"You were a poet few moments ago, right?"

He wasn't sure what few moments ago meant to him. He wasn't sure if what the bounty being had said what actually what he'd meant. Greasing guesses was not the best thing to confide in at the moment. He needed something more than that. How could such creature had attributed his past as though it was but some figment of inky imagination? Like he was some nocturnal gnome? Probably mystic monster with broad waist and churning chest meant to say that he was dead. He'd simply taken him from the shore he'd been. It hadn't been more than that, and diving into the cubicle of the water's heart to what looked like a castle, he'd wielded such question.

Even if he was a poet some whiles ago, as the monster had mused, was there any complications to that? But was a while ago tantamount to death in the context of the creature? He didn't want to generalize. He firstly shilly-shallied. He wouldn't talk. He knew he should. And he was trying to make an effort. Of course that was what was expected of him. He either speak or something he had no idea of would make pawn of his draws. Drown in the abyss of his thoughts came succeeding syllabic blows from the glottis of the monster.

"I'm Poseidon. Pious Poseidon! Whom you always write about in your poems!"

Wtf was that? Was that some illusion he couldn't snap out of? Poseidon? Pious Poseidon? Hell pious Poseidon! What in the world was happening to him? Was he really standing before Poseidon? Ah! He'd thought, when he was on earth that the professed gods chanted by the salient sage of the cave, Myclops, were but some optical illusions. He had no idea that they were real until that moment when Poseidon had unveiled his nosy name! Poseidon?

He wanted to ask a lot of questions. Questions at that moment then trampled upon themselves as each sought a recognition. One would not bow to the other. He wasn't going to sort one for the other. He knew not what to think. But the quaking questions kept tumbling as they fought their legs on the soul of his thoughts. He then began to wield them. Wielding them into knots was not some cake-bake. But the effort was worth it. Was Poseidon really real? Was he the master of the sea truly? Did he bring him up to this contention of a hemisphere? How did he locate him? His concentrations rippled as he supplanted grit and tuned his gaunt glottis to puke, but Poseidon again would mock his thoughts:

"After you were gulped by merry and booze made a booze of you. Ah! After getting drunk and your spirit was weary, Athena came to its aid. And she brought it to that forest where your consciousness was regained. She brought you to your fantasy. Where you had lived in when tossing your ink. You're living in a state of mind. Those fantasies you'd created and fleshened up in the figment of your imaginations are now your reality. You'll live in them as long as possible."

Athena? Ah! Athena? Of course he knew Athena. Wasn't she the daughter of Zeus? Ah! He'd read when he was on earth the etches scribbled by the left thumb of a Centuar quite the millennium ago. The scribbling as further explained by Myclops was but the tidings of the gods; their codes of conduct. He'd hardly made meaning of them whenever the sage fixed his mouth in eerie explanation. But at that moment, he couldn't help himself anymore. It was reality! Fucking reality! Arrrgghhh. Poseidon's voice came tearing up again;

"You once wrote in your poem about the castle of Poseidon! Ah! Here you are. That castle made of the scales of amphibians. The door of the skin of octopus. Remember that line which appraises the lofty call of the haughty horn of the hall of hurls. And the traces of the dark diamonds across the boulevard of its mystery. Remember the paved gates and the walled altars? And the fiery pillars bordering the crannies of the agora. All these are before you now. I blew my breath through the veins of worn waters, across the lusty lips of the wanky waves till it located you and inspired you. Ah! I have the lists of all the poets on earth."

He was going to call him a psycho. How in the world would that be possible? How would he have the names of all the poets on earth? But that was not his contention. His contention was bordered by the fact that Poseidon knew about the poem. He was going to ask while he was talking but he'd answered his question. But how possible could had been that such monster of the sea inspired his poem on earth in a haughty hut? He tried to speak but was countered again:

"When you arrived, I wasn't interested actually. I didn't care whether or not you are living in your fantasy, but then you marred my mercy and held me craving for you. I could had sent my subjects, but no, a master must master the smothered. I was! Ah! Really! Really, I was! I was really! Vexed! Really I was vexed! I was really vexed! Vexed at that hymn you sang after the meal you ate. Rusty rage sent me tumbling here in search of you, instead of sending some worn waves of my subjects."

Was he jealous? He couldn't be sure. How could such monster with such pet be jealous? Jealous of what? That he sang about some creature he didn't know quite well? He'd only sang the song he'd heard the monks croon. He hadn't known to whom it was directed. And he hadn't cared when he was alive. And when he was in the forest, the only memory he could wield accurately was the hymn. For him to had recalled it, there obviously was something to it. He had no idea who the giver of the memory was, but of course he knew his stance.

After he'd alighted from that serpent. Well he didn't know what to call it. Whether a serpent or a dinosaur. Or a serpental dinosaur. He couldn't be very sure. It was very, like super duper long and was decked with sharp scales. He had no idea how he'd gotten on it, sat on it, travelled by it, alighted from it without getting hurt. Probably that was some alakazam hewn by Poseidon. It could also be the rule of the world of his fantasies; no tourist must be hurt. He wished it were so.

He'd avoided the fiery eyes of the serpent with multitudinous legs times weary of counting numbers until that moment. He was glad that Poseidon signalled at it and it slipped in a flash into the rear of the castle. He had no idea how possible it was for such magnificent building to be planted in the depth of some whooshing waters bruised by taunting torrents. He wouldn't had said that he hadn't been caught in the callous claws of awe since he'd gotten there. He'd simply been savoring the aroma of the monster's glottis, and hadn't had the time to plough the castle with slaughterous sight. He took his chances.

There wasn't much to see, but ah! There was much to tell. They were standing at the entrance of the castle. At the pave of the gate. Outside the gate were paths decked with silver and dark diamonds. He hadn't seen such makes of diamonds ever. He had no idea the numbers of things he was yet to see. By the paths were like posts of lamp-stands with kindled fire tantamount to the mating of sulphur and furnace. He didn't know what to think of it. He looked beyond at what he hadn't because he'd been enraptured by felon fear at their going to the castle. Who wouldn't had been? Sitting on such long a serpent with some mystic monster who called himself Poseidon. Pious Poseidon! Ew! He had no idea if the monster was but a clone and an imposter of Poseidon. What good was it to prune guesses at that moment. He resumed his sight. He saw sundry species of fishes. Some were like horses, some like panthers. He had no idea that all creatures on earth had their water counterparts! Then he saw a beautiful lady swaying through the waves of the water behind the cheetah-like fish, but Poseidon's voice redirected his gaze! Hell! It could had been some other time! Arrrgghhh.

"How could you talk about he who live above? How could you praise him? Why couldn't you praise me? I who inspire your poems? No accolades for all I've done but lambasting and rusty remonstrations! Ah! What sort of a creature are you. Though I didn't create you, but of course I knew when you betrothed your maiden. Ah! I saw the joy seeped in your visage and since then I had sowed an interest in you! That was why I came for you! To make you sing my praises. To reap and feast!"

"How belittling and jealous!"

He was beginning to find his words. He had no idea how that happened. Probably the lady he'd seen was the boost of the source of his inspiration. He couldn't be sure. But all that mattered was that he could open his mouth at that moment and words could flew. Wait! How was it possible? He could talk under the water? His lungs should of course be filled with water. He should die at that. He wasn't sure if he'd truly spoken. He tried again to affirm his doubt:

"So belittling and primitive."

It worked! Again? He didn't suffocate? Was that the right word? He didn't choke or die if that was what to say. He opened his mouth again to mar the plague leased by his doubts, yet he felt only air. Like he used to when he was on earth. What magic was working on him? He couldn't say. He couldn't fathom. He couldn't explain. All he could do was savor the taunting aroma of the moment. He couldn't had done better than that. He thought he was going to say something else, but the fear of his assumptions smothering his life tossed the dice to Poseidon's glottis as he picked his turn:

"Call me all names but primitive. Address me with all adjectives but belittling. Why would you say that of me? I who own the order of the waters and toss their limbs to wherever the rustic rhythm in my head chooses. What's so belittling in wanting to listen to you sing my praises before my maidens and subjects? Or have you no idea that the praises done by you mortals are priceless to we gods?"

Of course he knew! He knew that that was not Poseidon. It was merely an imposter. How would Poseidon of all gods had begged him not to call him such names anymore? Poseidon would had ripped him into smithereens. He would had marred his breath and stored its confetti in the bottle of his rage. He would had smothered his grits and bake him as a cake to his pet. But hmm hmmm, the imposter wouldn't do anything close to that. He would actually suck eight bags of annoyance. Arrrgh! That was the worst clone he'd ever met. But he knew what to do. He'd take advantage of the folly of the so called Poseidon! His voice swayed.

"Of course I'll sing your praise. I'll sing of your castle and your pet. Of your rage (though you seem cold) and your broad chest. Of your large thigh and your hefty arms. And your long tail laced with stone. I'll do all these only if you fulfil my wish."

"Say it. Make it known. From the altar of my rage to the breadth of my castle. From the paths where no breath had damp to the rear of hidden horizons. Tell me, I'll make them all yours. Just sing my praise."

"I do not want all those. I want to have that lady I saw earlier?"

"The rutrhyi Nymph? Ah! Consider it done. Sing my praise firstly."

"Where do I sing it?"

"Follow me!"