Adriana Calloway
3rd Period English
January 23, 1945

Mr. Zibowitz: This is my example of a story using Deus Ex Machina. Please enjoy!

Several years had passed, and though Rue searched, driven by fear as Hemera aged, he found no girl who knew his true name; no boy or man to foil.

Soon enough, he was alone. And worse, he too, aged like his fiancee; marching toward death as if Loki never met him. No surprise, the lies of chaos.

But an interesting thing happened after Hemera died, and Rue reached the positively ancient age of fourteen: though aged and wrinkled far beyond expectation, he did not die. His father's reign had ended long ago with an untimely accident, probably arranged by Loki, or maybe forseen and he'd merely taken advantage.

Either way, Erebos was no more, and Rue reigned in his stead, unraveling the horrible mistakes in which his father practically wallowed with unrestrained glee. Many had died of starvation; most succumbed to disease—everything lay in tatters.

Though he and Hemera tried, he never left any heirs. When she died, so too, died the last hope of his kingdom. He'd halted his father's folly, but replaced it with failure and knew the smallfolk mocked him relentlessly, but he was powerless to stop the disintegration.

By his fifteenth year, there was nothing left. The rabbits became wild, living off the land without an inspiring ruler to direct them, just one step above complete anarchy. His advisors renounced him reluctantly when the end came, sad at the sorry end the Royal family found. With no legitimate succession, there would be generations of pretenders and wars before another ruler emerged. Rue held no grudge.

And so he left again, traveling with no companion, along roads he'd forgotten all those years ago when Erebos first began their ruination. There was nothing left but the search for a human girl who would call his name though she knew not his tongue.

Human filth. How it filled his throat with bile, bitter and searing: protect a human girl while his Hemera was long dead, and his kingdom crumbled to windblown ashes of memory.

How long had it been since Loki informed him of their bargain? A decade? One hundred years? A thousand? Rue roamed for that and more, never finding what he sought, always hating himself and his yoke of responsibility.

Over the millenia, his body failed and rotted away: skin leathery and torn; fur hanging in jagged tufts where rare patches clung valiantly; bones bleaching to brittle white sticks. He moved just as quickly as ever, but either force of will or tainted magic held his battered carcass together. Is this immortality, or some cruel hoax, Loki?

And finally, Rue was broken. Seething in impotent rage for countless ages, memories rendered to dust, seeking only to fulfill his burden before bathing in the calming waters of death. Hemera was a nonsensical word. His own name a confusing fragment. Even Loki was a distant shade to this new Rue, this errant engine blindly running without regard to destination or purpose.

Finally, Meander was sent to help Rue, whose path spanned the Earth's tiniest niches as he mindlessly forged ahead. The gods knew Meander would not be missed, were Rue to bring him low, but still they watched, frightened at the monster Loki unwittingly created.

"Stop, hare, and witness my glory!" spoke the god.

Rue's nose, though dry and mostly desiccated tissue, twitched without recognition. "Who?" he managed to ask, one word of many slowly percolating through his addled and unexercised brain.

"We've watched you, child, for innumerable aeons, and feel sorrow for Loki's jest. You are cursed to wander for eternity and never find peace for the sins of your father, long dead. We can not save you, but for one miniscule hope, oh Rue. Would you have our help, who so wronged you when time was young and our foolishness unexplored?"

Rue's clouded eyes cleared slightly, long buried memories surfacing, filling him with incomplete images he barely understood. "Why?" he asked through his parched throat. Meander heard only a truncated cough, but the intent was clear.

"Because we thought your kingdom a game. Erebos lusted only for power, and we entertained ourselves by humoring him, for his life was short and no harm would come of it. We never realized Loki would involve himself, and cause such strife."

Were he still capable, Rue would have cried then. Only now, after he'd forgotten his past, himself, and why or what he sought, did they come to lessen his suffering. These beings are evil; do not trust them! "Speak," he coughed.

"Both Mari, she of hope and desire, and Morpheus, lord of visions, agree to give you respite: the power of dreams. Though your body travels endlessly, your mind can reside elsewhere, in bliss. Even that kingdom you lost so long ago, the love you've long forgotten, can be reclaimed." The god looked sullen, shamed. It was a meager gift they offered, and one that barely mitigated the danger Rue represented, but they had no choice.

Rue merely smiled. With that, I can make them truly pay! "Yes," he hissed. "I agree!"

"Then take this gift, drifting one, and find peace."

Rue thanked the gods then, silently, for striving to ease his pain. Their own intervention would be their downfall, and his revenge. Fools! If only he could remember why he hated them so! Instead he bowed, ready to accept their gracious boon.

"Sachiel gives this Zohar, then. May your dreams be pleasant, and kind." With that, Meander vanished, leaving Rue beside the shallow brook where they chanced to meet.

Legends say that Rue wanders still, lost in reverie, angry at those hateful gods, unable to escape his fruitless errand. But at least now, he need not suffer.