Hearsay Horizons

Neither the punishments of Tartarus nor the delights of Elysium for the undistinguished dead, those men and women who were neither villains nor heroes. Our religion teaches that we receive neutral eternity in the fields of Hades, where we exist as shades. Our milquetoast fate serves only to embolden the living, sending them on to great heights so that they will be remembered in song and celebrated in the boozy, balmy lands of birdsong and boister. We suffer not, but we celebrate not.               But oh, we suffer. On the fringes of the underworld, beyond the heroes' light surrounding Hades' citadel and the horrific punishments encircling those, we work until our wraithly shells fracture and our essence seeps away. We work ourselves into nonexistence or face the overseers' vicious, three-headed whips. The dead need no sleep or meals, so there is no succor from the work. Still, there are moments when the overseers move away, and we whisper under the...

Daline had been running forever. Each pump of her legs meant another moment of life stolen from the tearing fangs that sought her flesh. Branches snagged in her blonde hair and thorns tore her thin dress; the forest never ended. The pain was better than feeling the bite that meant no more running ever again—unless it was on four limbs. Blood flowed from her wounds to leave a silver trail on the uneven ground. The beast snorted and panted behind her. Daline limped onward a scream away from death.                She tripped over a root. The wolf snarled and lashed out with its massive paw. It met her scream with too-human laughter. She scrambled away; the wolf paused in its chase to lick up a puddle of blood. With that taste it lost itself and had no thoughts but tearing her apart. Earlier it followed her with a prowling, taunting caution; now the wolf was a mindless hunger. It was getting wilder, but she was becoming ...

You've always had trouble staying focused on an idea. You're on your computer, elbows resting on pages outlining a freshly-abandoned sci-fi concept, combing through Wikipedia links and history sites last updated in the 90s. You're looking for a name. Names are always the hard part, and this name has to be... different. Eventually, you give up on these purple hyperlinks; if something's on a website, it's not old enough.              You've already graduated, but no one at the campus library knows you that well. You can't get into the databases, but the card catal--cardless catalogue--directs you to Greek history. You match call numbers to the list you jotted down with a golf pencil at the computer. The blurbs on these books' dust covers usually tell you enough to know you're wasting your time. You scratch out the penultimate book on your list and set the failed book aside with the others.      ...