Loki the Trickster

All he has ever known is pain and lies and tricks

He is Loki, the once beloved trickster, now reduced to an asylum.

Sorry, not an asylum anymore, the proper term is “mental health institution”

The once handsome, red haired and bearded god

Now bound in white and chains inside the sterile white room 

No more laughter, no more tricks, only lies.

But not lies he tells.

No! Not the lies he spews from his now chapped lips

But lies he is told, lies he has grown to believe because that is all he has been told for three hundred years.

A hundred years, nurses come and go, patients come and go

Never seeing the real trees, never feeling air unfiltered by the screen of a barred window

Trapped in the sterile white room bound in chains that rattle with seemingly every breath

Tick.       Tock. Tick.       Tock.     Tick.       Tock.

On repeat for three. hundred. years.

Tell me, how is it that locking one in a blank room with only the noise of a clock and the occasional screams of other patients meant to cure iNsAniTy?

Loki: God of Lies

Or: God of Being Lied To?

Years and years of therapy drilled into Loki’s head

Years and years spent dwelling on his past

Years. And. Years. of being seen as untrustworthy.

But wait! He has been untrustworthy since before being cast into this Hel

The trickery king, always screwing with the lives of others yet fixing them again

Finally plucked the last straw out of King Odin’s knowledgeable hand.

THE GREAT DEATH OF BALDUR, the death of a prince, the death of a god

Blood brother pact destroyed: the second great death of the day

Being caught, tied in a cave with nothing but the screams of pain from the venom penetrating his eyes

Brothers? Sure, unless you make Odin mad.

Always counted on to fix problems he caused, yet cast aside before he is able to fix this grave mistake

Tick. Tock. Tick. To-Drip. Drip. drip. 

Venom burning his eyes like the sterile white room’s fluorescent lights.

All the products of betrayal.

Medical concoctions are forced down the poor god’s throat

Taking away his light bit by bit

Destroying who he was

His fire no longer burns bright