The god Hermes left a bucket filled with words on the step outside the gate. He knocked three times, in quick, short intervals. As I opened the door I could see its winged sandals flaying away, impulsively. Hermes helped the Three Graces design the alphabet, and now it has to be delivered as an unexpected gift
A prescription for use, left in a letter stacked to the side of the bucket, open to subversive minds, left The Graces and Hermes not choice but to include a disclaimer, to steer away any responsibility on the use of their invention. In the letter, they invited the advocate good sense, elegance, intelligence, humour, true grit, and a passion for weaving words, among other attributes, yet, it was known, that in the use of free will, some humans had shown a proclivity for tackiness, flowery discourse, incitement of hatred, and other such madness. The free use of the signs by humans had been discussed and agreed upon, after some debating. They were happy to have dictated the graphic look of all the letters in the alphabet. Henceforth how letters will commune with each other was no their business but that of authors.
I touched my eyelids, swollen from too much sleep, to check if I was still in the stupor of dreams, only the frost on the step under my bare feet stung me to the reality of being awake: just. It was fascinating to realize that signs, at last, were linked to vocal sounds. In the excitement, though, a thought crept in that will put the gift to a different use: to knock at my neighbour’s door, bucket in hand, and throw its content at her: -revenge- to see her drenched in letters, the way she has, uninvitingly, approached me so many times with her words assault, uninterrupted verbal diarrhea, that left me with a persisting migraine. However much enjoyment I could anticipate, I left it to another time.
The precious present deserved a better, greater use. I sat to put together sentences to better understand the nature of being alive. What a gift to employ.