…The Hall of Hades…

Persephone fussed about the slumbering form of the dragon, as he reclined within the confines of his feast hall chair. The ambrosia had taken him hard, and with it had come the dreams that he would need in order to regain himself.

Even now, she knew that he would be witnessing things that no one else knew. He existed, in memory and myth, in a time before the foundation of their entire cosmos.

“What do you see, brother?” she whispered softly to him. “Is it a pleasant dream? I do wonder…”

Tears formed along the rims of Scott’s eyes then slowly tracked down his cheeks. She had her answer, and with it came a fretful countenance.

“Let him rest, dear heart. He is seeing the beginning of everything. There is no telling what that might entail,” said Hades.

“I know that…. I merely wish to be of more help,” she said softly.

“No one can help him now. This is a creation myth from the ancient past. It might not even be the exact retelling, given how long ago it must have all been and the spiritual injuries he has sustained,” said Hades. “He will see things that he could not have possibly known at the time, but might have been true, and do so alongside the actual truth as his soul remembers it.”

Persephone pouted softly then began to fuss about the dragon once more, heedless of what her husband hand to say. This was their brother, after all. Family rarely visited in the current era. No one could afford a social call with the invading forces attempting to break into reality and devour them all.

…Back Within the Confines of the Grand Creation Myth…

Night had fallen before he made it to the edge of town. The interview with Ms. Trendy Glasses had been the last one for the day. Yet again, he failed to acquire employment. His hair was one of the usual culprits, but the biggest problem was his military discharge. He did not have a car, and the nearest town in the area that he had not already canvassed heavily was over twenty miles away.

Uncertain of his future, he plodded slowly toward his home six miles outside of town. The last of the streetlights came into view, though it was broken. Some random drunken idiot had smashed into it a few weeks earlier and the town opted not to repair it since it was not necessary.

Scott walked to that streetlight then gently placed his hand against the cool metal shaft. It had become something of a ritual. Whenever he walked out of town he would stop and pat the pole. “Hello, old friend. I hope you are well today.”

In many ways, he and that pole shared a lot in common. Forgotten relics disregarded by society, they had both been deemed as something unnecessary, but no one would even spare the expense to put them out of their misery.

After his one-sided conversation with his good friend, the streetlight, he moved on. He wanted to get home before it was too late. The country back road that he lived on was dark at night. Even his flashlight provided little illumination.

While he walked, he thought of his life and many of the oddities that surrounded it. A foundling, he had been raised as an orphan. There was no indication of who his parents were and no method of locating them. He was literally discovered in a basket just outside of Grant Memorial Hospital.

His early life was a jumble of faces that he could not remember. His first true memories were of sitting alone at the Cherrywood Orphanage, while he looked up at the moon. The moon had always been an important point of reference for him, though he did not know why. No matter how out of place he felt, one look at the moon would soothe his nerves and calm his disquiet spirit. In a strange way, the only time that he felt himself to be at home anywhere in the world was in the presence of the brightly shining moon.

Once he had grown old enough to hold onto his memories, no one had tried to adopt him. He had been told that several families wanted him when he was a baby, but each of them had returned him to the orphanage in less than one month. He never knew why, but he had often heard the same thing. He was not right. How could an innocent baby not be right? He had often asked himself that question. Yet, he had never been granted an answer. He would have asked his birth parents about why he was deemed wrong, but they had thrown him away at the first chance they could get.

Thoughts of the moon caused him to stop and then to look up at the sky. The moon above was bright in its fullness. A so-called super moon, it was at its closest point in its orbit to Earth and was both larger and brighter than he had ever seen it before.

Of course, the larger size was only a slight thing. It was barely noticeable to him. Still, he did feel better when he gazed up at it. The moon, a nightly visitor that shined on all people equally. It was the only thing in his existence that had been truly constant and had always accepted him regardless of the changes that he underwent over time.

“You show me a different face every night, and sometimes no face at all. Yet…” Scott took a breath then closed his eyes for a moment.

It was stupid to talk to the moon like it was really his friend. The same was true of the streetlight. He had no friends. No family. Even the people whom he had fought beside in the army did not ever get in touch with him. His entire existence could be summed up by the events that occurred right at that moment. He was alone on a dark and winding road, his sole companion the shining moon above.

Nothing. No one. Alone.

He was a foreign thing, a bizarre alien existence in a land filled with people who could not stand to be around him for more than a few moments. When forced into his presence for any length of time they became hostile or acted strangely. It was as though he were some darkly twisted spot of chaos in an otherwise bright and well-ordered world.

Honestly, he was tired of it. After more than two decades of being some other, some twisted and repulsive thing, he could not stand it much longer.

Hot tears began to form at the edges of his eyes. Soon, they slid down his cheeks. He did not sob or release any sort of sound save for the short intake of breath. Instead, his hand slipped down into his pocket and he tightly gripped the thing that he found there.

Scott squeezed it gently in his hand for a moment then said, “Just once.” His eyes opened slightly. “Just once in my life, I want to belong somewhere. I want to mean something to someone.”

He looked up at the moon and asked, “Is that really such a terrible thing?”

The moon, just as it always did, continued to shine down impassively without a hint of care or concern. Her beautiful light was for everyone equally, and not just for sad people who had no place in the world.

For the first time in his life, he became angry at the moon. Brighter than he could remember ever seeing it, yet it did not give him even a hint of solace.

“Answer me,” said Scott softly, irrationally.

The moon said nothing, and he became angrier in response. “Answer me, dammit! Is it wrong?!”

He tore his hands from his pockets and the precious thing inside was pulled out. It dropped to the ground, flipped end-over-end a few times then rolled to a stop.

Scott did not care about the shotgun shell in that moment, even though it rolled to a stop with his name showing upon it for the whole world to see. Instead, he was focused on the moon. “Tell me that there’s a place for me, in this world! Tell me that!”

A lifetime of being ignored, of being born wrong, had left indelible scars on his heart. The loneliness of having no one and nothing who cared for him despite being adrift in a sea of billions of people was almost too much for him to bear.

Overcome with the release of emotions that he’d held back for many years he fell to his knees on the cold, uncaring, asphalt. He panted heavily but continued to look up at the moon as his tears continued to fall. It all came pouring out of him now. The sadness. The self-loathing.

He was beyond the point where he might care if someone might tell him to do things like ‘buck-up’ or to act like a man. Those people no doubt had at least one person in their life who would notice it if they disappeared forever. Scott had no one. Tonight, it seemed that not even the moon that he had seen as his only friend since his earliest memories gave a damn about him.

As the tears fell, his arms remained limp at his sides. He gazed at the uncaring moon for a moment and then his eyes slowly closed. He whispered the words, “Please. Not you too.”

It seemed that even his only steadfast friend had abandoned him. Yet, had his eyes been open at that moment he would have seen a strange shimmering light pulsate from the supposedly uncaring moon. He might have seen the first sign that things in his life were about to change irreversibly, for both good and ill.