The Man of My Dreams
A Short Story
I still remember him, though we had first encountered one another quite long ago.
He had hazel eyes and olive skin.
Dark brown curly hair that fell to his shoulders sometimes, when he would get passionately caught up in his many projects.
As I walked along the beach and stared up at the bright blue skies, I wondered if he could ever love me the way he thought I loved him.
He had come here for a short time because he didn't want to get caught up in the glitz and glamour that so many others had been thrown into on this island—voluntarily or otherwise: People tried so desperately to be perfect that they were inauthentic. Women wore too much makeup and had absurdly large breasts, likely thanks to their plastic surgeons back home.
The island of Pandora was odd, with people so freakishly beautiful that they somehow were ugly: Patchwork quilts of broken skin torn apart after months of trying desperately to feel okay, then sewn back into something that resembled body parts but didn't quite look right.
It was all too much to bear for Brad: a kid who'd never had to try and found it weird when others did. He'd been the qaurterback in high school and college, so the only issue he'd ever had was that cute girls couldn't take no for an answer when he wasn't interested in them.
I was Ambrosia: The Goddess of the Sea, and he was but a mere mortal, yet I wanted him. Desperately. Though I was centuries old and immortal, I still had long black hair, olive skin, and natural-looking body parts. No one on this island did.
He sat on the beach, staring at me. I drew him to me: magic. We kissed. He didn't notice anything different because I was human for all intents and purposes: He could still touch me and taste me. Pretend that I wasn't immortal—not that he asked.
The man, Brad, was an outcast for the first time in his life: He was quite judgemental of all of the other ladies on the island, with their unnatural features.
He would avoid get-togethers where they all rated one another's looks and competed for the attention of King Byron: a burly man with a peanut for a brain who did nothing but work out day in and day out as all of the women oohhhed and ahhhed.
Brad didn't know what my plan was: I wanted to take him to be with the rest of the sea gods and goddesses. This was a week's journey through the many rocky waters, but he could travel with us. I would carry him along.
What I hadn't told him was this: Lord Macedon wanted a sacrifice. Brad would be eaten by him.
It would be an ungodly war to feed the god.
It had to be done.
The sacrifice of a human man—6' like Brad—was required to rebuild the Kingdom of the Sea.
Agatha walked up to Brad, two leaves on her body resembling a bikini.
"She's trying to kill you, Brad. I've been here for a long time. Trust me."
The Sea Kingdom needs to be rebuilt, and they want a male of 6 feet: Your height, your build.
"Oh. That's why she was being so nice."
"Yeah. You have to stop staring at the sea, Brad. That goddess is a devil in disguise."
"Oh, I see, so it's a bit frustrating because I thought she was just a woman."
"Oh no. That immortal has an agenda."
Brad nodded and held Angela's hand.
They both walked away.
About the Creator
Non-Fiction: I write about the art of prose, politics, & entertainment.
Fiction: I write short stories in the suspense/thriller/horror/mystery genres.
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