Half Responsible

Stories We Know

The other point of coming to Montauk?

Writing.

Writing was Sally's number one passion. Her high school used to have a creative writing class, and she lived for every story that her peers told, no matter the. No matter where she was, Sally would write snippets of a story that only existed in her head. Fragmented as they may be, she loved finding those crumbled snippets in her apron or opening a notebook to see a complete short story, like a little gift her past self left for her.

She thought of re-tellings and how so many stories were just old myths being retold. Romeo and Juliet, Moulin Rouge, anything in English literature – so many of them were inspired by a myth. But, many failed to look outside the standardised versions or whatever they were told was the "true version".

She thought of the myth of Demeter and how that story no longer belonged to Demeter, how it was taken away from her, just like how Zeus handed her daughter off to Hades. It was those stories that interested her the most.

But the journal stayed blank, the sand covering the pages as the wind cooled the feeling of the sun on her back.

She returned the next day, stealing away during sunset while the others were lying on the beach. She hoped she wasn't late, but something told her he would still be there, and she was right. Poseidon was on his boat again, this time checking the strings for foul play.

But he was only caressing them. With each touch, the frayed ropes returned to their former glory. Something about him should have rung alarm bells, but in the way, she sometimes saw the sphinx by Rockefeller Centre move or a man with one eye instead of two.

"Did you go out today?" she didn't know how else she should start. Poseidon turned around, but his eyes were stormy today.

"It could be a better day," he gruffed. "Family stuff," he looked up at the sky.

"I know only a little bit of that," Sally grimaced. Poseidon held out a hand. She stared at it before he nodded for her to come on the boat. His hands were calloused and scraped against her skin, but Sally's weren't better from washing many dishes and waiting at many tables. He pulled her aboard.

"Mine is a little bit more dramatic than yours, I hope."

Sally hummed. "It's not 90210 , if you're asking."

His face blanked. He didn't know what 90210 was.

Sally explained, "It's a famous tv show. Well America famous, I don't know about the folks across the pond."

Poseidon chuckled. "Fascinating. And people find it interesting because it's about a dysfunctional family?"

"Eh, more or less about the rich. I think we have a morbid fascination with the rich and how they get away with things..."

"Sounds a lot like my family."

"Is it that bad?"

Sally observed him. When his eyes crinkled for a split second, he seemed a lot older than he should be. There was an ancient onset to his eyes, glazy as they remembered the past. She noticed he was still holding her hand in his, and his hands were fiddling with her fingers, agitated.

"Well, to put mine lightly..." he looked up at the sky. "My brother had a child out of wedlock, and the family isn't happy about that."

Poseidon scratched his moustache. She usually didn't like those, but it fitted his face.

"No, it isn't. A child should not have to pay for their parent's action. I could never hate her because of who my brother is. But my family they're... extreme. Competitive. They idolize kleos , and treat each other terribly. Not all of us, of course, but it's very do ut des. Quid pro quo."