of all the gods before me. I’m the totality of all. And the last piece of the puzzle, there will be no gods after me, there will not be gods anymore. I have decided, drum rolls please, that, I will turn myself into a human.  A simple human whose life is up to change any minute now.

Have you drunk your cup? Have you finished your wine? Did you feel it intoxicate you? What about those strange sensations creeping up, the looseness of your body, the translucidity of your soul, the urge for chaos?

What about life? Do you feel it? Do you feel alive?

Great. Now I will take your place in your body. Now I will become you.