Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

I looked around, curiosity eventually giving way to worry. I'd been given the job of cleaning out Medusa's lair, taking all the statues away, all that stuff. There would probably be people who wanted to take over the area as land. I knew how people worked. They'd tell "the great tale of how they took this land from the terrifying monster," as if they'd ever swung a sword in their life.

This... wasn't what I'd signed up for, first of all. I considered for a good portion of time whether I should pull back, report what I'd found and leave the actual movement for someone else. But my curiosity prevailed and overcame what I could only imagine was my common sense trying to keep me safe-ish. So I made my way towards the cabin, gazing at the numerous statues.

What was odd was... there seemed to be two types of statues. One were the traditional "big shot heroes," swords, bows, axes, whatever their weapons of choice were. I'd heard stories, my friends heard stories, everyone had heard stories. They were all frozen in what you imagine when you hear about Medusa's stone gaze. Mid swing, shouts frozen forever in throats, petrified armor shielding cold skin.

But there were a few, and it was a remarkable few, that... weren't heroes. I almost felt I recognized one or two faces. Faces of people in repose, of people sitting or kneeling amongst stone- no, actually carved flowers. Someone made these very intentionally. There weren't faces of terror either. It seemed relaxed, often with faint smiles or such.

That's when I noticed the boxes. Not stone, either. These were wooden boxes. Out of curiosity I opened the closest one, a box by one of the heroes. There was a handwritten note in it, which I opened. It was the name of someone I didn't recognize, but the note said they were a hero of some sort. As a matter of fact, it listed a couple other things they'd done. They weren't a major hero like Achilles or... Hercules or whatever, but they'd saved a few villages.

The other boxes contained similar notes, at least in the heroes' cases. Those few that seemed happy were very different, though. While the heroes' notes were seemed to be written by the same person, those notes were written different styles, probably by different hands.

Those notes also had varying contents. Some talked about how they were just tired with the world. Others expressed a fear of death. Still others didn't want to grow old and withered, wanted to stay young and pristine forever. A rare few wanted to be reunited with family.

...They'd posed on purpose. They wanted Medusa to freeze them. Medusa had frozen mostly people who'd attacked her, but there were some who came here to intentionally to be petrified. I crouched by the last box I'd opened for a time, considering.

Then I stood up and turned towards the cabin.

That was good! Thanks for taking your time to write. It's not exactly what I wanted but that's part of the fun of creating a prompt. You never know what people will write. I appreciate immensely, you wrote a beautiful thing

Edit: I ran your text through a text generator and asked it to write me one of the letters. I hope you don't find this disrespectful.

It came up with the following:

Dear whoever may read this,

I am writing this letter to explain my decision to come to Medusa's lair and allow her to petrify me. I am not a hero like the others who have fallen victim to her gaze, but I am a warrior. I have fought in many battles, and I have seen firsthand the horrors of war.

I am tired of fighting. I am tired of the constant violence and death that surrounds me. I want to be frozen in this moment, to be spared from the horrors of the world. I do not fear death, but I fear what may come after it.

I do not want to grow old and weak, to watch my comrades fall and be unable to help them. I want to remain strong and youthful, forever ready to defend my people.

I know this may seem like a selfish decision, but it is one I have made with a clear mind. I do not regret it.

Farewell, Marcus

I don't find it disrespectful, personally. I do really like the letter though! Thanks for the prompt!

Both of these nearly made me cry. Now I want to know what's in the cabin...

[removed]

[removed]

Argurios of Tartessos climbed onto the ledge, he looked into the mouth of the cave and, to his surprise, saw nothing. Realizing he had further to go, he continued. He climbed till he felt rich soil and grass under his fingers. He heaved himself onto the plateau and stood. Once he was able to focus on something other than his pounding heart, he heard birds singing. He saw luxurious greenery and flowers of every hue, and far in the back of the garden, a little hut.

Then he saw it, laying on its side under the shade of a tree, as if sleeping. A woman- a woman’s body, soberly dressed in a white chiton with an embroidered hem. The impression of modesty was heightened by the wing covering the left side of her body, which Argurios reasoned was meant to protect her while she slept. The woman had arms that seemed to be good for working in fields, her skin bronze from days in the sun. Argurios approached, he could scarcely believe the Easterner had killed her. As he came close to the corpse, he noticed that pooling from the stump of her neck was shining blood. The pool spread not as blood, but as a creeping thing, swarming.

Startled, Argurios looked up and about him, and saw statues, better than any he had seen, whether images of gods or grave markers for their chiefs, they looked alive, he could see veins and muscles, some were standing still, some had one foot ready in front of the other. He walked over to the edge of the plateau, to a statue that seemed about to walk backwards. Argurios looked down and saw a small wooden box. He lifted it, opened it, and saw a tablet with writing on it, he read, “To the one who finds this, I am dead, I go to face the monster, and I leave my wife and son, but I am doing what I must.”

The first statue I came across was of a teenaged boy, standing out in the sun. It was on some sort of raised stone surface, but he wasn't really anchored down to it. It looks like he was set on top later. And by his feet was some sort of latch, with a broken lock. Glancing around, I didn't see anyone, and so I opened the little box. It was an old piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, but the handwriting was still clear. A glorious kind of penmenship.

"Michael" it said,

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I swear. Before you went, I saw that look in your eyes, the blood dripping down from your face. I didn't know to blindfold myself, you came in the middle of the night! But I'm not blaming you for this. I should've done something sooner. But if it's ever any consolation, I got him. You mentioned something just a few times before, I should've acted sooner. Why didn't I? But...it's at least somewhat better now, I suppose. You were always better than him, you were always above him. I...want you to stay that way. You deserved so much better."

...it was an apology letter.? Did she do this on accident?

To be honest, I only grabbed the first thing I saw in there. Reaching my hand back in, I latched onto something that was sort of round, textured, cold. Pulling it out, I saw that familiar grey of the stone she created. And my blood ran cold.

It was a head, made of stone. This terrified look on its face. It looked like a man, mid forties if I had to guess. The hair was ruffled, his face was covered in snake bites and claw marks, and it's neck-

Sure, it was stone, but it didn't look like the head came off after the transformation. Stone chunks of muscle and bone still hung out the bottom, stiff and lifeless. Then I glanced up at the other statue. They looked so similar, and that's when it hit me.

Whoever killed Medusa, did not kill a monster.