vīgintī

      "Why do you seem so worried?"

        Poseidon said as he halted not quite far from him. He had no idea what the mate did have in mind or what he was going to say.

He was bracing his heart for it. He didn't think that was actually necessary. There were quite the numbers of things he couldn't put up with at that moment.

He was hoping that things would make sense as taunted time maintain the trail.

He wasn't actually sure of what to think, he was simply nursing sundry thoughts.

He hoped that his thoughts would be worth it. He didn't want to be an extended version of what he was some moments ago.

He was yet trying to process the things which had recently been supplanted. Poseidon didn't look so serious after saying that.

But he could say what made him serous in the first place. Maybe the metamorphoses was demanding and he simply couldn't handle it.

He probably couldn't put up with the odds. No one could be sure of the mystery.

He wasn't sure even if the Nymph was sure, but of course she would have her own perception of the whole thing.

He could bet that. He could identify that. 

       He looked at the Nymph. She was looking at Poseidon at that moment. He was lost.

He knew that he was. He was trying as much as possible to be sane. She was sitting such that he could see her face as well as Poseidon.

She wasn't looking at him anymore. Probably she simply wasn't interested in him anymore. But or course she had had sex with him in the first place.

If she didn't like him, why would she had had sex with him? That of course would be some elevated mystery he couldn't touch.

He kicked the thought out. He didn't know if he did have the courage to continue to live in that world of fantasy.

But what courage are we talking about? His courage didn't count of course. Twasnt whether he was interested or not.

Twas the fact that he had let his privacy be pried into by some esteemed cum pyschopathic god. He knew that he wouldn't remain there forever.

But the pain and odds which were leased on him were gnawing. There was nothing he could do about it.

He did want to do something. He wasn't even sure. How could he be?

       He tried as much as possible to break the point of Poseidon into confetti.

He tried to crush the stance and then make powder of it so that he would be able to know what semantics twas made of. Whether semantic or syntactic.

He wanted to be sure. What did Poseidon mean by the fact that he was worried. Of course he was.

Why would he say that he shouldn't be? What was he expecting. Was he expecting him to leap on his feet and begin to dance to the odds of the things he couldn't make meaning of?

He didn't know what that was supposed to mean. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

He tried as much as possible to steer clear of the thoughts, but the more he tried, the weaker he seemed.

His instinct seemed to had retired and he obviously had been left on his own. There was nothing he could rage at.

There was nothing he could be mad at. If he did try those out he probably would be roasted.

Of course he knew who he was dealing with. He knew what he was capable of doing, even Poseidon. Ah!

        He tried consoling himself with a new thought. He was browsing his mental ken.

He didn't know how swift the network provide of his consciousness would be. He knew that he didn't have much time.

He was trying to remember if he wrote about the weakness of Poseidon. He was trying as much as possible to remember.

He wanted to bring the thought back to life. He wanted himself to believe that he did have an answer at hand. He wanted himself to believe that he could taunt Poseidon and teach him manners.

He wanted to say to his hankering heart that he did have an answer to the long lost question. He wasn't sure if he was sane or not.

That didn't matter to him. Being sane or not didn't. He would snatch his instinct back. He would get hold of his consciousness back, but he wanted it to be worth it.

He wanted it to be great. He wanted it to be what he had been expecting. He wasn't sure what to do or how to go about it.

He couldn't remember anything. But his instinct did tell him that he wrote about the weakness of the psychopath.

He tried ploughing the boulevard of his thoughts harder when Poseidon's voluptuous voice tossed him out:

         "You should be thinking now about whether or not you wrote about my serpent-like penis. Or suiting to say, you've thought about it. "

      He didn't know what to think. Even Poseidon could hear his voice? No! He didn't hear his voice.

He was only playing around words. He could feel that.

Even if he was some gods, he would be able to do that and then would toss his subjects into the gloom of his achievements and rusty rage.

Thinking so much would not help him. 

        "Or your thoughts might be strapped to the fact that the Nymphs touch my penis and fiddle with it till it did wake and wrapped her over you.

You should be thinking of how evil I am to had done that. "

      Well, he hadn't thought him to be evil. Wait! Did he even even allot any name to name after that incident? He was browsing his consciousness.

He got a data. No! He didn't. He should had of course. Poseidon was a retarded meathead to had done that of course.

He quit thinking. He was afraid of the fact that his thoughts might be audible to the monster. 

        "You might also have fought your instinct on the realization of what was happening to you.

You probably did think that you're insane because you opened your eyes to see that we were assuming our usual position.

You saw us standing at where we were in the first place in just a moment. Much surprises, huh?"

      Poseidon walked from him to the door and and returned to where he was standing earlier.

Vulgan was trying as much as possible to make the meaning of all he was saying.

He simply couldn't help it. He didn't know how to go about it. He would of course, but he wasn't sure. Poseidon continued:

        "Not all the things that will happen here or have been happening were written in your poems.

Some were thrown outta your thoughts when you were back on earth. Some formed like eggs but you smashed them before they knew the light of creativity.

That should be your scar and not any of us.

Things which happened and will here are but all your thoughts which you had swept into a whole back on earth and the poems you've written down and even those you didn't collect carefully.

Especially those you wrote on the bark of the oak tree few metres away from the hut of Myclops. "

         Vulcan tried to find his word:

        " But this is unfair?"

        Even he didn't know what he meant by that. He wasn't sure whety he was trying to convince him or make Poseidon feel bad about.

He didn't know if the monster was capable of human emotions. He could be sure. He remembered what had happened at the beginning of all.

But the clownish Poseidon had overnight metamorphosed into some dope ass nigga. He couldn't quit believing.

Poseidon walked to the Nymph and stooped to face her as though he wanted to kiss her.

Vulcan wasn't sure what he was up to. He had never been. Then he heard Poseidon's voice:

       "Fair had lost its celibacy. You make what is fair and relegate what is not. Fair is super elastic."

        He hadn't thought that Poseidon was that wise. He didn't know. Of course he knew what that was.

That was some skilful play with words. That was some conscious fiddling with the semantic denotations of words.

That was what a great poet does. He seemed to be learning different things every passing minute and hour in the figment of his imagination.

He hoped that he would be able to cope with it. And the same time, he tried to make meaning of what Poseidon had said.

Of course he was sure he knew what that did mean. Poseidon could do to him whatever felt right and fair in his eyes.

How evil and selfish that was. He was flung outta his thoughts when Poseidon walked away from the Nymph and edged towards the door.

Then at the door he looked at him and said:

        "Come with me, let's go. Days of pleasure are over. New deal to fix."

       Before he could say a word, he was already at the door with Poseidon. His garment had changed and he was dressed like some rangers.

He didn't know what was happening. He didn't remember what part of his poems said he would be like a ranger.

He quit thinking when the large Leviathan swayed by and Poseidon pushed him on the serpent and jumped on it too.

They rode away in haste to where he couldn't guess. He didn't even have the time to say goodbye to his dainty Dell. Hell of a fantasy!