story
teller.
writer.
Thank you for stopping by.
This is a page devoted to my own personal writing journey, and in particular, this current one in which i am pursuing the possibility of publishing my first novel. I call it 'ze book' for now :-). Here you will find my thoughts and musings on the writer's path, and my creative process. There will also be snippets of stories, and previous tales i would love to share with you.
I write magical realism, adult fairy tales, and irreverent and potent retellings of stories from myth, folklore, and popular culture.
I also write about creativity, life, art, sex and soul over at Medium, a wonderful international forum of storytellers and writers. To read my blog and follow my 'A to Z guide to creative genius' then please click here (this will open up Medium on a new page for your delectation.).
I hope you enjoy what you read. If so, please do leave me a comment, a 'hello', a thought :-).
Appreciation for your interest and attention xxx Heidi Hinda
Persephone and Hades.
Has there ever been, or will ever be, a greater chess match than that of the tournament known as love?
One carefully considered move after another. One amorous, lustful eye, on one’s opponent. Heightened time and space, all contained and invested, in the challenge of the dual, this dual, as old as time and as vast as space.
A dual of courtship, of desire, and a dual to win the hand, perhaps heart, and most certainly the genital greatness, of the other.
Its story will never get old. For how can it. We have been seeking our love since the day we stumbled and lost it, a day that memory no longer served us with. The day that we were born, to air and earth, to breath and milk, and to the excruciatingly delicate vine called life!
And this game, like the ones you have heard spoken of, as many times as your own battle bloodied heart has beaten, that was taking place right now and that which I will do my finest to narrate, was one of the most epic matches of them all.
Persephone had been minding her own business, exploring the herbs and plants that she had discovered in a valley she had oft been told by her dear mother to steer clear from. Normally a girl of great obedience, she had been feeling wildly and mildly mischievous, ignored the wisdom of her elder, and walked defiantly towards a destiny already laid out for her.
And it was all because of a fruit. Isn’t it always?! A fruit will be the undoing, or perhaps the revealing, of a woman and her innocence!
She had been lured, baited, and seduced, by the dripping red juiced fruit of a new discovery: a pomegranate. A secreted purse, all pink and sealed, but, oh my, what a glorious discovery it bestows. A womb of seeds, glistening and tasty. What was a girl to do?! Well, she did what any with any dose of sanity would do: she tasted the fruit. And how she loved it, gobbling and devouring, un-self-conscious as the violent juices dripped on to her dress. Until she saw him that is. His eyes, all black, red-rimmed, and full of lust.
A nod of the head to follow, and without thought, for rhyme has no reason, she did. Down the rabbit hole, away from the light of spring. Down, down, down, until there was nowhere else to go.
And now she was standing before him.
She wiped her still moist fingers on her white skirts, soiling them immediately pink and flushed.
He was much older than her, though it was difficult to tell how much older in the dim of the dark. She couldn’t quite put her pink stained fingers on it, but there was something most unusual about him. She gave out a little gasp of mirth at this thought, and glanced around her. She was certainly in new and unknown territory and this both frightened and thrilled her in equal measure.
If curiosity killed the cat then something was occurring between her legs. Her pussy twitched, with curiosity yes, but with a trepid excitement too. Was this death? Not yet, not here, she didn’t think so, but what the hell did she know?! Down into the underworld he had taken her, but what this meant she had no idea.
The darkness was soothing. A blinding contrast to the sharp shards of shifting sunlight, the light of the sun and spring sapped scenes that she usually spent her time merrily and lazily skipping around in. Her world was one of freshness and renewal, gleefully coated in youthful innocence of days and moments as yet untainted by life’s cutting severity.
But this black, a blackness deeper and darker than any that she had ever known, was even blacker than what she had even seen behind her closed eyelids. This black had a density, a thickness, and a substance that suggested that it was far from an empty and nihilistic sombre ombre, which her mother Demeter had often warned her of.
There were shades to this black. And shapes. And forms that appeared to be shifting and creeping, shadows surrounding her moving, watching and waiting.
There was a dampness too, accompanied by the sounds of water dripping, a sweat of humidity that permeated the space.
And despite the cold, and it was cold, an icy cold, her skin felt hot and damp with perspiration, and with anticipation.
And her pussy. Well her pussy was wet too. Persephone felt surprised and thrilled by this and placed her feet wider apart on to the cool stone ground, her legs and thighs solid and strong, like the trees that she had known and loved since birth.
Hades watched all of this with a quiet fascination. His right hand stroking his beard, he licked his lips with his thick purple tongue, so that his lips glistened in the darkness. And then he spoke.
Welcome.
In the velvet coating her vision, she could just make out his form. Hades was sat on a raised stone throne, about ten feet in front of her. She could see the moisture on his lips and glint of his dark eyes watching her.
Why am I here? I must go back…up…there I’m guessing?!
Persephone glanced upwards only to be met with an infinite expanse of dark void. She looked at him and cocked her head to one side.
You haven’t done this before have you? Taken a maiden from her garden, tempting her with sweet fruits, bringing her…here?
No. you are the first. And only. It was only ever to be you.
Hmmm. Well. I can see why. Your place isn’t quite…well, the most, inviting, or enticing, to receive visitors now is it? I’m also guessing, well, assuming, that you don’t have many of them now either!?
Persephone snorted and tossed her head back revealing her long white swan like neck. Hades licked his lips again and the hairs on his arms bristled. He smiled and leaned forwards, resting his arms on his thighs so that his hands, with their long tapered fingers, Persephone noted, hung over his knees. His nails, which looked suspiciously like talons, shone with a startling glint, in the darkness.
What are you? You’re not of the human kind that seems clear to me.
Come closer.
Hades patted his thighs and laughed. White pointed teeth flashed momentarily.
Persephone was tempted. But surely this was clearly a ludicrous possibility! Was she really being propositioned by this, this, creature that lived down here in this foul den? But there was something. Something that caused her heart to beat a little faster and her body to become hotter than was expected in such bleak and severe surroundings.
She became quite self-conscious, and shuffled her feet nervously. She suddenly felt shy, and was glad that it was dark as she recognised the flush of her blushing rapidly burn across her face.
Come closer. I want to see you.
Persephone took a deep breath and one step forwards. Then another. She continued carefully until she was stood before him, her breath was fast and her hands were clammy. She wiped them again on her skirt. Hades held out his hand.
It took Persephone a moment to adjust to the fact that this hand, which was stretched out towards her, was completely coated in fur. Dirty brown fur. Long and sinewy, his arm was preposterously formed and of ridiculous length. She glanced up and with a gasp, stepped back.
Hades was not a creature that she was familiar with. Neither a deer nor a bear, a boar nor a panther, not even the elusive tiger or lion.
You’re a beast!
The words flew out of her mouth and she threw up both her hands to cover her folly but it was too late. And she knew it, and dropped her hands by her sides.
Are you going to hurt me?
Now why would I want to do that? I have been waiting for you, watching you for years. Waiting for this day to come. And now you are here. You are here.
Persephone, if disturbed by his words, did not show it. For if truth be told, she had been expecting him too. Over the last few weeks, as the summer sun had become heavy, and nature’s green become deepened with its bounty, each night, as she had lain on her virginal cotton sheets, she had taken to tossing and turning, moaning and gasping in her sleep. Upon awakening, soaked in sweat, she had no recall of what had occurred in her dreamings, but there was a lingering feeling that something, someone, somehow, was calling for her. She did not know what, or whom, or why.
She stepped closer again and this time it was her who held out hands. Hers all alabaster and soft. Hades reached for them. His all tough flesh and hair.
I wondered why I was drawn to this absurdity this morning.
Persephone let go of Hades’ left hand, and with her right, she lifted up her white, and now soiled, skirt, to reveal a pair of shockingly scarlet red knickers. She had obviously known that it was to be today, and in entering the forbidden field, and tasting of the forbidden fruit, there had been a part of her, the woman of her, who had been prepared, hoping, praying, and yearning for this darkness to find her. And for him.
If by my being here, the daughter of the spring, the flowers were to then to die, because of my mother’s grief, I would watch my mother mourn for me. I will see her pain as she searches every land and sea, every cave and mountain, every nook and cranny. You see Hades, she does not know of death. She knows nothing of loss. I want for her to feel her love for me through its missing. Is that cruel of me?
Hades laughed and shook his head.
Oh no, not at all. Indeed that is the balance of all things. It always was and it always will be. This was to be your fate, the gods have written it so. Your soul is here in this place. And your heart, your heart, belongs to me. Here you will rule besides me Persephone, at my side. Forever.
Hades dropped to his knees before her, his horns narrowly missing scraping the sides of her thighs.
Persephone considered his offer for perhaps a nanosecond, before she too knelt down in front of him and looked him sharply in the eyes. Down here, she was no longer the little girl. No. She could feel it. She could feel the power beginning to seep through the pores of her skin. And she liked it. She liked it a lot.
Make me a crown from chalk white bones. Bones as old as time. Make me a crown and I will weep with wearing it. Make me a crown from all that has died and I shall glory in their death. Make me a crown from the skeleton that of all of life will one day know, and I will celebrate that which others recoil from with glee.
Hades threw back his head and roared the sound of a thousand wild beasts.
She took his head gently in her hands and leaned her brow against his.
I will lie with you, night after endless night, and ride the beast of you, so that our howls will make the moon quiver. My body is telling me that I will like that with great enormity.
She laughed and bit her lip at the thought. How wild she was. How wild she had only ever been.
In return you will be my queen. And queen of all that dares to rattle its snake tongued breath in these shadows. And I will love you with the force of an eternity of horses galloping into apocalyptic fever forever, determined, passionate, and with this only one intent. My queen, my queen, I will bury my face between your legs and drink the rust and sin and iron of your blood. I will suck upon your breast and suckle as the devil that I undeniably am!
By now, the king and queen of the underworld were weeping together, in joy, in lust, in love. Hands clawing at flesh and fur. Tongues unleashed and lapping. Panting and sighs escaping to bounce deep into the void.
They had found one another. And they were resolutely happy!
Persephone walks the floors of Hell, her domain, her gown long soaked in the cries of sorrows and the weepings of regret and longing. Each soul ache becoming a black faceted jewel upon her dress, or boned crown, or around her neck. She was glorious indeed. Her blood, once so pure like the first unknowing buds, now crimson with death. Yet it suited her. It suited her perfectly.
They lay together each and every night. Which, considering it was always night, meant that they lay together most of the time! She, kali, goddess of creation and destruction, life and death. He, Shiva, eternal now, always witnessing, no beginning, no ending. They lay together, fucking the eternal one, fucking Death itself.
And each spring, upon the first call of the light, when innocence wakes up anew, all sleepy eyed and foolish, she would hear the distant sounds of her mother Demeter’s heartbreak and sorrow, and it would shoot its arrow of life straight through her dark, cold heart. And she would kiss her slumbering king, get up, still naked, and leave. Her eyes blindfolded lest the sunlight burn her retinas inconsolably. She would stumble back up, up, up, and exhausted and weak, would collapse on to wet morning dew grass. Grass and morning both wet with hope.
Her mother would find her, hold her close, kissing her white pale skin, and wrap her in furs to take her home. There, Persephone, no longer the queen of darkness, would become the child willingly again. She is fed and nurtured. She is rocked with such sweet lullabies, and mothered back to life. Her soul gurgling as it rekindles its enchantment and innocence anew. It suits her. She forgets. She forgets Hades and power, lust and beastly things. She forgets that she is queen some place far far away from here. And she is happy again.
Until.
Until.
As the summer gives way with too much of its knowing, and the light falls weighted with sighs, and the leaves burn with the imminent need and desire to fall, so does she. The dreams begin once more. And she finds that forbidden field as if for the first time. And tastes the flesh of that pink fruit, as if for the first time. And he comes back, once again. And he holds out his hands to her, his black eyes red with the days he has counted in missing her. His queen. For she does not remember.
Oh my queen. Oh my queen.
And without hesitation this time, just a stirring humming between her thighs, she remembers. She takes his hands and remembers that this was why she had got dressed in her red knickers on that morning.
The end.
Has there ever been, or will ever be, a greater chess match than that of the tournament known as love?
One carefully considered move after another. One amorous, lustful eye, on one’s opponent. Heightened time and space, all contained and invested, in the challenge of the dual, this dual, as old as time and as vast as space.
A dual of courtship, of desire, and a dual to win the hand, perhaps heart, and most certainly the genital greatness, of the other.
Its story will never get old. For how can it. We have been seeking our love since the day we stumbled and lost it, a day that memory no longer served us with. The day that we were born, to air and earth, to breath and milk, and to the excruciatingly delicate vine called life!
And this game, like the ones you have heard spoken of, as many times as your own battle bloodied heart has beaten, that was taking place right now and that which I will do my finest to narrate, was one of the most epic matches of them all.
Persephone had been minding her own business, exploring the herbs and plants that she had discovered in a valley she had oft been told by her dear mother to steer clear from. Normally a girl of great obedience, she had been feeling wildly and mildly mischievous, ignored the wisdom of her elder, and walked defiantly towards a destiny already laid out for her.
And it was all because of a fruit. Isn’t it always?! A fruit will be the undoing, or perhaps the revealing, of a woman and her innocence!
She had been lured, baited, and seduced, by the dripping red juiced fruit of a new discovery: a pomegranate. A secreted purse, all pink and sealed, but, oh my, what a glorious discovery it bestows. A womb of seeds, glistening and tasty. What was a girl to do?! Well, she did what any with any dose of sanity would do: she tasted the fruit. And how she loved it, gobbling and devouring, un-self-conscious as the violent juices dripped on to her dress. Until she saw him that is. His eyes, all black, red-rimmed, and full of lust.
A nod of the head to follow, and without thought, for rhyme has no reason, she did. Down the rabbit hole, away from the light of spring. Down, down, down, until there was nowhere else to go.
And now she was standing before him.
She wiped her still moist fingers on her white skirts, soiling them immediately pink and flushed.
He was much older than her, though it was difficult to tell how much older in the dim of the dark. She couldn’t quite put her pink stained fingers on it, but there was something most unusual about him. She gave out a little gasp of mirth at this thought, and glanced around her. She was certainly in new and unknown territory and this both frightened and thrilled her in equal measure.
If curiosity killed the cat then something was occurring between her legs. Her pussy twitched, with curiosity yes, but with a trepid excitement too. Was this death? Not yet, not here, she didn’t think so, but what the hell did she know?! Down into the underworld he had taken her, but what this meant she had no idea.
The darkness was soothing. A blinding contrast to the sharp shards of shifting sunlight, the light of the sun and spring sapped scenes that she usually spent her time merrily and lazily skipping around in. Her world was one of freshness and renewal, gleefully coated in youthful innocence of days and moments as yet untainted by life’s cutting severity.
But this black, a blackness deeper and darker than any that she had ever known, was even blacker than what she had even seen behind her closed eyelids. This black had a density, a thickness, and a substance that suggested that it was far from an empty and nihilistic sombre ombre, which her mother Demeter had often warned her of.
There were shades to this black. And shapes. And forms that appeared to be shifting and creeping, shadows surrounding her moving, watching and waiting.
There was a dampness too, accompanied by the sounds of water dripping, a sweat of humidity that permeated the space.
And despite the cold, and it was cold, an icy cold, her skin felt hot and damp with perspiration, and with anticipation.
And her pussy. Well her pussy was wet too. Persephone felt surprised and thrilled by this and placed her feet wider apart on to the cool stone ground, her legs and thighs solid and strong, like the trees that she had known and loved since birth.
Hades watched all of this with a quiet fascination. His right hand stroking his beard, he licked his lips with his thick purple tongue, so that his lips glistened in the darkness. And then he spoke.
Welcome.
In the velvet coating her vision, she could just make out his form. Hades was sat on a raised stone throne, about ten feet in front of her. She could see the moisture on his lips and glint of his dark eyes watching her.
Why am I here? I must go back…up…there I’m guessing?!
Persephone glanced upwards only to be met with an infinite expanse of dark void. She looked at him and cocked her head to one side.
You haven’t done this before have you? Taken a maiden from her garden, tempting her with sweet fruits, bringing her…here?
No. you are the first. And only. It was only ever to be you.
Hmmm. Well. I can see why. Your place isn’t quite…well, the most, inviting, or enticing, to receive visitors now is it? I’m also guessing, well, assuming, that you don’t have many of them now either!?
Persephone snorted and tossed her head back revealing her long white swan like neck. Hades licked his lips again and the hairs on his arms bristled. He smiled and leaned forwards, resting his arms on his thighs so that his hands, with their long tapered fingers, Persephone noted, hung over his knees. His nails, which looked suspiciously like talons, shone with a startling glint, in the darkness.
What are you? You’re not of the human kind that seems clear to me.
Come closer.
Hades patted his thighs and laughed. White pointed teeth flashed momentarily.
Persephone was tempted. But surely this was clearly a ludicrous possibility! Was she really being propositioned by this, this, creature that lived down here in this foul den? But there was something. Something that caused her heart to beat a little faster and her body to become hotter than was expected in such bleak and severe surroundings.
She became quite self-conscious, and shuffled her feet nervously. She suddenly felt shy, and was glad that it was dark as she recognised the flush of her blushing rapidly burn across her face.
Come closer. I want to see you.
Persephone took a deep breath and one step forwards. Then another. She continued carefully until she was stood before him, her breath was fast and her hands were clammy. She wiped them again on her skirt. Hades held out his hand.
It took Persephone a moment to adjust to the fact that this hand, which was stretched out towards her, was completely coated in fur. Dirty brown fur. Long and sinewy, his arm was preposterously formed and of ridiculous length. She glanced up and with a gasp, stepped back.
Hades was not a creature that she was familiar with. Neither a deer nor a bear, a boar nor a panther, not even the elusive tiger or lion.
You’re a beast!
The words flew out of her mouth and she threw up both her hands to cover her folly but it was too late. And she knew it, and dropped her hands by her sides.
Are you going to hurt me?
Now why would I want to do that? I have been waiting for you, watching you for years. Waiting for this day to come. And now you are here. You are here.
Persephone, if disturbed by his words, did not show it. For if truth be told, she had been expecting him too. Over the last few weeks, as the summer sun had become heavy, and nature’s green become deepened with its bounty, each night, as she had lain on her virginal cotton sheets, she had taken to tossing and turning, moaning and gasping in her sleep. Upon awakening, soaked in sweat, she had no recall of what had occurred in her dreamings, but there was a lingering feeling that something, someone, somehow, was calling for her. She did not know what, or whom, or why.
She stepped closer again and this time it was her who held out hands. Hers all alabaster and soft. Hades reached for them. His all tough flesh and hair.
I wondered why I was drawn to this absurdity this morning.
Persephone let go of Hades’ left hand, and with her right, she lifted up her white, and now soiled, skirt, to reveal a pair of shockingly scarlet red knickers. She had obviously known that it was to be today, and in entering the forbidden field, and tasting of the forbidden fruit, there had been a part of her, the woman of her, who had been prepared, hoping, praying, and yearning for this darkness to find her. And for him.
If by my being here, the daughter of the spring, the flowers were to then to die, because of my mother’s grief, I would watch my mother mourn for me. I will see her pain as she searches every land and sea, every cave and mountain, every nook and cranny. You see Hades, she does not know of death. She knows nothing of loss. I want for her to feel her love for me through its missing. Is that cruel of me?
Hades laughed and shook his head.
Oh no, not at all. Indeed that is the balance of all things. It always was and it always will be. This was to be your fate, the gods have written it so. Your soul is here in this place. And your heart, your heart, belongs to me. Here you will rule besides me Persephone, at my side. Forever.
Hades dropped to his knees before her, his horns narrowly missing scraping the sides of her thighs.
Persephone considered his offer for perhaps a nanosecond, before she too knelt down in front of him and looked him sharply in the eyes. Down here, she was no longer the little girl. No. She could feel it. She could feel the power beginning to seep through the pores of her skin. And she liked it. She liked it a lot.
Make me a crown from chalk white bones. Bones as old as time. Make me a crown and I will weep with wearing it. Make me a crown from all that has died and I shall glory in their death. Make me a crown from the skeleton that of all of life will one day know, and I will celebrate that which others recoil from with glee.
Hades threw back his head and roared the sound of a thousand wild beasts.
She took his head gently in her hands and leaned her brow against his.
I will lie with you, night after endless night, and ride the beast of you, so that our howls will make the moon quiver. My body is telling me that I will like that with great enormity.
She laughed and bit her lip at the thought. How wild she was. How wild she had only ever been.
In return you will be my queen. And queen of all that dares to rattle its snake tongued breath in these shadows. And I will love you with the force of an eternity of horses galloping into apocalyptic fever forever, determined, passionate, and with this only one intent. My queen, my queen, I will bury my face between your legs and drink the rust and sin and iron of your blood. I will suck upon your breast and suckle as the devil that I undeniably am!
By now, the king and queen of the underworld were weeping together, in joy, in lust, in love. Hands clawing at flesh and fur. Tongues unleashed and lapping. Panting and sighs escaping to bounce deep into the void.
They had found one another. And they were resolutely happy!
Persephone walks the floors of Hell, her domain, her gown long soaked in the cries of sorrows and the weepings of regret and longing. Each soul ache becoming a black faceted jewel upon her dress, or boned crown, or around her neck. She was glorious indeed. Her blood, once so pure like the first unknowing buds, now crimson with death. Yet it suited her. It suited her perfectly.
They lay together each and every night. Which, considering it was always night, meant that they lay together most of the time! She, kali, goddess of creation and destruction, life and death. He, Shiva, eternal now, always witnessing, no beginning, no ending. They lay together, fucking the eternal one, fucking Death itself.
And each spring, upon the first call of the light, when innocence wakes up anew, all sleepy eyed and foolish, she would hear the distant sounds of her mother Demeter’s heartbreak and sorrow, and it would shoot its arrow of life straight through her dark, cold heart. And she would kiss her slumbering king, get up, still naked, and leave. Her eyes blindfolded lest the sunlight burn her retinas inconsolably. She would stumble back up, up, up, and exhausted and weak, would collapse on to wet morning dew grass. Grass and morning both wet with hope.
Her mother would find her, hold her close, kissing her white pale skin, and wrap her in furs to take her home. There, Persephone, no longer the queen of darkness, would become the child willingly again. She is fed and nurtured. She is rocked with such sweet lullabies, and mothered back to life. Her soul gurgling as it rekindles its enchantment and innocence anew. It suits her. She forgets. She forgets Hades and power, lust and beastly things. She forgets that she is queen some place far far away from here. And she is happy again.
Until.
Until.
As the summer gives way with too much of its knowing, and the light falls weighted with sighs, and the leaves burn with the imminent need and desire to fall, so does she. The dreams begin once more. And she finds that forbidden field as if for the first time. And tastes the flesh of that pink fruit, as if for the first time. And he comes back, once again. And he holds out his hands to her, his black eyes red with the days he has counted in missing her. His queen. For she does not remember.
Oh my queen. Oh my queen.
And without hesitation this time, just a stirring humming between her thighs, she remembers. She takes his hands and remembers that this was why she had got dressed in her red knickers on that morning.
The end.