They say the night is to be feared. She thinks they are all idiots. It is under the stars that the Earth feels free. She relishes her clear skies, her crisp air. And her children seem to finally admire her. Sometimes, she wishes the Sun would fade away. Then perhaps her children might sleep long enough to allow her to recover. She is an old woman, after all, though still beautiful. She is Gaia. And she misses her lover, Ouranos.
If only that blasted Apollo would go away, the intrusive bastard. She much preferred Helios. At least he respected his grandmother. That ingrate Zeus, on the other hand... what with his favorite toys and desire for control. And creating Pandora as a punishment to man. Arrogant and stupid, the god of lightning. Though ultimately responsible for her current woes, Gaia secretly relishes the fact that Pandora opened that stupid jar, for it caused Zeus as much distress as his... men... have caused her.
Oh, for the days when Chaos reigned supreme. Everything in its proper order, working as it should. How hypocritical of humanity to attribute the name of her mother/father to confusion and unpredictability. It was only within Chaos that Gaia made love to the sky.
She still longed for Ouranos. Not out of love, but pure lust. A desire incorruptible by feeble emotions such as anger or fear. Or jealously. The blanket of his body wrapped around her green and blue dress. Above her, beside her, beneath her. How he carried her while penetrating the silhouette of her body. How he never paused in caress as her body quivered beneath his overwhelming weightlessness. Oceans and floods would come and go. And her breath would be loud, violent, and often wet. She wanted him everywhere, again and again, and all the time. The extended orgasm of time and tide as life fertilized within her and sprung from her loins. Constantly pregnant, yet constantly fucking.
If only humans knew what that was like. They'd be too busy to scar her delicate skin. Perhaps, because of the scars, Ouranos no longer finds her desirable.
Gaia sighs, resigned to the fact that it's all inevitable. Apollo is not her enemy... only one diurnal species of life is. An acne on her glorious visage.
Diurnal. She sighs again. Let there be light never seemed so evil a proposition. She should beg Ouranos to send her another rock. Or trick Zeus into showing her Pandora's jar. It is rumored that Hope remains within, after all. And Gaia is very much in need of some. And is very much in want of sex.