The Release

He woke up and felt heavy. He felt sad and heavy. He stared up at the ceiling, his vaulted ceiling, and just breathed. He could see his huge chest heave slowly. He wasn’t excited about the upcoming day. He was scheduled to have lunch with his father, rarely fun. There was so much tension between he and his father. His father was a big deal in the community and there was always pressure to live up to his parentage. He closed his eyes with heavy, stressed breaths, and sat up on the edge of his ridiculously gigantic bed. The white beams of brilliant sunlight blasted through the flowing lace curtains with a slight breeze accompanying. Another day in paradise.

He stood and stretched. He felt physically loose yet emotionally tight. He ran his thick fingers through his short, kinky hair and he tried to smile. Beard stubble was coming in. He went through his morning routine: a lengthy pee, a protein shake, 500 1-armed pushups, one set for each arm. Barely sweating, he took a shower. He put on his lion loincloth and took leave. This is how Hercules started every day.

Once outside among his people, he felt the stares. The admiration, the adulation. And the fear. He didn’t like that. The townspeople never shied away from extolling their feelings towards him. It made Herc feel very self-conscious. He was physically massive to the point where people had to move out of the way to let him pass through. He wasn’t rude about his muscular girth, he just accepted it and hoped others did as well. The people’s stares felt like shameful fire. He stopped by his favorite fruit stand.

“Hello, Peter. One pomegranate please.”

Looking up at Herc’s structured jawline, his muscular head blocking out the morning sun, Peter’s noticeably trembling hand grabbed the largest pomegranate and handed it to Hercules with both hands, head bowed. “Here you are, my lord. Please enjoy.”

Herc sighed. “Peter, I’m not a lord, my father is. I’m just a big guy who loves messy fruit. Napkins please?” Peter frantically rummaged for the finest cloth napkins. He folded them intricately and nervously handed them with both hands to Herc.

“Paper napkins are fine.”

“Oh my, my deepest apologies. Please don’t punch me to death.”

“Peter, I’ve never punched you and I never would. Have you ever seen me punch someone to death for no reason?” Herc took a huge bite into the pomegranate’s red hide.

“You punched a donkey across the ocean last week. My Lord.”

“It shat on my sandal. Do we not have donkey rules in this town?” He took another bite out of the pomegranate, the sweetness stabbing his throat. His fingers were too thick to pick out the tiny seeds so he ate it whole.

“Donkeys are very buoyant.”

Herc put down a few coins and walked away, crunching the pomegranate with glee.

“Hercules, it’s on the house.”

“You don’t have a house. You live in a hut. And no one says, ‘It’s on the hut’.”

As politely as he could, Hercules wiped the red juice from his beard with his tanned, sculpted forearm. Some women cowered in his presence, while others showed some flirtatious ankle. Both responses made him uncomfortable. It was a 17-mile trek to his dad’s townhouse on Mt. Olympus. He’d be there in 10 minutes.

He walked through town, feeling eyes on him. When eyes weren’t on him, they were on her. He watched her through his squinted eyes. He paused. Her gate was different than any other woman in the world. Purposeful. Aggressive. Looking for a fight. Crowds separated. She was feared in an unusual way. He had never seen anything like it before and it happened every time she was in town. She was the only woman that exuded physical intimidation as a worthy combatant. But, still, enchanting. He wasn’t scared of her. He was just…cautious. “Stand tall, Herc”, he told himself. Rumor had it that she was his step-sister, fathered by Zeus. But gossip fueled this town so who really knew. Their eyes met with contention, mainly hers. Princess Diana of Themyscira.

“Hey bro.”

“I’m not your bro, bro”, she replied with venom. She stopped and faced Hercules, fearless. “I find your attempt at humor foolish yet very indicative of your idiotic gender.” Diana looked around; her eyes weren’t squinted by the sun. Her face was filled with hot hatred, her long stream of shimmering dark hair, almost blinding, gently waving in the intense Grecian wind. Her beauty seemed unfair. Yet, beautiful face was fully contorted with hate for the local males. “These men disgust me. So brutish and imbecilic.”

“Not all men are terrible, Diana. Charles over there helps the poor and meek. Lots of meek going on lately and he helps them to escape their misery.” Charles was washing a sword in a barrel.

“How?”, she said as she doubtfully crossed her arms over her armored chest.

“Decapitation.”

“He cuts their heads off to put them out of their meekness?”

“Less meekness in our town. Makes sense.”

“Only a foolish man would think that makes a town better.” Diana of Themyscira took the pomegranate from Hercules with measured authority and took a huge bite. She then threw it into the dirty ground.

“Hey, that’s my pomegranate!” The fruit skid down the unpaved road and slowly stopped near a cow.

“Some men are good people.”

“You speak like an ignorant mortal.” She took a step towards him. Her strong finger jabbed into his bare chest. He barely felt that poke. He didn’t feel pain but felt her intent. “Men are a futile, pointless”, chest poke, that one kind of hurt, “arrogant,”, another poke that might bruise, “unnecessary animals with penises.” Hercules was pushed back a bit. “You suffocate the powerful potential of women, living in fear of what we’re capable of. Your penises are intrusive and vulgar.” Poke. Okay, that actually hurt. “You want to penetrate us and kill those whom you don’t understand. Your kind aren’t true warriors. You are brutish children who seek sex and death. That’s all you desire.” The last poke opened his skin.

“Didn’t you kill 200 Romans last week?”

“They’re Romans, they had it coming.” She picked a piece of pomegranate out of her teeth and spat into the dirt. “Your kind are violent idiots with no sense of purpose.”

“You know who grew that pomegranate?”

Diana’s lips tightened with rage. “No.”

“A man named Peter. So there.”

“So, there’s one good man. But fruit doesn’t make for a worthy gender.”

Face forward, she sashayed away, her cute little blue bottoms swaying in the sunlight. It bothered him that he was attracted to his step-sister. But it was part of being Greek.

“Have a good lunch with your father”, she said over her shoulder. Hercules thought he heard her viscous giggle through her ragefull mouth. She found the pomegranate near the cow and threw it up into the air. Hercules didn’t see it land. It just kept going. She had a decent arm.

“See you around town. Bro”, he yelled while checking his chest for blood. He picked up his pace, slightly.

Hercules sadly walked out of the town. That was a good pomegranate. He saw Mount Olympus in the distance, jutting up through soft clouds. His gigantic steps would get him there soon. He knew what the lunch would entail and he was reticent to participate. Zeus was manipulative and demanding. But Hercules would hold his ground. Zeus wanted weekly get-togethers but Hercules could only do once a month interactions. He could only handle so much of his father. Hercules had very dedicated values that went against what his father demanded. Zeus was the God of Gods, the most powerful being ever known. But Zeus was kind of a dick.

Eight minutes later, Herc reached the base of Olympus. He saw the peak penetrating the clouds. He began moving giant stones, one stone in each hand. He gently placed them aside as he made his way up the impossible slope. He climbed up with his bulky chest almost parallel to the rocky face. Half way up he felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. He wiped it off with shame. Sweating twice in the morning due to physical exertion? Was his physical perfection declining? “550 1 armed pushup starting tomorrow.”

He reached his father’s porch, outcropping from the top of Olympus. He pulled himself up over the edge and stood tall. The entrance was wide open and filled with godly sunlight, like his father was bringing sun to earth. Herc was sure his father believed that to be true. Being the God of Gods was a real ego boost and Zeus easily gave in. He took a step in and then remembered his father’s rule: Sandals are for outdoors, for paupers. Herc took off his sandals. The cold tile felt good on his haggard feet. He took a small sip from the Fountain of Youth in the corner. Probably gave him another 20 years of life. Great, 2 more decades of pointless nonsense with no direction. He was strong beyond human abilities. He was feared. He was admired. He was born of the ultimate lineage of all time. But he felt as hollow as his muscles were thick.

Zeus emerged, floating in from another room. Zeus never walked, he always glided. Head held high, shoulders back, wavy, silver hair flowing certainly purposeful. His father controlled all things in the universe so possibly he could make his hair flow elegantly. His pristine robes hung on his body, as if they were a part of him.

“My son, welcome back to Mt. Olympus. It’s been too long.” A big, aggressive grin slightly spread across his lips, like a used chariot salesman.

It hadn’t been too long.

“Hello father. How have you been?”

“Well, being the most powerful deity in all of history takes its toll. It’s exhausting. My eyes are everywhere all at once, watching everything. I know all, I see all, I control all. Nice job with that donkey last week, by the way. Even my hooved creatures need to be held accountable.”

“A shat is a shat. Where are the boys?”

Behind a frustrated eyeroll, he said, “Ugh, Poseidon is creating a series of hurricanes to smite the Romans for blasphemy. The Romans shall be Smoten! Jupiter my ass! I am the one true God of Gods and everyone knows it!”

A loud silence hung in the air. Hercules felt awkward that his father needed such validation. He wished he had pockets to put his nervous hands into. Loincloths never had pockets.

“I actually need a break from Poseidon. He’s always wet. I’m constantly mopping the floor when he’s around.”

“But, father, you’re the God of Gods, why don’t you just make the water disappear?”

“My son, as the God of Gods, I must stay humble. Mopping up after Poseidon teaches me about the humanity that I rule over. What can I say? I’m benevolent.” Zeus humbly shrugged his shoulders. “Mortal humans are selfish fools but I still need to be a God of the people. Even though I am-”

“All powerful. I’ve heard. And Hades?”, Hercules said, regretting even more that sip from the Fountain. When would this end?

“The God of the Underworld is taking Cerebos to the vet. One of the dog heads has a cyst or something. Hades is such a drama God. The horns and eternal punishment. We got it. Anyway, please, my son, have a seat.” Hercules and Zeus sat across from each other. Zeus steepled his fingers contemplatively. Hercules felt a wave of nerves course through his body like nervous lightening. What had he done wrong this time?

“Hercules, we need to talk. There have been many conversations within the Pantheon about your recent behavior, or lack thereof. We really think-”

“We’ve been over this, father. I do not want to be a warrior. It is not my path. I want to live a peaceful life. Maybe eat a pomegranate, perhaps three, every day.”

“Son, your mother and I need you to live up to your potential. You are mighty so be mighty. Be the mightiest!” Zeus slammed his hand on the arm of the chair “Things are heating up with the Romans. We need leadership. We need a true warrior to lead our men. We need you.”

Hercules sat, his face hard, his face working to hide his frustration. Herc had no desire to lead the Greek army in their ongoing war against the Romans. He didn’t see the need for war, especially against fellow countrymen. He just wanted to live a simple life with no obligation to war of any kind. Most of the Gods that made up the Pantheon were warmongers, constantly looking for war and creating internal and external conflicts. Herc just wanted to live and maybe play a game with his father someday.

Behind a deep exhale, Hercules said, “Father, this is none of my business. Why don’t we all just let the Romans believe what they choose to believe and leave them alone? Their actions are no threat to your ruling of the universe.”

“My son, they need to know the truth about existence. I am the God of Gods, Poseidon is the God of the Oceans, Hades is the God of the Underworld, Dionysos, that little alcoholic weirdo is the God of Mirth, but those insidious Romans made up their own set of Gods. It’s humiliating to share the world with them. We need to be respected and adulated because we rule the universe. But they refuse to acknowledge our power and authority. I believe you young people would call the Romans ‘Punk ass bitches.’” Zeus aggressively laughed. Zeus loved sounding current.

“Why do all of you care so much? Just keep ruling the universe like you do and let the Romans believe their self-inflicted lies. I want no part of this conflict.”

Zeus slowly, frustratingly stroked his magnificent beard. “We can’t allow blasphemy in our kingdom. What if they developed a false god based on the mighty Hercules? How would that make you feel?”

“I’d be okay with that. It’d give me someone to spot me on the bench press.”

Suddenly, the air changed. The scent in the room became luscious. A sultry deliciousness approached and drowned everything in its wave. Sexual manipulation controlled the room. He felt her presence before he saw her. Hercules smirked and Zeus’ lips broadened. If one knew how to describe it, one could feel her around, which automatically made everyone vulnerable. Men, women, anything with a heartbeat was at her will. Then she walked in. Gorgeous beyond comprehension. It never made sense, her legendary presence. Stunning in a way that made anyone helpless. She glowed with allure. The statues carved in her honor were unfaithful to her. Under her gaze, if struck, one was powerless to escape her prowess. One was ravished. Her perfection and seduction were a tempting magic. She would get from you what she desired. She was everything anyone would want. And she knew it. And so did the victim.

Her temptation was immeasurable. Hundreds of years ago, Measureaites, the God of Measurement, was asked to measure her beauty and seductive skills. Within minutes, he snapped his wooden ruler over his knee and ran way, weeping. Her hair flowed slowly, she finally deciding to grow it out. She calmly walked into the room, silk curtains waving behind, in slow motion. Even her steps were sumptuous. Time meant nothing, all that mattered was that her glorious enchantment bled sex. She was enchantment. She weaponized her beauty, a lustful warrior of sex and seduction. Her eyes were arrows into one’s loins. The longing into which she penetrated a person was a sexual poison. Aphrodite, the Goddess of Sexual Love and Beauty. And she worked it. She almost stole the eye of Hercules. He had to look away at the cold tile floor. He’d been through this before. He knew, painfully, what her abilities led to.

Years ago, Homosexualapus, the Greek God of Men Who Lay with Men, once tried to analyze, maybe prove it was possible to resist, her sexual powers, stepping in for Measureimitus. He being a homosexual, the Gods thought he would be allergic to her powers. Having accidentally looked into her stunning hazel eyes, he was transformed. Homosexualapus is now married to a woman and has 19 children. Now, he goes by Garyifus the Greek God of Stay at Home Dads.

From his chair, her back to him, Hercules caught the view of Aphrodite lifting her toga and sitting down on his father’s lap. Nefarious sex filled the room. Their passion was disturbing. Hercules slammed his eyes shut. He was afraid that she might look back at him while she was riding his father. Grunting and grinding ensued for a few minutes until she slowly stood up and walked away. Zeus was exhausted while Aphrodite looked proud. Zeus recovered and Aphrodite strutted out, making an obvious effort to catch Hercules’s glance. Even if she caught your glance in your periphery, she still had you.

He remembered Peripheralititis, the Greek God of Peripheral Vision. One day, Peripheraltitis ran out of the room due to an intense headache from all the aggressive peripheral staring at Aphrodite. He ran as fast as he could, so he wouldn’t be peripherally entranced. He did his best to pull his eyes from her direct stare. He survived her lure, but just barely. Peripheraltitis escaped, but he ran into many walls while fleeing. His godly power of peripheral vision dictated that he couldn’t look forward. Nose bloodied, headache still agonizing, he fled, screaming. Even if one was a God, once she had you, you were done, you were under her carnal control forever. He got off lucky.

The sweet aroma in the air slowly faded as she left. He felt that he could fully open his eyes. No son should have to listen to his father have sex with a Goddess from a chair made of human Roman flesh. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time he was in this unfortunate voyeuristic position.

“What a lovely goddess”, Zeus sighed with guilty glee, his head resting backwards. “Don’t tell your mom.”

“I don’t even want to tell myself.”

“As I was saying…”

“Still no, father.”

“Hercules, what are you going to do with your life? Just sit around eating pomegranates and punching donkeys across oceans?”

“They can’t punch themselves.”

“Enough quips! Seriously, my son, you need direction. I’m offering you a path.”

“A path to killing innocent countrymen because they think differently than we do? I’m good.”

“How do you think this makes us look, son? The son of the God of Gods…”

“You’re the God of Gods, right? Just checking.”

“You have been spending too much time with the God, Sarcasmitis. As I was saying, you are bringing shame on your family by being a lay about with no purpose.” Zeus stood up, still erect. That was what happens when one had sex with Aphrodite. He went over to the large glass door that led to his massive back yard, hands grasped behind his back, frustrated.

“Father, maybe I will build things. The Panthenon is starting to crack. Maybe the Athenians are hiring workers.”

“I refuse to allow you to be a simple ‘worker’. You are destined for greater, more meaningful pursuits.”

“Father, these ‘simple workers’ built the Pantheon, the clubhouse for the Gods, as well as Mount Olympus. Seems like a pretty important task.”

“Silence!” Zeus let out a large breath. “Please join me.”

“Are you still erect?”

Zeus looked down. “Yes.”

“This chair is comfortable so I’ll just hang out here.”

“That’s all you do. You just hang out.” Zeus said this with the first two fingers of each hand up in the air and bobbing up and down. Hercules was confused. Quoting something in the air?

“I won’t join you until you are flaccid.” Hercules felt that most sons shouldn’t have to ask this of their fathers so often.

Hercules felt like he was holding his own against his father. He knew this would go on forever but it needed to end. Zeus was immortal so Hercules would only have to endure the pressure for so long. But Hercules would be dead at some point down the line. That sip from the fountain…what was he thinking?

“My erection is receding. Please, son, Join me at the window.”

Hercules reluctantly stood up and walked across to the window. He stood next to his father, the almighty Zeus. That was actually printed on his doormat. “The Almighty Zeus”. He hated seeing it. That’s why he always crawled up the mountain instead of using his father’s slaves to bring him up to the side door.

“Look at what I’ve created, son. Look at what I’ve built.”

“A yard?”

“I need to speak with Sarcasmitis. Far too much of an influence. All of the gods of the Pantheon live to serve and defend. But also, to be served and defended. It’s a big circle. You need to fulfill your true destiny.”

“I resent you telling me what my destiny is.” That was maybe the strongest thing he had ever said to his father. He had dipped his tongue in a well of verbal strength. It tasted pointless but gratifying.

“As the son of Zeus, the God of Gods, you can’t be this ignorant. This mighty kingdom, full of people prospering, all the riches in the world, brilliant architecture that will stand the test of time and never EVER crumble. A mighty army of faithful warriors who are forever dedicated to defeating those who oppose us. And then there’s you. Defiant against all we’re strived for.” Zeus sadly hung his head at his chest. His glorious beard even looked disappointed. “Maybe you were adopted.”

Hercules didn’t want to hurt or defeat his father. He just wanted him to understand. Word has that his father was the God of Gods (thank you, Sarcasmitis) so he did feel an obligation to respect him. But he didn’t believe in his father’s ideals. He needed to find his own path while also finding a way to reach his father. Making him understand their crossroads would never be possible. He looked to his left and saw a bowl of fruit on a a table. There was an orange. He never understood why oranges were called oranges but apples were never called reds or greens. It seemed lazy. He looked back at his father, his sadness broke Hercules’ heart.

“Father, on my many travels across the world, I’ve seen many things, many activities. I once saw two men, strong, athletic men, throwing a ball back and forth to one another in a field. Smiles effortlessly exploded across their faces. They were in the arms of playful bliss. They performed this activity for hours, boredom never once creeping in. They simply threw a ball back and forth. It bonded them in an obvious, heartfelt way.”

“We don’t have any balls around.” Zeus said through a harsh glare.

“That fruit bowel has things that look like balls.”

“Unlike yourself.”

That hurt Hercules, the strongest man alive. Not as much as his father intended it to but he felt a sting in his chest. Hercules took a deep breath and grabbed the orange. He returned to the door and tossed the orange in the air and caught it, staring into his father’s hurt eyes.

“Let’s give it a try.”

Zeus looked disgusted, his son still wasting time.

“They call it ‘Catch.’”

“How does it work?”

“I thought you were all knowing, God of Gods.”

“This seems pointless and infantile. I only engage my knowledge in things that are of import. My kingdom, those damn Romans. Aphrodite’s vagina.”

“The kingdom is fine. The Romans will be smoten. And Aphrodite seems like of a kind a slut. But I’m only half god so what do I know? Sometimes it’s just nice to have fun.” Hercules exited the door into the sprawling backyard. The grass felt soft and cooling. Small animals ran around and colorful birds dotted the sky. Zeus reluctantly followed.

They faced each other, a slight distance between them. “We have to work together.” Hercules slowly threw the orange to his father, underhanded. It hit him gently in the forehead. Zeus looked down at the fallen orange.

“You need to catch it and throw it back to me hence, the name, ‘Catch.’”

“Shall I summon Hades upon you for assaulting the God of Gods with fruit?”

“He’s at the vet. Pick up the orange and throw it back to me.” Hercules placed his hands together, his palms spread apart, and smiled.

Zeus looked down at the orange with an expression that Hercules had never seen from his father. It looked like…confused shame.

“You’re immortal, so take your time.”

“I don’t know how to throw.” Zeus was embarrassed.

“Father, you throw lightening bolts for a living.”

“Lightning bolts aren’t oranges, son.”

“Grab the orange, turn sideways, bring your hand down, lift it up behind your body, let your hand come down your back, release it with your arm extended in my direction and I’ll catch it. Then I’ll throw it back and you catch it. That’s how you play catch, father.”

After a few moments of his father thinking about this effort, he finally executed the action. With much effort, a strained look painting his face, Zeus, the God of Gods, threw the orange. Right into the ground. It bounced and stopped.

“Motherfucker!!!” he shouted. Birds flew away in distress.

“Father, it takes time to learn. Be loose but controlled. You love control but relax.”

Hercules thought of Princess Diana of Themyscira. She threw that pomegranate with aggression combined with graceful fluidity. Hercules had heard an expression from those two men he learned this game from.

“You throw like a girl!”

Zeus threw like a girl.

Zeus controlled the entire universe but couldn’t control his own arm. He threw rigidly. There were no more animals or birds to scare away with Zeus’s increasing frustrated screams at his very un-Godlike failures to throw an orange to his son. Godly frustration built the air. Hercules loved it.

An hour passed.

Recovering yet another awful throw from the bushes, Hercules walked up to Zeus. “You can do this. You’re Zeus, God of Gods. That’s the rumor, anyway. You got this.” Hercules wasn’t sure about this but he enjoyed being in charge. For once.

Hercules turned and walked across the yard. “And don’t use your godly powers!”.

He stood twenty feet away, facing his father, wondering how far he’d have to go find the poorly thrown orange this time. Hercules had to recover the orange from Zeus’s wildly erratic throws every time from all over the vast yard. Sometimes, Zeus threw the orange behind himself. At least Zeus was getting some distance now. He spent the first 28 minutes just throwing the orange into the ground. Hercules was sure he’d get one of Zeus’s slaves to fill in the resulting divot in the grass. Zeus went through a few awkward practice throws and with every attempt, it looked like Zeus was actually looking more stressed. Hercules wasn’t sure he could do this, even being the God of Gods and all the powers that accompany the role.

Zeus’s posture transformed into relaxed and calmed. Zeus and Hercules’s eyes met with frightening intensity across the yard. Zeus turned sideways, let his shoulder relax, hand drop, hand easily rise up, drop down his shoulder, his body rotate backward, then forward, easy extension and relaxed release towards his son. His eyes were wide open, hoping for a good throw to his son’s eager, open hands.

Zeus had never felt “hope” before. He ignored that and just watched the orange aloft. A high arc. Zeus heard a light slap from his son’s open palms, Hercules’s body firm and feet planted with no need to adjust to the throw. It landed perfectly in Hercules’s palms. Absolutely no power, but it was a start.

Grinning for the first time all day, Hercules, the son of the God of Gods, never felt stronger. He delicately said, “Good throw, dad.”