P. leaned against the rocks and said, “I’m tired,”
to no one in particular, which was just fine
since no one was there. Or rather, only
the liver-eating eagle who cocked his head,
curious at the sound of a man talking
instead of screaming. “Give me the key,”
said P. suddenly.  Somehow compelled, the bird
complied, dropping the whole ring from his bill.
P. stepped out of the ancient shackles.
“It doesn’t all matter so very much,
does it,” he said to no one in particular, as he
stomped the burning brand into the dust,
turned and walked easily down the mountain.


Acknowledgements

“Prometheus Outbound” originally appeared online in Fickle Muses, November 15, 2009. ficklemuses.com