Dionysus was never a god

THERE IS NO BEAUTY WITHIN HIM. HIS LAUGHS ARE AS EMPTY AS HIS BOTTLES, HIS CHEST HEAVING WITH SOMETHING MORE AKIN TO A WHEEZE. YOU SCOFF AS YOU SEE HIM AND YET –

YET YOU LONG TO TASTE THE BLOOD AND THE SMOKE ON HIS LIPS, TO CHASE AWAY THE DARKNESS FROM HIS WILD SOUL, TO CALM HIS MIND
HE PULLS YOU ALONG WITH HIM, SHOWS YOU HIS FUTURE GRAVE AND TELLS YOU THERE IS NO MORE DEATH AFTER DEATH. HE SMILES BUT EVEN NOW HIS LIPS ARE TILTED DOWNWARD

HE IS A PARADOX YOU CANNOT DECRYPT. YOU DO NOT KNOW IF YOU WANT TO.
HE PUTS A CIGARETTE TO YOUR LIPS AND TELLS YOU TO EXPERIENCE DEATH AND YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS YOUR DOWNFALL BECAUSE HE IS EVERYTHING. YOU LIKEN HIM TO A WILTING FLOWER AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVER, HIS FACE SOFTENS AND HE TELLS YOU THAT YOU REMIND HIM OF SOMEONE HE ONCE KNEW.

HE HOLDS UP A BOTTLE AND COMES UP TO YOU ON SHAKING KNEES. HIS EYES ARE GLOSSED OVER AND HE SMILES AN INSINCERE SMILE.
HE WHISPERS WORDS AGAINST YOUR DAMP SKIN AND YOU HATE HIM. YOU HATE HIM SO MUCH YOU HAVE TO SHUT YOUR EYES AND HOLD YOUR BREATH AND CLENCH YOUR FISTS AND –

YOU LOVE HIM. HE IS A PARADOX YOU CANNOT DECRYPT. YOU DO NOT WANT TO.

by Sara Zourki, 16, Werner von Siemens Gymnasium, Germany