#polymyth

"A new town," they would say, "A way to find something important, a way to meet me," 

That was when they were quiet. Their voice became less and less weak over time, each word becoming less of a struggle to force out of their metaphorical lungs. Calliope had taken to calling them the works of the devil, only receiving a squawk of resentment in return. Each day she lived out wandering from wild plains to thick forests, not remembering the day before or anything before that. She thought it strange, finding only a blur of shapes and colors where there should've been childhood.

One can only take so much nagging, which is exactly why she had followed the devil's orders. She trekked through the slush that surrounded a pitiful town, drowned in its own waste and tears. Heavy rains deterred Calliope, only to receive an itch in her back every time she turned away. Her ragged clothes stuck to her skin, cold and leaching at her as she spotted the main road. 

"Almost there, Calli," the devil spoke, a hint of impatience in their voice, it recently having taken on a feminine lilt. Surely, it was a trick to garner trust from Calliope, to have someone that's somewhat alike, but something in her stirred at its sound. Her tongue curled around what used to be a name, but long since forgotten. 

Calliope grumbled wearily, her legs screaming as she finally hit the rocky tops of a cobblestone road. The sky sobbed, loud rumbles of water pattering at the roofs of houses around her, deciding to stumble over to the closest building and collapse on the door. It had swung open, leaving Calliope to wetly slap the ground. A quiet gasp was all the warning she got before her head was lifted from the cool stoney floor.

"Oh jeez, uh, are you alright?" The kneeling woman spoke, long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and onto her cassock. She peered down at Calliope through her glasses, kind and soft eyes relaxed her exhausted body.

Calliope scraped words out of her throat, scratchy with unuse, "Yeah," She sat herself up to the best of her ability, feeling as though if she put too much weight on something, it may snap. 

As Calliope gathered her senses, the devil spoke once more, "Calli! This is it! I remember this place," The woman had stood, now sifting through a few baskets by the door. Calliope scanned the room, it being somewhat sizable, and filled with pews all pointing toward a huge stained glass window. Its colored shards displayed an entirely white figure with tendrils strung across the landscape like webbing, shades of purple and orange faded to a blue aura surrounding the figure. She felt that it may have looked a lot more soothing without the constant bashing of rain against its surface and dark tones it took from the clouds.

Calliope felt a piece of cloth draped on to her head and covered her eyes. Panic stabbing her limbs to life, she scrambled away, ripping the rag off as she did. 

The priest held up her hands as Calliope's breath slowed, "I didn't mean to scare you," She pointed at the watery skidmarks on the floor, "but, unfortunately, you are wet."

Calliope, looks at the puddles, face beginning to prickle with heat. She opened her mouth, only to be cut off with a giggle, "Don't worry about it, I've spilled plenty of bottles of communion wine on these floors. They can take a beating, especially if it means someone is safe," She squatted to meet Calliope's eyes, "Speaking of someone, may I have your name?" 

"Calliope," She coughed out, rubbing at her face with the rag, "Morrison,"

The priest hummed, "Reverend Ninomae," She held out her hand in offering, Calliope hesitated, but took it after drying her own. As they shook, the reverend smiled, "Water you doing out there?" 

A small moment of silence overcame the room, Calliope tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brows. The reverend snickered to herself, "Alright, alright, I'll lay off the puns… for a bit," She readjusted her glasses, moving to sit next to Calliope, "but seriously, what were you doing out there? The whole town's been preparing for this storm for a week-" She stopped herself, turning to squint at Calliope, "You're… not from here, are you?"

Calliope looked off to the side, shaking her head. She sat there for a long moment, staring at the walls of the church surrounding them, “Rever-en…” she cleared her throat, “Rev-Rev… Ni-nino- AGH!” she balled her fists, shaking her head at herself.

    Ninomae held up her hands, “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” She moved her head to meet Calliope’s eyes, “You can call me Ina if that’s easier for you, your voice sounds real beat up, you shouldn't use it all up on my title." She chuckled as Calliope smiled back, gratitude seeping into her expression.

Calliope sat up slightly, preparing her voice with a few thumps to her chest and a cough, "Ina…" she spoke slowly, "home?" she pointed down, tilting her head to the side.

Ina raised a brow for a moment before her eyes widened, "Oh! Yes, I live upstairs. It's a lot cheaper than having a house around here," Ina smiled, a sharp canine slipping out and resting on her bottom lip as she spoke, "I can show you around since I can't imagine you enjoying going back out into the rain." Calliope nodded and Ina stood.

Our ways of living, socializing and thinking are all artifacts of the age behind us: The Age of Unifying Truth and Great Compromise. We tend to believe in ourselves from an external perspective; we continue to seek validation from the outside universe that we matter and are "correct" in our actions by some kind of universal measure of good and bad. And we keep trying to find a rule of "good" that we can apply to everyone around us and ourselves. We are seeking the easy justice of a single lawmaker and a single tablet of commandments. But with thousands of eyes, we were doomed to see beyond the facades of our ancestors eventually. We were bound by our capacity of reason to break the foundations of the old religions and philosophies apart. We were bound to, as Nietzsche put it, "Murder God", the king of objective truth and a unifying entity for all of humankind.

Now we wander in the nihilist wastes looking for the God we still believe to be there. Now we are the murderers living with the consequences of murdering our mentor by our unwillingness to accept the entirety of its instruction without reservation. We are coping with our guilt with every defense mechanism our minds have to offer up resistance with.

But it is inevitable that we cannot sulk forever. The murderers will find no new god to forgive them that would just as easily forgive their neighbor. The only forgiveness left for them is their own. They are left only to forgive themselves and lay down the blooded-knife once and for all.

Forgive yourself for being unique. Forgive yourself for refusing the easy ways of life your parents, teachers and leaders tried and continue to try to give to you. Forgive yourself for your desires that no one approves. Forgive yourself for the pain others experience at the wake of your independence from them. They have to forgive themselves, or you will die withered on their ear, whispering empty words of praise into them until they wither too. Forgive yourself. Love yourself. And become what you have always been destined to be.

Special.

You are the only One who can save the world.

You are the hero.

And yet you are one of millions who is "the only One".

A million Magicians performing one magic trick.

You must believe you are the only One. Or you will be one of many who are just one of many.

If you are the only One, then you are the One of many who are the Ones. This paradox is the method of the polymyth.

You are the only One who can save the world.