Supporting Actor

Ah. This is it. Already my feet grow heavy, immobile. It’s working its way up my legs. When it reaches my heart, that will be it. Adieu. 

There was little glory in my short and wasted life. There will be no songs or statues for me, nor my mates, like one of Jason’s nameless Argonauts, a faceless myrmidon, a supporting actor in life’s great drama.

But I ask for no pity. Unwritten or not, we win our own small, twinkling triumphs. In these final moments, I take comfort in the fact I know one thing poor Perseus never will:

Medusa has such pretty eyes.