Title: eurydice hitchhikes to vegas
Author: darkstar
Email: clone347@aol.com
Disclaimer: I'll put them back. Honest.
Background Notes:  In legend, Orpheus and Eurydice were lovers tragically separated when Eurydice died after being bitten by a viper on their wedding day. Orpheus so moved Hades with his grief that he was granted permission to retrieve Eurydice from the underworld-- on the condition that he did not look at her until they had reached the mortal world again. Orpheus kept this bargain until they were at the very mouth of hell, when he looked back after she stumbled. She was pulled from him by an irresistible force and dragged back into the underworld. Orpheus lived in grief until he was murdered by a group of women called the Maenads.
Summary: Rogue comes back from a dark place to find that all is not as she left it, and strikes out on her own.

Rogue point of view

Alright, Zeus, I'll bet you're laughing your toga off at the
irony. To escape hell and end up...here, not so far
from where it all began--
the dusty clouds still heaped in piles of unbleached muslin
above the miles and miles of hot asphalt shimmering
in heat and the miasma of burnt rubber, sweat, and
buzzards.
the rusted gas station sign promising
ice cold root beer and (still)
lying through its teeth.
Of course there is no traffic, not at this time of day.
Some things never change, unlike myself,
who am an altered state thanks to your idea of
romantic tragedy.
Have you even visited the underworld lately?
It's gone downhill.
Forget regal death and eternal power over souls, it's just a
nusiance: overcrowded, smelling of mildewed socks and
absolutely without a place to plug in a hairdryer.
And the things a girl had to do for a razor. Unbelievable.
No wonder I decided to leave, although
it wasn't without its lessons:

1. beware of snakes. ug.
2. never send a man to do a woman's job.

Inevitably, they will fumble directions and we'll end up
more lost than before. Still, he tried,
I'll give him credit for that,
and I suppose at one time it really was
love.
(One can never tell in these myths. Everything is
supposedly agape when we all know half of it's
eros.
Don't you feign ignorance on me,
Mister I Fathered Demi-gods With Every Blond In Athens.)
What's that you say?
Oh yes, I know, he ended badly. I sw the newspaper
back in Nashville-- murder, bloody, but then,
it would have to be to take him down. I suspect it was
suicide by proxy. Probably got the top spot on the news.
I'll bet your Regalness loved that one.
Don't look at me like that.
What, am I supposed to mourn? Stab myself like
a stuck pig like that bimbo Dido? Please.
I've wept and wailed and gnashed teeth enough to last
an eternity and to be frank,
I have nothing left.

So here I am, Dr. Thunderbolt,
and no, I'm not saying you're number one,
I'm giving you the finger. Lay off the ambrosia, hello...
Laugh all you want, go ahead, comment on
the crooked lettering on my sign
(vegas or bust)
the ridiculous denim shorts that show the
bristles on my legs, the
sweat stains under my arms. Laugh. Go on.

I'll be watching your back.
I'll be the eyes in stone statues, I'll be
the showgirl who smiles brighter than the lights
and when you're blinded, sugah
you can expect a knife in the back.