Flame War

by Jordan Morris, Daramalan College

The beginning was Chaos – wars between gods – lightning and thunder. Prometheus foresaw the ways the winds would blow and sided with Zeus. He persuaded his twin, Epimetheus, to join  him, to clash against their other siblings, their own parents, their aunts and uncles. Prometheus’ love for his imprudent brother was his sole weakness. Epimetheus would have been the death of  him, time and time again, if Prometheus could die. Back then, they were all immortal. No one perished; a revolving door spun between heaven and hell, and the side you ended up on was just  a show of who was in charge. Once Zeus was on the throne, he wanted entertainment – mortal creatures to amuse him. Prometheus and Epimetheus were conscripted to create them.

After sculpting nearly twenty thousand animals out of earth, air and water, it might be assumed that Prometheus would desire to finish the last one as swiftly as possible. Instead, he spent an epoch on his final masterpiece, moulding the musculature of its bipedal legs, shaping furrows into its brain, and moulding its opposable thumbs. Once he was satisfied, Prometheus admired his paragon of animals.

“What a piece of work!” he said.

“Eh. I like the elephant better,” said his brother, who’d been reclining against a tree all this time.

He pointed at his upper lip. “You’ve got something on your face.”

Used to his brother’s lowbrow choleric humour, Prometheus wiped his mud-caked hands on his cloak rather than all over his moustache. Although the twins were identical in form, their personalities were as different as Nyx and Hemera.

“Epi, I’ve made your job as simple as possible. This field now contains two myriad species of animals. In this bag, you have twenty thousand different attributes. You need to give just one quality to each animal. I’ll do the first one for you.”

When Prometheus reached into the sack, he pricked his finger. He exhumed a miniature spear, tipped with a drop of his blood. Surveying his creations, Prometheus selected one that to a layman would appear to be nothing more than a ball of clay. When he plunged the spear into the creature, it sprouted quills over its body. “Recognise – the spiny anteater!”

“It looks like Zephyrus’s mother-in-law,” Epimetheus said.

“Echidna?” Prometheus didn’t want to admit it, but it looked exactly like Zephyrus’ mother-in-law. “So you see what you need to do?”

“I’m not sure I get it,” Epimetheus said. “Can you show me another one?”

“Of course.” This second time, Prometheus felt warmth in the bag, and pulled out a large wreath of fur. He chose one of the many clay cats he’d created, and expanded it in all directions, until its neck filled the mane. “Witness – the big cat!”

“Looks like Sphinx’s brother,” Epimetheus said.

“Lion?” Prometheus didn’t want to agree, but it did look just like Sphinx’s brother. “Anyway, you see what you need to do?”

“I’m not sure I get it,” Epimetheus said. “Can you show me another one?”

“I…can.” Prometheus stuck his hand back in the bag and again felt something sharp – a pair of thornlike bones. He embedded them at the end of what appeared to be a long tube of rolled mud. Behold…” Prometheus paused for Epimetheus’ interruption.

“It looks like the dragon Apollo slew at Delph…”

“Python!” Prometheus shouted. “I was totally about to say it was a python. And don’t tell me you don’t get it!”

“Of course I get it. And you need to get some sleep.”

Prometheus leant back on his brother’s tree. “Okay, Epi, just remember, man – that’s this one – is  my masterwork. Make sure you save the best attribute for man.” He passed the bag to Epimetheus.

“Will do. Blah blah save yada yada man etcetera. Go to sleep, Pro.”

He took one more look at his masterpiece, then closed his eyes.

**********

Prometheus woke to a field of completed clay animals. He saw horns, wings, humps, spurs, claws, and camouflage of every imaginable kind. The giraffe had been blessed with height, the tortoise with a shell, and the already-imposing elephant was now armed with two massive tusks. With uncharacteristic excitement, Prometheus scanned the sculptures nearby to discover which amazing attribute Epimetheus had imparted on man. But man looked exactly as Prometheus had left him.

“I did good, right?” Epimetheus was pleased with himself. “Epi, what happened to man?”

“Huh? Nothing. I did what you said and saved man for last.”

Prometheus put his now-dry palm over his face. “That’s… not what I said. So what did you save for him?”

“I don’t know.” Epimetheus handed him the bag. “What’s left?”

Prometheus opened the bag and looked inside. There, at the bottom, lay the final attribute. His stomach sank. “It’s the arts!”

Epimetheus exhaled with relief. “Lucky! Looks like I dodged an arrow there.” “It’s the arts,” Prometheus repeated through gritted teeth.

His brother was confused. “I thought you loved the arts. Weren’t you the one who made me sit through all four hours of The Athena Monologues?”

“I love the arts,” Prometheus said, gradually increasing in volume. “But they’re hardly going to be a shedload of good when man’s chased by a lion! What’s he going to do? Read it poetry?”

“So you do think my name for the big cat was better.”

“Not the point, Epi. I’m not having my masterpiece doomed to extinction because he’s painting landscapes while he gets gored by an elephant with two-metre tusks!” Epimetheus grinned. “The tusks are awesome, right?”

Prometheus tried to waive thoughts of fratricide as he formulated a way to make the most of the situation. He passed the bag back to his brother. “Give man the arts.”

Epimetheus imbued the sculpture with the arts. Man would be able to write literature and make music, if he survived. “What do we do with the empty bag?” Epi asked.

“It won’t be empty for long. We’re collecting firewood.” Prometheus had played out all the possibilities – this was the solution. He would implant another attribute – one that would keep man alive – a baptism of fire. Prometheus knew his own fate was sealed. “Zeus is going to have my liver for this. You owe me big this time, Epi.”

“Sure, whatever,” Epimetheus shrugged. “I still like the elephant better.”

**********

Image: Prometheus schept de eerste mens. Image sourced from picryl.com. Source: Rijksmuseum. Date 1602 – 1607. Licensed under Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication (“CCO 1.0 Dedication”)