Letters to Apollo


Apollo,

You weren’t at the council meeting again. Is it because of me? Was it something I did? I asked your sister where you’ve been, but she only shrugged. “The sun pays no attention to me. Only the moon.” I had to agree with her. It feels like no matter where I am in the Mortal Realm, the orange rays shine dimmer.

Because I’m constantly reminded of you throughout the day, I keep tricking myself into thinking you’re hidden in my shadow. I wait for you to come out and let your dark, honey voice drip into my ears, your arms wrapped around me. That’s my favorite thing about you. Your warmth. Reassuring, tangible. At first, I would scold you for sliding your hand up my thigh under the table during the meetings, but now I regret it. All I have now is a cold, empty seat next to me.

Do you hide behind your orb of fire? Don’t make me come up there.

Di


//


Apollo,

I now see why Hestia gave up her chair. We absolutely get nowhere with these meetings, because in the end, my father gets the final say. That isn’t saying much, since only half of us are physically present.

Hades, Poseidon, and Hephaestus hate Zeus (who can blame them) and blissfully reside in their underground homes. No one listens to my half-sister or your sister even though they have the soundest ideas. You would think my father would listen to his own daughter since she was born from his head, but what do I know? Aphrodite and Ares are too busy ogling at each other, which makes me want to retch up all the wine I consumed so I could forget about you. My father and my not-mother are ready to rip each other’s throats out and Demeter only talks about her daughter. It also doesn’t help that my not-mother glares at me with the purest of hatred. I combat this by refilling her chalice with a grin.

I haven’t seen much of Hermes either throughout these woeful weeks. The two beings who I can tolerate on this mountain are gone. At least I know Hermes isn’t the type to stand still. At least I know where they are.

After the meeting was over and everyone left, I remained seated, pondering over your chair. The haunting sound of your lyre reentered my ears, and I was reminded of us when we were in the woods when the trees were in full bloom. We were surrounded by dancing nymphs, decorating the forest floor with their flowers. I remember the petals sticking to our faces because the nymphs, who easily became tipsy, had accidentally spilled wine all over us. Despite these distractions, you sang with such joy and ease. Your fingers danced among the strings, and I melted as you stared into my eyes while performing your serenades. How I loved that your kisses tasted of bitter daises.

When I came back to reality, I crumpled onto the floor, underneath the table, sobbing. No, I could not let you see me like this. What did I do to you, Apollo? What pain did I cause you? You have your revenge and your forgiveness. All I want is an answer.

Di


//


Apollo,

The grapes are becoming sour. No matter what I do, I can’t make them beautifully ripe like usual. When eating one, instead of a delicious pop, there is only the taste of rot. Maybe it’s because they don’t get as much sun as they used to. Either way, my tongue is stained black, and I feel like the brown leaves on the vine. Brittle.

Not wanting anyone else to suffer the same experience, I made all the grapes disappear. Immortals and mortals alike are angry with me. If only they knew.

To escape, I’ve been visiting the nymphs again. They braid flowers into my hair and perform music, dances, and tricks in honor of me. I fall into their arms and let their embraces envelop my body like thick ivy. The comfort only lasts for so long. They don’t hold me like you once did. They say gods can have everything they want and need. Yet, here I am, empty and lost.

I wish you would tell me what I did wrong. Even the littlest memories are pricking my mind like a hundred tiny needles. Did you grow sick of me? Was I too much? Did you leave because I broke a string on your lyre by mistake? Please don’t say it was because I flirted with Hermes. You know I can’t remember the last time I was sober. Besides, you too would be smitten if their wings tickled your nose.

Was it that time when I mentioned Hyacinthus? I didn’t mean to upset you. I was mad at the world and somehow thought that it was only fair that I wasn’t the only one hurting.

Is this about that night when you lost control of yourself? That night which still haunts me as much as it haunts you?

You reap what you sow.

Di


//


Apollo,

Months have gone by, the sun still shines, you’re still not here, and yet, you constantly occupy my mind. I can’t enjoy festivities or theatre or simple pleasures because you’re always there. All celebration and attention is on me, but then I would remember the time you were sitting drunk under an oak tree, red wine staining your tunic and mouth. Your gorgeous hair tousled, your bronze eyes reflecting the stars. Without your light, you were so vulnerable. Burying your face into my lap, you whispered: “Di, Di, Di, my love. How can you tell the difference between euphoria and madness?”

I didn’t have an answer then, and I still don’t. How could I when you’ve caused me both?

Di


//


Apollo,

I met a woman recently. Her name is Ariadne. She seems to know a lot about mazes and puzzles and all that. Her patience. Her soft-spoken voice. How she laughs as she tumbles through the soft waves at the beach we frequent. Maybe that’s why I became interested in her. Someone who could figure me out where I failed to do so.

She thinks we’re close, and tenderly holds my hand and kisses my cheek. I feel so terrible. I try yet can’t return the affection. When Ariadne called me “Di” the first time, it really took me by surprise since you were the only one to call me that. She said it so sweetly. Love. Is that what you call it? Apologies if I forget since whatever I had was given all to you.

She guided me into the ocean when the tide became quiet. As she floated on her back, I sank beneath the water. Despite your light being dissipated, that night flooded my memory.

We were in bed, the white blankets blemished with wine. You were playing your lyre, your voice lulling me to sleep, then suddenly your eyes glazed over. Another vision, you had them before, but the horror and agony that unfolded before me was something I could never imagine even in my worst nightmares.

The future had exposed itself, and you had lost all control of your body, mind, maybe your soul too. When you began to convulse and blue foam poured from your lips, I panicked. At that moment, the best course of action was to tie you to the bed and temporarily put a gag into your mouth so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Desperate, I fell to my knees, hands clasped together. Then it hit me: who do gods pray to when they need help?

That was when Ariadne pulled me up and I gasped for air, not realizing how long I had submerged myself. We went back to land, drenched in water and seaweed clinging to our backs. I watched the waves, my back facing the sun.


//


Apollo,

Ariadne may hold me, but it’s always your touch I feel. How you would tightly grip my hand, help pose my arms when you taught me to use a bow and arrow, gently move my long locks away from my eyes, or let your nails dig into my hips during our intimate moments. My favorite was when I was curled up close to you, head on your beating chest, and you would trace circles on my back, lost in thought. Now, that’s all gone, and I’m left with my own haunting contemplation.

Did you hear my sigh of relief when you woke up the next morning after your episode? Did you realize I stayed by your side all night? Did you see my tears and bruised knees as I removed your restraints? Did you hear how my voice wavered as I told you what had happened? How I genuinely believed that an immortal was dying in front of me?

All you said was “Don’t worry about it.” You kissed me and left me alone with the shadows.

You never told me what that vision was. Was there a reason why you didn’t, why it made you leave?

Di


//


Apollo,

Ariadne and I float on our backs together in the water. We sometimes drift so far away from shore that the beach looks like a tiny cut in the horizon’s skin. Your warmth encompasses my face, but it doesn’t bother me since the ocean keeps me cool. My eyes are closed and it’s up to you if you want to see them open again.

Di


//


Apollo,

Do you remember when we first met? I remember. I was still living in Nysa, being raised and cared for by the Maenads. To this day I wonder if my father put me there because he felt guilty that I had no mother to love me, or that he did not want his wife hunting me down. Perhaps both.

We were both toiling in our, albeit short, adolescent years. On that day you came down from the sun, I was facing a personal crisis. Even though I was immortal with incredible power, I feared to leave my island. My only friends were the women who treated me as their son and god, which became quite confusing for a growing boy. That was also the day when I drank wine for the first time. How I snuck into the Maenads’ private chambers to fetch it, how I was supposed to take just a sip, but that didn’t happen. The bitter, cinnamon taste, how it burned the back of my throat, slamming into my stomach with such force, and the light-headedness that came afterwards. Despite this nausea, I craved for more. For once, I was not trapped inside my head.

So, when you found me as you were trying to locate your lost arrows, I was in a drunken stupor. How you did not scoff and spit on me because of my crude actions, I will never know. You were the first god I met. At that point, my father stopped visiting, and the others were just tales told from the Maenads’ mouths. When I saw you, this golden boy, I couldn’t help myself. I had to hug you, hold you, to make sure you were real. What shocked me the most was that you didn’t push me away, you wanted my help. You listened to my slurred words and were patient as I stumbled about. You respected my home despite me being an absolutely awful host.

And you stayed. Our friendship grew and soon blossomed into romance. I stole more wine, just for you. Everything I did was for you because I had nothing else.

It wasn’t until you whisked me away on your chariot and we traveled around the sun that realization washed over me like your flaxen radiance. You told me I was the first and only visitor you brought to your home. When you told me that, and I saw Olympus and the Mortal Realm out in front of me, how I could fit it all in the palm of my hand, I was ready to leave Nysa. To be free. You can imagine my father’s, as well as the other deities’, surprise when I came to Olympus, even though I now prefer living among the mortals since I understand them better.

Gods don’t need sleep, but you make me restless. Gods don’t need food or drink, but I starve for your touch. Do you miss me, Apollo? Does the thought of me scorch you like a thousand suns? You burned me. You burned me like that first drink of wine I had. Now, I can’t get enough. No matter which bed I end up laying in, I see you, whether it’s in another’s face or in the empty space next to me. I miss you. I love you.

Di


//


Dionysus,

You brought back the grapes. They’re beautiful. I don’t think I ever had a sweeter fruit. Since I haven’t heard from you in a long time, I send this letter as a reminder that if you want any messages delivered, I will not hesitate to do so.

Which reminds me, if I hear from him, would you like to know? He can’t be silent for much longer. Your footprints are etched into his sun after all.

Hermes














Dariene Seifert is a 2021 graduate of Ithaca College with a BFA in Writing for Film, TV, and Emerging Media, with a minor in Women's and Gender Studies. She currently lives under the reign of her cat in Grand Island, NY but will be travelling to Los Angeles in August for her internship. She has been published in The Buffalo News, The Ithacan, Buzzsaw Magazine, and Stillwater Magazine.

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