Cursed

1487 BC

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"Where in Hermes winged toes are we going, Xanthus?"

"What, you're the one who wanted to go to Babylon, Yure you make my blood boil."

"We should've taken a boat, damn fool."

"I WAS CURSED!!!!"

"No ya weren't it were clearly three children stacked on their shoulders."

"It had the horse mask 'nd everythin' I tell ya, Poseidon will drown me if I ever touch the water."

"I'd rather that than have to wander through this dessert."

The two men were wrapped in ragged cloth, their hands blistered and their feet unrecognizable. The blazing sun shimmering and blazing off their sweaty, browned skin. One of them hauled a cart, its wheels replaced with long thin pieces of wood and being hauled over the dunes, filled to the brim with covered riches.

As they stumbled, their frail bones withered from walking, Xanthus's foot seemed to squish into the sand, blood squirting out as he pushed his weight down.

"YURE! There's someone down here,"

His shaky, knobbled hand twisted over the pale flesh, his hand fishing up the body parts scattered around.

"Aw that's disgusting,"

"Poor lad. C'mon, we're burning him."

"Why!!!!"

"I'm cursed, ain't I?? Gotta do something, side's seeing the poor guy pains me, he won't be able to pay for the boat like this."

"Fine… but this is coming out of your money, you and yer bleeding heart can get yer own wallet."

Xanthus pushed his hand down towards the lips, a gold coin in his hand, pressing the cold metal to his tongue. Suddenly the jaws snapped, blood filtering down his throat.

"Ah, Bastad, he's bit me!"

"Look what yuv done now!!! You are cursed."

The blood pulled through the limb corpse, chunks of the body reattaching in contorted disgusting pain, the wounds and burns filling, the skin reviving from its cold hard, eventually the blood wrapped around his skin, his legs pushing off the ground and his body lifting up.

The subtle bend in his back straightened. His toned pinkish skin unchanged, the red hair swelling at his back reaching his lower back and covering his eyes almost entirely, the yellow hue no longer shining like gold. The broken look of despair rushed through his face.

"What in Persephone's half-eaten pomegranate was that?"

The man turned, his body lurching and stumbling as he pushed against the sand, his harrowed thoughts all focused on the small dip behind him, his arms crashing down on the sand, the ditch filled with a thin layer of sand.

The man dropped to his knees, scraping it away. The skeletons' bones adjourned with a beautiful golden armour, a small sword, with a dragon flowing from the hilt by its side.

The man picked up his sword, his body flowing like he had never died. The smaller man, Yure, walked over, pulling a piece of fabric over his body.

"I don't know what happened to you, but let's go back to Thessaly, this was a stupid idea anyway."

The man was silent, only clutching the sword.