Athena

I stepped from my father’s skull wearing a himation and carrying a sword and shield.

“I have a headache; go to your mother,” he said.

“Where is my mother?”

“Alas, I have eaten her.”

Athens was cool with lots of agitated people running berserk and yelling about caves and drinking hemlock, but the plays were divine – the women refusing sex to put the men in line, and the politics were better – deportations and torture galore, and this one cretin, with small hands, plastered yellow hair and a ginger face, carrying placards with crass sayings he changed multiple times a day. I almost pitied him, but when I passed by, he felt me up, so, I cut his head off and stuck his placard in his mouth—one must be practical.