With no warning, the darkness came up over my left shoulder tonight and settled into my bones like a bad chill. It flooded my system like a needle full of heroin, washed over me, pulled me down. I knew right away what it was, knew it while it was happening. I knew the what of it, the why of it, this rush of biochemicals through the brain stem blocking out the light from my mind. But the knowing didn’t help. The knowing didn’t make it easier to bear. The knowing didn’t shut my mouth.
As if words could save me. As if words were my shield and sword.
When Cassandra refused the god Apollo, her punishment was to speak truth and never be believed. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, she told them. The men of Ithaca are liars, the men of Argos are thieves, and the men of Sparta will spit you like a boar for the pleasure of it. Don't listen to their lies, she told them, but they didn't believe her. They opened the gate and the darkness rushed in. No-one was saved.
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