The golden touch of Midas

All that glisters is not gold. - William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, Act II Scene 7.

Greetings, my lovelies, it’s Tuesday, and we observe the approach of colder weather in the obsidian evenings and even I wear more layers as I surrender to sleep each night. The writing has been on standby for the past week but as I type these words; I am once again dreaming of the peculiar, melancholic characters of my work in progress.

With the development of the world, characters, and emotions on the pages, I find my solitude and my meditation. It takes away all the stress which developed from the more mundane tasks of life. It’s a reward I want to share with you all, no matter how lonely writing can feel.

Therefore, my dear readers and aspiring writers, I want to inspire you to carry on through any hardships you may face and keep believing in YOUR dreams. Keep fighting for your heart to be heard, for, no one is more important than YOU. No one’s opinion is more important than YOURS, and even YOUR opinion should be thought of with care and tenderness.

With that said, I am a massive believer in being grateful for what you have in life. Indeed, not everything golden is a sign of happiness, and by always wishing for more, you are not really living the perfect moment of the present life. As that saying goes, “be careful what you wish for”, monetary gains can never replace the true happiness of life. King Midas, in my short adaptation of the famous Greek Mythology story, understood it perfectly.

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The wind whistled in Midas’s ears as he marched on an uneven forest road. The horse under him occasionally snorted from tiredness, yet the echoes of hooves did not slow down. His battalion behind him tried to keep up with the powerful king and, with gratefulness, thanked the green trees for providing protection against the powerful summer sunshine.

Another victory.

Midas smirked at the knowledge that he has gained more slaves and so much more gold for his use. He was already plotting another expedition with not a single thought of victims who would once again die for his vain.

Suddenly, he observed a figure on the ground and could barely prevent the horse from stomping on the unmoving body. A man of horse's ears and tail could be nothing but a satyr. Perhaps the thing even belonged to one of the gods. ‘I will be celebrated if that is the truth,’ he thought to himself.

He climbed off the horse, and the animal was probably glad for the welcomed break. Midas smirked under his breath as he noticed the chest of the creature moving up and down with shallow but existing breaths. He motioned for a few foot-soldiers, ‘pick him up, we will take him to the palace where he will heal.’

So they went on and they reached the extravagant palace, which looked more like a temple fit for the gods. The Corinthian columns were proudly visible from the distance and the marble floors shone the entrance as each step echoed through the interior.

‘Take him to the best visitor’s chamber and make sure he does not want for anything. Once he awakes, inform me at once.’

It has been days since the incident and king Midas went on with his days as if nothing happened, enjoyed his leisure and enjoyed his parties. He almost forgot about the satyr until a woman slave called upon him one evening.

Midas rushed to have time to speak to the satyr and once he entered the chamber, he put on a calculated smile, ‘be welcomed my dear visitor, I trust you do not want for anything and your health is improving. I apologise for not being around but I am not the best healer.’

‘King Midas, thank you for your generous hospitality. I was sent by god Dionysius to the forest to check on its running when I was attacked by hunters.’

God Dionysius, very interesting. Midas saw the praise in front of his eyes as if a piece of bread appeared in front of the hungry. ‘How terrible! Who would do such a thing? I am sure god Dionysius is impatiently expecting your return.’

‘Yes, indeed, he is. If you would come with me to one of his temples, I am sure he will be grateful to meet you.’

Once they arrived at the temple, god Dionysius was already awaiting them. He smiled when he saw the satyr. ‘Silenus, I am thrilled to see you, my friend, Silenus. I was worried something terrible has happened.’

‘My dear god, the hunters attacked me, but King Midas here was kind enough to provide shelter and healers to bring me back to my full health.’

Dionysius’s eyes landed on Midas and the kind deeply bowed to show respect to the deity. ‘Stand, no need for that. You have shown respect so few would. Wish for anything and I will grant it.’

‘Oh I could not possibly, it has been a pleasure to help someone in need,’ the honey words split from Midas’s mouth.

‘And as I sign of appreciation, I will grant you any wish, anything you desire, and it’s yours to have.’

Midas could not be happier to hear that. ‘if that’s the case, I wish that everything I touch turns to gold.’

God Dionysius frowned. ‘are you sure this is what you wish?’

King Midas did not back down from the bizarre and vain wish and therefore god Dionysius granted him his desire.

King Midas was ecstatic at first. The marble columns all turned to gold, and so did the marble flooring. The fabric inside his palace also hardened and became golden as he turned it to gold. He walked past the aromatic, fragile roses in the garden and with a simple stroke, they also hardened and turned to gold. He knew he has became the richest of the rich. As a celebration, he told the slaves to prepare the biggest feast they could master, even the hungry would eat tonight.

The mixed aromas flew through the palace and everyone was ready to eat the delicious food decorating the tables. However, when Midas touched his food, that also turned to gold. Dread settles deep in his stomach and he realised the implications his wish caused.

Two days have passed and his lips did not feel the fresh water nor even a piece of stale bread. His stomach growled painfully and his throat pierced with almost every swallow because of the drought. Indeed, he realised that his desire to always want more wealth led him to his own destruction. He never appreciated the simplicity of life, and now that he could no longer feel the simple pleasures, he desperately wanted for them. A simple warmth of human skin was what he wanted to feel. He desired to taste a simple, freshly baked, still warm piece of bread. He desired to embrace his daughter and his wife, for he never showed them the care they deserved.

He knew he will die of thirst within days and as he mindlessly wandered the palace, all human beings avoiding him at all costs, he knew the gift of golden touch had become a curse; a touch of his lonesome.