VIRGINS ARE … by Anahita Ayasoufi

Virgins are delicate
Virgins are apt for gods.

The song kept repeating in the virgin’s blossom-decorated, if blind-folded, head, even after the accompanying party stopped singing it and left her by herself in the maze. No, she was not by herself, she thought. It was the presence of the god, the Minotaur, that made the inside of her veins resonate with her surroundings.

Virgins are delicate…

Lucy could not make the song stop. She had been hearing it in her head since her medicated dream of the night before, except in her dream the last stanza was different. She had forgotten what it was that she sang in the dream. The forgetfulness bothered her. It felt like it was something she shouldn’t have missed. Something that Hera had planted in her head, spoken to her soul. Something she had to remember.

She listened. She was not to remove the blindfold, but she would, at the right time, she would.

“The light from the beauty of your god will blind you,” the high priest had said. But Lucy would want to savor her god’s beauty, even if it made her blind. She wanted to see him, praise him, and merge with him.

A far away grunting sound was all Lucy heard. When she thought of mating with her god, she thought of Liontarus. If she was not chosen for the god, she would wed Liontarus. Poor boy. Handsome and kind as he was, he could not keep her from becoming the wife of the god. And oh, he had tried. Lucy, in her medicated-wakefulness felt sad for Liontarus. She did love him.

“I will return to you, Liontarus. I will become the god’s bride, and then will return to you,” she had reassured him.

“No one ever returns. Don’t you understand what it means?” He had said.

“I will return.” She would. No one returned because the god was too appealing, as the priest always told her, but she would serve the god and return. She may become blind, but Liontarus won’t mind.

Virgins are delicate…

Now a mélange of medicated feelings raged inside her. What was that last stanza in her dream?

The sound of someone, something, approaching made Lucy’s ears sharper. The god was coming, perhaps on a horse, judging from the galloping footsteps.

Virgins are delicate…

Her heart raced.

“Keep moving in there. Don’t turn right. Turn left. Always turn left,” Liontarus had told her, with flowing tears.

Poor boy. Never believed in anything. But she would return to him, and describe the god. He would believe then.

“Stay in place, or turn right,” The priest had told her. The priest had taught them, Lucy and all other boys and girls, day after day, month after month, and year after year. Liontarus was a mountaineer. He never received proper education. Lucy would teach him everything.

Virgins are delicate…

The galloping sound was almost by her side, behind a turn of the maze, perhaps.

The dream verse wanted to emerge. What was that verse? She felt feverish.
A close-by sniffing sound.

It was time. She removed the blind-fold. Like a foaming river, the verses washed over her.

Virgins are delicate
Virgins are decadent
apt for the appetite of gods.


anahitaAnahita teaches at East Tennessee State University, her fiction has appeared in Bosley Gravel’s Cavalcade of Terror, Every Day Fiction, Lorelei Signal, Mirror Dance, and a few other magazines.


About Bosley

Bosley Gravel is a hack.
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