The wind has been worse lately. The waves crash against the shore, scattering the seagulls into the air. A few sunburnt tourists tried to go to the beach but within minutes they came running back, sandals in hand. “Ai!” My grandma complains, “It’s the gods! They’re mad at us.” My mother shakes her head. “Mama, it’s not the gods. The weather!s just acting up.” “No, it’s the gods!” My grandma insists. Grandma is obsessed with the Greek gods saying that we’ve neglected them for so long and that one day they’ll get their revenge. Mother told me once that Grandma was crazy and she should’ve been sent to a nursing home years ago. I don’t believe Grandma’s stories but… I don’t exactly think she’s crazy. A notification pops up and I look at my phone. It’s my best friend, Elana. “Mama,” I say, “Can I go to the beach? I won’t go near the water. I just need to meet Elana there and we’re going to eat.” “Clarinda, don’t let her!” Grandma says to my mother, shaking her finger, “she’s gonna be in big trouble at the beach.” Mother rolls her eyes. “Sienna,” she says to me, “you can go. Stay away from the water. Promise me.” “I promise!” I say, “I won’t even go near the water.” Mother sighs. “Alright, but bring your phone so I can contact you.” “Already done!” “I wasn’t sure your grandmother was going to let you come.” Elana was saying, “she’s so superstitious.” “Tell me about it,” I grumble, “but the only reason I was allowed was because my mom thinks she’s crazy.” Elana laughs. “Hey,” she says, “wanna go hunt for shells?” The offer is tempting but all of the shells are near the water. “Nah.” I say, “I think I’ll stay here.” Elana gives me a thumbs up and she runs to the water, bucket in hand, shells in sight. “You shouldn’t have let her go,”a small voice in my head said, “she’s going to die.” “No she’s not!” I tell myself, “the gods aren’t real.” “Is that what you think?!” The voice yells. The rain starts to out and lightning strikes across the sky and CRACK! Elana is down. “NO!” I wail, “ELANA!” Suddenly a tall woman with raven black hair wearing a long, regal dress and a tall, intimidation crown lands on the sand. “Who are you?” I croak. The woman scoffs. “Every mortal says that!” She huffs, “if I was Athena or Artemis everyone would know who I was. Everyone will cower!” “So, you’re a Greek goddess?” I ask, hesitantly. She smiles wickedly. “Goddess of deceit, misery, anxiety, depression, etc. Daughter of Nyx! I should be revered! But no! Even the ancient Greeks respected Hades. But no one knows my name! And soon, little Sienna no one will know yours.”
