The last few years have shown us how now necessary a human support system is to our lives. We’ve discovered how much we crave physical contact with other humans—the risks we are willing to take, not just for sex, but for friendship, for meaning, for affirmation, for love.
*******
Chrysós
Softness. Chrys craved softness. The prison she lived in, however beautiful, was relentlessly, pitilessly rigid. Her bed, chair, clothes, bathroom: all were golden. She daren’t leave her suite for fear of killing something, someone, else, or deflating gold’s value. She cursed Dionysus, source of this “gift.” She cursed Silenus, her stepfather, who brought objects and living creatures and tricked her into touching them. She hated herself for every death, for every life-like golden statue that Silenus sold, claiming he was the sculptor.
Chrys eyed the small coffer on her dresser. Again. It had appeared shortly after her imprisonment. Like everything else in her chamber, it was solid gold. She wondered if the hinges worked or if being turned into gold had welded everything together. Chrys picked up the coffer—heavy, unsurprisingly, all gold was—and turned it over. The inscription still read:
When all hope is gone and life seems a jail, And all of your efforts seem destined to fail, This vessel has answers; true love is the key. Just break it and find the pathway to me.
She turned the coffer upright; something thumped inside. “What do I have to lose?” Chrys mused. “How does one break solid gold?” Using her golden nail file as a prybar only bent it; the lid was thoroughly welded. “Perhaps…” Riddle, her transformed-to-gold cat, the one she’d refused to let Silenus sell, might be heavy enough. Slowly, reluctantly, she picked him up. “I’m sorry, Riddle. Again.” she said as she raised the cat and began hammering.
Malliá
“They must be dancers,” Malliá thought as the women approached him. He envied their camaraderie, graceful steps. She was beautiful, lagging behind the others, obviously drinking in the beautiful day. Her gaze turned. “Don’t…” he thought as their eyes connected—even through his sunglasses. “Damn! Couldn’t blink in time. Time for even stronger goggles.”
“Hey Filena, that statue looks just like you. Filena…?”
“She must have gone home. Not like her to leave without saying goodbye.”
Chrysós
The lid finally gave way. Riddle’s golden fuzz had only bent slightly. Chrys peered at the object. It was a solar-powered, voice-activated internet portal. “Welcome, Chrysós Kánei,” Portal spoke. Chrys jumped. “Speak your desires.”
“A friend, someone I can’t kill.”
“Working,” Portal replied. “Perhaps this.” Portal showed a holovision display: Matchmaker/Housebound Friends.
Malliá
Malliá sighed. “The Gaze grows stronger. I can’t do this again.”
Back home, he switched on his computer. Matchmaker’s new page said Housebound Friends. “Probably ancient has-beens.” He logged in.
Her profile said, “Catastrophically allergic to everything, everyone.” She was young, beautiful.
Chrysós
“Wow! That must be an old picture—or edited.” But the profile said he was only two years younger.
“Eyes ruinously sensitive to light,” his profile explained. Music, books, movies, interests: everything coincided.
“We can’t meet in person anyway, beautiful eyes or not.”
*****
Their conversation lasted far into the night.
The next morning, her breakfast actually tasted delicious; Chrys hummed in the shower. Her golden clothing seemed more flexible, lighter. She dutifully goldened the bonsai tree Silenus brought. Plants didn’t weigh on her like the animals.
“Portal, ping Malliá.” His face appeared.
“I’m working right now. My lunch hour starts at noon. We can talk and eat?”
*****
Chrys pinged him for live holo-connect at 12:16.
“Where’s your lunch?” Malliá asked.
“I’m on a one-meal-a-day diet: breakfast only.”
“Your mouth isn’t full; tell me about your work.”
“I work for my stepfather, in alterations,” Chrys said.
“Tailoring?”
“No, hard goods, art.”
“I’d like to see them sometime.”
“I’m not allowed to risk the copyrights.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“So, tell me about your life, your family. You live alone?”
“My dad disappeared before I was born. Dunno. Maybe I inherited my bad eyes from him. I lived with Mom until she griped about my hairs in the shower for the oodleth time.”
“But your hair is gorgeous; it looks alive, even.”
Malliá swallowed. “So is yours. You live with your parents?” His hair swirled and his eyes glowed. The snakes’ mouths didn’t open. Whew!
“No, an apartment above my stepfather’s house. Mom’s gone.” Tears glistened on Chrys’s cheeks, goldened, then fell with a thud.
Mozart sonatas were a safer subject, infinitely safer.
Chrysós
“Portal, research hazmat suits.” Hideous. “Portal, research custom hazmat suits.”
“Second skin, indetectable under clothing.” Nuclear spy equipment, ridiculously expensive: but that was no problem. Her bank account swelled uselessly. She’d have to wait until sunrise; golden tape measures were too rigid.
Malliá
Malliá gazed at Chrys’s posts again and sighed. He knew online people were fake—edited, scripted—even on live holovid. His life certainly was. A filter disguised his writhing hair and glowing eyes. But it was some connection with a woman—an intelligent, interesting woman. “I’m just torturing myself,” he said. “What if they don’t work?” But he ordered the new goggles anyway.
*****
Their holo-visit lasted all night.
“I think I love you,” he said.
“You can’t. There’s too much you don’t know—we don’t know: not even your last name.”
“Malliá Ofioeidís.”
“Really? Hair serpentine? Does it fit?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“No wonder your mom complained about hairs in the shower.”
Malliá laughed. “What’s your full name?”
“Chrysós Kánei.”
“Gold maker. Are you really Queen Midas?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
“How are you even still alive? We’ve known each other for months.”
“I get one hour of freedom—daily, at sunrise—to eat, bathe. It keeps me alive, but…”
“But… you’re stuck there unless you want to turn everything into gold.” Malliá sighed and continued. “So, we were destined for each other. I turn attractive women to stone if their eyes meet mine. Your touch turns everything—every one—into gold.”
“I ordered a hazmat suit. It’s supposed to get here next week.”
“And I have new goggles coming.”
“In the meantime, we can love each other on holovid,” Chrys suggested.
“I’d rather kiss you and hold you close…”
“And I’d rather look into your eyes…”
*****
Their holo-visits lasted longer and longer, often all night. Dark circles ringed Chrys’s eyes, but her smile was radiant. Footsteps neared. Quickly, she hid the coffer. Silenus. He appeared concerned. “You look tired. Are you eating enough?”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
Silenus’s lips twitched. Chrys didn’t usually call him dad—not without sarcasm. He handed her a delicate orchid, a bowl of fruit. Chrys touched them. A tarantula hidden in the grapes froze and goldened. “I told you not to do that, Silenus,” she protested angrily. She stepped forward, raising her hands to touch him. He backed away and closed the door.
“If I really trusted Malliá, I’d invite him here. But the last time I avoided someone’s eyes it was a disaster. If only I had watched Silenus’s eyes when he introduced Dionysus. Wouldn’t I have recognized his eagerness—laser-focused greed? I thought it’d be just one day.”
She retrieved the coffer—and blinked. A new inscription graced the lid:
Great is your progress; it will be even more When he who’s your dearest walks into your door. True love’s still the answer; your caring is key. Together, you’ll find the way to be free.
*****
Chrys swallowed. Not touching Malliá, anyone, anything, was pure torture. She pinged him for live holo-connect.
“You could visit at sunrise,” she suggested without even saying good morning.
“What if I look in your eyes?”
“You can wear the goggles.”
“Too risky. I’ll wear the blindfold after I get there. What if I stay too long?”
“We’ll set the alarm and I’ll put on my hazmat suit. You’ll have to get here early—before the maid brings my food—and hide if Silenus comes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes. I can’t wait!”
*****
Footsteps approached precisely as a sunbeam crept through her window. Chrys cracked the door. He was blindfolded. “In here, Malliá,” she urged. She took his hand and led him to her shower. “I’ll turn my back so you can watch.”
He slipped the blindfold off—and caught his breath. Chrys’s beauty was no filter; she was even more exquisite than holovid had shown.
Reluctantly, he retied the blindfold. Chrys turned on the shower. “They’d wonder why I’m not showering and come check,” she explained. Warm water cascaded over them. Their lips met; hands caressed; bodies pressed together. They’d been starving for touch, for each other. The urgency of the moments crescendoed and waned, again and again.
The alarm sounded; Chrys jumped. Malliá twisted and they tumbled to the floor in a tangled heap. The floor was too slippery and they couldn’t get up, didn’t want to get up.
The alarm rang again. Chrys gasped. “Nooo…” His skin burned, the gold spread.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to lose track of time—and golden you. I can’t live without you.” She tore off Malliá’s mask and gazed into his beautiful, fiery, golden eyes.
*****
“Her chamber is much too quiet,” Silenus thought after knocking too many times. He finally opened the door. The statue was a masterpiece: lifelike golden man entwined with lifelike marble woman. The expressions on their faces were deep passionate connected love.
*****
For a happier ending, read the next blog post.