Demeter's Call

VI. My Failed Attempt At Jazz Hands Turns Out To Be Worse Than Apollo's Puns

( The beautiful media art of Tania is done by neverlanded!!!!! Go check her out ^.^ )

VI. My Failed Attempt At Jazz Hands Turns Out To Be Worse Than Apollo's Puns. That means they're bad. Very bad.

TANIA

You know that moment when you aren't quite sure whether it's a dream or not so you're sitting (or standing) while discretely wondering whether or not it's safe to do a chicken dance.

No?

Well then I guess I'm the only one. Joy. If I had a heart it would be breaking at this horrendous revelation.

I assumed that it was a dream considering the fact that I was underwater. Again.

I was broken out of my thoughts by a low grumbling sound–something in the likeness of what I sound like when someone holds my food hostage.

You know you're going crazy when not only are you talking to yourself but you are trying to—key word trying—roast yourself with bad burns.

The low grumbling sound became louder and I averted my eyes to where I supposed to be the source of the noise.

"Hello Tania, can you guess who I am?" A voice suddenly asked tauntingly. I rolled my eyes.

"Pheme." I answered matter-of-factly.

Hey, don't you give me that look! I know I'm being careless around a dangerous goddess who kidnapped my mother and all that stuff blah blah blah. At least I didn't add in a nonchalant 'duh' as I was planning to do.

"Why yes." She whispered. "And don't be so disrespectful; I have your mother hostage."

Because that totally gives me the initiative to be nice. Ha. Me? Nice? I snorted at the thought.

If you want me to be nice you better top your request with a couple pizzas slathered in meat—vegetarian pizza doesn't count. I'm such a disgrace to the goddess of agriculture and farming.

"What have the gods done for you?" Pheme snapped and I could see an image being conjured up in my head from the probably smirking goddess.

"Flashback time with Tania." I muttered, making mock jazz hands even though my hand coordination was worse than Apollo's puns.

The scene was of a young me playing at a park. Oh how cliché.

I could see Demeter standing in the corner, staring at me. Her golden hair was in a side braid on her head and her porcelain hands rested neatly on her stomach.

"You." Little me whispered, running towards her with a look of incredible disbelief on my face. "Mom."

I watched, emotionless, as I remembered how the scene played out.

"That one night with your father meant nothing to me." She snarled. "Get back you mortal."

I winced as little me stepped back, eyes filling with tears.

"But mom—"

"I'm not your mother." And with that she strode off leaving seven year old me standing up to my ankles in the small pebbles that were placed on the ground of the park. There was no one else there other than my dad who was snoring on a bench.