Parthia (Epilogue) - Public Opinion

Wednesday was errand day and Parthia’s favorite day of the week. Well, kind of. It’s complicated, kinda like Parthia himself.

The two-headed Paralogos strolled down the sidewalk alone, a curled scroll in hand. The dinosaur stood nearly three-quarters of a meter tall and had a striking scarlet-scaled hide. A pink stripe stretched from the corner of each eye - on each head - down to the tip of her tail. Black leather wings tipped with brown feathers branched from his shoulders, fully formed and capable of flight, but Parthia preferred to walk through the streets as she checked off each item from the list.

Parthia lived with his bonded caretaker and another bonded Paralogos in a cozy little beach town, where life slowed down to a leisurely pace and stress was a distant memory. Most days were spent at home working on novels, as her caretaker was an author and he dabbled in writing herself, or roaming the seemingly endless coast in search for inspiration. But today the found family needed to restock the fridge, so a trip to main street was in order.

Parthia preferred to do things on her own and split away from the others the moment the trio entered downtown. He insisted she got errands done faster this way. She was never lonely, however, as he always had his other head to talk to. Or bicker with, depending on your point of view.

The locals were used to seeing the Wicked Paralogos appear in public regularly, but the droves of tourists that flocked the town in the warm weather were taken off guard by the odd dinosaur. Parthia didn’t care about strangers staring, flinching, or straight-up running away from her - in fact, she particularly enjoyed making his public excursions during peak tourist season. New people meant new story inspirations. Actually interacting with strangers, however, was less than ideal. Parthia liked and hated attention. She wanted to be acknowledged but hated being talked to. He wanted to be revered but also left alone. Perhaps he was a cat in a past life.

“Watch it,” Parthia grumbled at a man who brushed her tail with his leg as he walked by. The human, incapable of understanding the Paralogos he was not bonded to, shied away from her icy blue stare and hurried down the sidewalk.

The Wicked’s other head stared down at the scroll, completely absorbed in its contents. “Aha!” He exclaimed, his yellow eyes glowing with a ghostly flame, an indication of his passive magic. He hungrily read the magical text that appeared on the parchment while he approached a woman further down the path. She wore a loose sundress and admired the shop items through the window.

“Automotive accident,” Parthia announced, his eyes shifting from his scroll to the human in front of him.

The other head lolled and sighed. “Yawn, next,” she moaned.

“You’re being picky today,” he frowned. “This is the third prediction you’ve turned your nose up to.”

“Because they’re BORING,” she snapped. “Two illnesses and a car accident - all so common they’re not even worth mentioning in the news. I can’t write off any of those! Find another one.”

“Fine.” The words on the parchment faded as the Wicked walked away from the bewildered human.

Parthia passed by plenty of other strangers and even some Paralogos, but none of them triggered any changes in the magical scroll. He flapped her wings in annoyance. It was getting harder and harder to find new muses, exciting endings that inspired enticing stories. Some of the local shopkeepers greeted Parthia as he stomped by, but she was too upset to respond.

He decided to enter the grocery and actually search for the goods requested by her caretaker, hoping he’ll find another prediction inside the store. Like killing two birds with one stone. Oh, that would be an interesting prediction to find.

“Red or green grapes?” Parthia asked herself, holding up a bunch encased in a plastic bag. The Wicked was meandering the produce section for the last few items the household needed.

“I don’t know, it just says ‘grapes’,” he shrugged, rereading his scroll for the umpteenth time.

“Last time we got green.”

“Then get green.”

“No, I’m getting red. It matches my scales.”

He scoffed loudly. “Oh my god, you’re being so diffic– oh, I got another one!” The glowing flame around his eyes reappeared as his passive magic took effect once more, this time on an older gentleman inspecting apples as he placed them in his basket. He was accompanied by a blue Paralogos. Parthia had never met either of them before.

“Fire,” he read from the scroll, and the other head gasped in excitement.

“Now we’re talking. House or forest?”

“You know it doesn’t go into specifics.”

“Maybe it's something else. Ooooh, I’ve got some plot ideas already. Good find!”

The gentleman paid little attention to Parthia and continued picking out fruit to purchase, but his Paralogos stared at the Wicked in confusion. “What are you talking about?” She asked.

“Your caretaker’s life will end in flames,” Parthia answered flatly. The ghostly wisps still flickered around his eyes, making his statement all the more dramatic.

The stranger Paralogos squealed in shock. “What?! I won’t let you hurt him!”

“I’m not going to do anything to him,” he responded. “I just know vaguely what will happen. Maybe not soon, but eventually.”

“There’s no need to be upset,” the Wicked’s other head chimed in. She spoke nonchalantly, as if she were discussing the weather. “Humans don’t live forever.”

“Who even are you?!” the other Paralogos demanded.

“I am Parthia,” both heads said in unison.

“I get a glimpse into how an individual’s story ends…” one head stated.

“... And use that demise as a muse for my writings,” the other head continued.

“Your caretaker’s conclusion gives me many ideas.” Both heads finished, once again in unison.

“S-stay away from us. Please…” the blue Paralogos stammered. She tugged on her caretaker’s pant leg and indicated her desire to leave, pointing at the Wicked accusingly. He gave Parthia a nasty look and scooped his dinosaur in his arms. His produce basket sat forgotten as the pair ran out of the store.

Parthia shrugged. “She’s in denial. She won’t be prepared when it happens,” he said.

“They never are. Typical,” the other head muttered.

The Wicked Paralogos continued his shopping, humming in content despite the terror she instilled upon those strangers.