When people tell my story, they tell it wrong.
Despite my current condition, I know the edges have been smoothed. I suppose it is necessary. No one wants him to be the villain. If Eros shot him with an arrow, then nothing he did afterward was his fault. He remains the Sun god, glorious and beautiful.
The truth is, he was not enchanted nor enamored with me. He hunted me out of rage. He wanted to possess me. When he failed, he decided he would claim and hurt me. He was predator and I was his prey.
All women knew that if one of them wanted you, you would never be safe. He chased me until my lungs seized and my feet bled. I was terrified. Still, I refused to submit. I fled to the river and begged father for help.
Father knew I never wanted to be reduced to a destructible possession. All he could do was change me. He turned me into my favorite tree, the laurel, that could never be destroyed.
He still tried to hack off my branches, but he failed. He wears another tree’s laurels as part of his crown. He never caught me.
Gillian Moran is an expatriate living in the United Kingdom with her rescue dog. Her flash fiction has been previously published on 50-Word Stories.