Who do you admire?
Have your ever read or listened to the biography of a famous person and thought, wow, how much better my life would be if I only I could have lived an amazing life like that? Have you ever wished that you could switch places and live the fascinating life of some renowned person? If so, then this is the story for you.
Beware of the Wrath of Media is the sad tale of a young woman whose admiration for the Medea of old has crossed the line and become a strong preoccupation with becoming a carbon copy of the famous figure. And thanks to some unexpected circumstance, her life undergoes some serious twist that allow her to live her dream of becoming a modern-day Medea.
Available on Amazon as paperback and on Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Beware-Wrath-Medeia-Katherine-Parilli/dp/1947238515/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
Available on Barns and Noble. com Beware of the Wrath of Medeia by Katherine B. Parilli, Paperback | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Short Excerpt From Book
Hi, my name is Medeia Robertson. Of course, you have probably heard about me on the news or read about me in the newspaper. Funny, a man can still be considered a poor unfortunate victim after walking out with all of his wife’s hard-earned money to give it to some surgically enhanced Barbie doll, kidnap her children, and steal her good name and that barely raises an eyebrow. Let the bruised woman get even with the thieving, cheating scoundrel and suddenly her name is bound with all that is evil. Now where is the justice in that I ask you? Of course, how would you know? You are but a stranger doomed to suffer behind these same four torturous walls as I.
I know that as hated as I am on the outside, it is even worse for me here, locked up among those they dare to call my peers. My peers, how can you be my peer? Have you determinedly climbed the perilous height of mount Everest and looked down upon the fearful world as a conqueror? Have you been cruelly betrayed on every front by the one you have protected and sacrificed for at every turn? I do not think so! Yet my persecutors have taken such delight in comparing me to the rest of this dreamless lot that only sought to serve self.
From that smile on your face I know that you already have some opinion of my guilt, but you are not as certain as the rest. Before you totally side with those who call for my immediate demise, I beg you to hear me out.
Oh, at last maybe I have met one soul who is willing to hear my story before condemning my broken heart to death. It will not take very long; the emotions that landed me here are no different than those of other woman still free to walk beyond these imprisoning walls. Put anyone of those self-absorbed souls in my shoes and you will see that none of them would hesitate to act as I have. Why they would be the first to come to me for advice, and beg for mercy at the feet they have so recently condemned as death incarnate.
Growing up I never imagined that I would be brought so low. I was of royal blood. During the days of Hawaii’s lost glory my family were leaders of men, counselors, judges, and known for their ability to locate and combine the healing herbs the land had provided. Years after Hawaii became a state my parents were still sought for their wise counsel. It was at my grandmother’s feet that I learned the dying art of combing leaves, herbs, and other special ingredients to form powerful creams and teas that could make the sick well and the well sick.
It is no wonder that with this knowledge I did well in chemistry. My knowledge of chemistry eventually earned me a scholarship to a rather presumptuous private University near Washington D.C. that catered to the sons and daughters of the elite. O how I hated that school! As children of modern privilege, they had no use for an ex-royal. For three years I talked to no one unless I had to, especially my roommate. What a roommate, a skinny girl who used her pom-poms for brains. She hated me and I despised her. She was angered that she had been forced to room with someone whose bloodlines were so passé. The only purpose I could have served her would have been to do her homework, if she had to do any that is. Pretty girls don’t need to do homework she would vainly insist. “I do not have to learn anything because I am rich and beautiful. If I wanted to catch an eligible bachelor, like the star football player, all I would have to do is wait until the right moment and bat my little blue eyes and he would be helplessly mine. While you need all those stale books of yours if you want to survive. Your only hope of landing a date would be to glue all those filthy books together and pretend they were alive!” UGH I hated her with all my might, that little Miss Snobby U.