The Gods Return: Demeter
The road kept going, winding through trees with low hanging branches and hills adept with flowers. George had been driving for hours, his red Mazda going 55 miles an hour on the backroads of the world. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, maybe trying to out pace painful memories of the previous night. Yet it still stung every time he thought back to it.
His fiancé had been sitting in bed, surrounded by packed things, waiting for him to get home. “I’m leaving.” She’d left him in stunned silence, taken her things, and left. After what felt like hours, he came to his senses and ran after her. Finding her “packing the car”. Translation: fucking his own best friend in her back seat. He’d been angry then, she didn’t even have the courtesy to leave his apartment building lot before getting hit and heavy, with his best friend too!!!
He silenced his notifications, quick to look away from his (former) best friend’s endless stream of texts. And just let himself…disassociate from it all. He listened to the latest Sabrina Carpenter album and eventually couldn’t help but think of his next steps. First, get the damn ring back, he’d just popped the question two weeks ago and had been hoping for a wedding to be quickly approaching. Stop. Don’t think about that, he chided himself. Second… well he didn’t have another step, maybe cry. No, he’d probably better tell his parents. They’ve been so happy too.
Eventually he realized he’d been drinking for hours and didn’t know where in the hell he was. He looked at his GPS only to find his phone buffering. No signal. He glanced around for familiar landmarks but found absolutely none. He just decided to keep driving, at least till he ran out of gas. The strained sound of the radio temporarily redirecting his worries. Bing! Not twenty minutes later his gas light flipped on. He chewed his lip as he deliberated his next move. There was no sign of civilization anywhere, no towns, no houses, not even a single road sign. Suddenly on his left he saw a simple dirt road leading to a clearing not 10 feet of the road. He pulled in thinking at least he could stay the night in his car if it came to that, maybe wait till another car passed by.
Suddenly his radio began to blare static, startling him out of his trance and making him frantically turn the radio nobs. Yet nothing worked, the harshness of the static grating at his ears.
“George.”
He looked around trying to figure out where the voice had come from, once he realized it was coming from the radio he felt a chill wash over him.
“George, you are chosen”
“Chosen?” He said experimentally. “By who?”
“Me, The immortal goddess of the harvest, Demeter.”
Before he could stop it, a rumbling laugh began in his throat and soon developed into full on belly laughter.
“Fool, I shall forgive your ignorance for what it is. But tread lightly, my child or my vengeance shall reign down on you.” Demeter, if that’s who the voice was, was clearly mad and George could feel the promise in her words.
“Ok, I’m sorry,” George said, swallowing down the last of his chuckles.
“Very well, you will be the first, my head rancher if you will.”
“Ok,” he replied, not quite believing it, “What do I have to do?”
“Do!” She laughed, “you can’t do much right now, skinny boy so full of smarts. Unnecessary!”
George snorted, sure his body wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. Yet everything he tried was a workout plan or bulging diet, nothing happened, he just had one of those bodies that didn’t put on muscle.
“Come on!”
Mah, it’s true boy. Anyway, prepare yourself to become a divine instrument.” She said, her voice full of power.
“Um…”
“You’ll do well without those big boy brains. Soon you’ll be perfectly capable of the most grueling tasks with dumb happiness.”
“Wha—”
He felt a warm sensation in his head, a softness, like all his memories and intelligence melting away. His IQ began to drop from a respectable 120 to a mere 80. His clenched jaw slackened, drool dripping from the side of his mouth. His eyes grew vacant and glazed over. IQ taking another plummet, down to 60. And slipping further and further down past the point of no return.
Memories flashed past his eyes, on their way out the door. Flashes of growing up, dating even the god awful break up. But now it seemed like another life, he couldn’t recognize anyone he saw. All just flashes of unrecognizable things and emotion he barely felt. His IQ took a final step, then tripped down to a completely blank 30. His mouth fell open and, hard as he tried, couldn’t form a coherent thought. Just a blank slate that would soon be written on.
“You will be the first of many to join my congregation, a perfect farm of happy farmer boys.”
George felt a kind of vague pressure in his mind, new memories being written into existence. A new childhood replaced the one that had been erased. He recalls the simple family he had, waking up early to help his pa with chores and learning the ropes of farm work, the only thing he had the brain capacity for now. He recalls flunking out of not high school, but middle school because of “cognitive disorder”. He feels remarkably content as final memories of county fairs and long farm days take hold in his consciousness, barely filling the blank space that was his mind.
His hastily thrown-on outfit of sweats and a tee melted away. Replaced by a way-to-big pair of Jean shorts, looking ridiculous on his skinny and pale skin. Not pale for long though, soon a thick layer of dirt and grime developed on his skin. As it clogged his pores and built into his skin, he soon began to reek. His hairy armpits reeked. He smelled as bad as the stable he now remembered vividly. No showers or soap, no matter how much or strong could get cover of the stench. the smell of a country boy now.
“You must look the part as well, farm boy strength and size.”
He let out a groan of pleasures as his body began to shift and change, genetics warping. His body shot up, growing to nearly 6’5”. His body grew bigger and bigger, gaining more and more weight to make him a huge giant. All that weight soon grew into pure muscle, massive biceps, popping pectorals, rigged abs. His legs soon filled the wide legs of his shorts, pulling tight against his quads and thighs. His shoulders grow to a wide stance.
His small hands began to thicken, transforming into massive meaty hands. His fingers now round and sausage like. Callouses forced themselves up unto their palms, coming with memories of farm work he had done. His feet grow too, becoming easily a size 17s, never to be covered by shoes again. His face began to broaden, becoming a dull sort of handsome. His long blonde hair began to recede and darken into black. Every part of him benefited from his new southern charm.
“Ya’ see dis’ hut bod.” He remarked as he flexed his new biceps.
“Perfect by dumb little farmer boy, now just remember to respect Demeter, my boy, and you’ll be fine.”
The leftover space in George’s mind was soon filled with an unwavering loyalty to Demeter, his mistress. He was soon remembering slight bits of her, the goddess of farming, his Parton mother. He felt a strong desire to get back to the farm, work hard to grow, both the plants and the number of loyal farmhands. His mistress' wishes merged with a pure desire to please. Thinking already of the enjoyment of making people into his perfect brothers, it’d be nice to have a fuck-buddy too.
“You are perfect, I’m to come to you when the next step becomes clear, son.” Her voice made him feel a pleasantness that shot through the heavy mental fog of stupidity.
He looked up and got out of the car, looking around for the promised farm. He remembered something, the road, it led the dusty way down to the holy place, farm of Demeter. He looked back at his car, now a worn dirty pick up truck, with a full gas tank. Time to get back.
(The second pool sequel is coming , I promise. I’ve got it like 75% done just taking a long time because of unrelated busyness. Anyway, here’s a sequel from the drafts, enjoy!)
