I’ve been envious of Ganymede for some time now. Most will think it’s because of his unwavering beauty. The most beautiful of all the Greeks, but this isn’t why.
Legend has it that Zeus abducted him, flying him to the top of Mount Olympus. Had his wicked way with him, his new cupbearer. His exquisite servant.
No one questioned Zeus, did they!
But oh how they’d question me.
Me, the captain of the school football team. The straight A student, excelling in wood work class. Talented.
The shock would quickly turn to playground jibes, unfavourable taunts.
Derogatory whispers.
No, that would never do.
“What will I get ya for your birthday Danny?” my mother asks of my looming 18th.
My overnight transition from boy to man.
What I truly desire, I could never tell her. The curse of living in old Ireland. A farmer’s only son.
Oh how I yearn to walk the streets of Manhattan, or London’s Soho, in jeans too tight, shirt too low. Basking in the florescent neon lights. The freedom. My smile illuminated, stretching from ear to ear.
My unrealistic fantasy.
“Ah, money will be grand Mam, thanks,” I say, not wanting to engage any further in this awkward conversation.
I run.
I’m naturally athletic, fit. But that’s not why I run. I run, in an attempt to out run this monster inside me. The one desperately trying to break free, with every breath I take. The one that longs to live happily ever after on Mount Olympus. I have the looks for it, I’ve always been handsome. It’s the strength I lack.
And for a moment I wonder if it’s me that lacks the strength or my family?
My devout Catholic grandparents. My mass every Sunday childhood. The stolen moments my ears pricked, hearing my father curse at the failing football team on the TV, muttering ‘faggots.’
Maybe its not me, maybe it’s them.
I dream of asking for a one way ticket.
An escape.
A new life.
One where I could be me.
The real me.
Not the fake role I play in this cruel world. God mocking me. Having a laugh while I try to navigate my secret, daily.
But who am I kidding!
There is only one kind of one way ticket for me.
And why wait any longer? Why suffer the first few years of adulthood being a fraud. Why live a life of disappointment when realisation is now upon me.
I reach for the rope. Smoother than I imagined. It doesn’t look like a murderer but I suppose neither do I.
St.Peter won’t open the gates for me, that much I know.
But I don’t want him to.
All I want is Zeus,
to save me from this torture.
No more running.
Emma M. Murray is a young mother living in the North West of Ireland. She has a passion for writing short stories. She enjoys sunsets over the sea and too much chocolate. She dances well and sings badly.