The Eye of Aphrodite

He’s fast, quick like a cheetah but exact as a dart. Every toe is placed to perfection, every stride calculated in mere nanoseconds. The tendons in his legs stretch and pull with ease as his muscles glide across each other in their rhythmic throbbing dance, one predicated by an equally nuanced conversation happening thirty three vertebrate away in his brain. Like water over rocks his movements are natural, instinctual, inevitable, as if pulled by a force intangible to the human eye yet nevertheless fiercely conspicuous. 

As he jumps ethereally in this jungle of movement many monkeys follow his lead, though he would never be mistaken for such an awkward animal–he’s far too graceful and far too fast. They swing around him like dogs after a horse, hopelessly attempting to join this magnificent team and achieve this magnificent objective, but without exception each and every contender eventually recedes into the oblivion of vines and branches. 

On his back is a small satchel, containing little but the bare essentials of food and water; otherwise, he is simply clothed, with only a worn midnight black shirt and mahogany brown shorts riddled with holes like some parasite has taken over. His feet are bare, calloused by weeks and weeks of exposure, yet this allows him the strength and dexterity to move as he does through the trees, a fairy among the winds.

Soon he arrives at a darker part of the jungle, an area where not even the most desperate or brave animal dares to venture. The leaves of the trees turn a sickly black, and the trunks shrivel into dehydrated corpses, their branches appearing like charred bones. Within this graveyard the air is thick with the hot breath of death and decay. Relentlessly, it struggles against the boy in a sickening dry breeze, rustling the dead foliage to create a low groan, as if the jungle itself mires in a perpetual state of dying.

Such signs only make the boy evermore determined, however, because he knows his most sacred prize will not reside in a place of comfort. No, only through darkness will this hardest of rewards be found, and only through struggle will it be saved. 

By this time he has stopped swinging among the vines and branches, as they have become too brittle to support his weight, and instead he runs like a cat through the sharp hard undergrowth, bouncing off of fallen trees and flying over the ponds of black sludge that block his path. Even in this parasitic suffering he is one with the world and one with himself, and such is his power of confidence that allows him to prevail. 

Eventually he finds himself at an alter, a black stone rune of sorts with a myriad of sinister inscriptions scratched into it on all sides. It would be beautiful, with it’s shiny black surface and smooth white carvings, if it did not so obviously convey an air of darkness, of mourning, of jealousy, for the thing it holds but can never be. 

Methodically, the boy pulls of his pack a key and with care places it in what most would assume is a natural crack in the obsidian. To him, however, this crevice is the answer to all his questions. Like the keyhole, the instrument he inserts appears unadorned and shard-like in a way reminisent of a hunting dagger or a steak knife. When pushed deeply by the tips of his fingers in the crevice, he tilts the device down, and with a loud crack the alter breaks in two, revealing a thin silver pedestal. 

Resting at its tip, and surrounded by a radiating shimmer of sparkly silver energy, is the most beautiful golden pearl the world has ever seen. Its sides are so smooth, so perfectly round and indescribably sublime that it would take a thousand years to truly appreciate its magnificence. Despite its small size it yields immense power, a power which it recognizes and wholeheartedly commands. With this beauty now released, this eye of aphrodite now commands over all the surrounding land and smiles for all to see, removing the jungle’s jealousy in one swift motion. The darkness is revoked, the death denied and the land returns once more to its vibrant self. 

With one easy motion the boy reaches out a hand, plucks the small marble off its stand, and encases it within the folds of his fingers. Like a king and his crown, the two great powers join together perfectly, at last easing the longing in each other’s heart. The chains which held this lonely idol melt, and quickly, as if finally able to breathe, the alter melts into a pool of clear blue water which sparkles in joy.

All is redeemed, and all is won, the boy and his bravery, the soul and his sun.