The Bored God (293 words)

The Bored God

(293 words)

Things were slow up on Mount Olympus, so I put on my golden arm bands and went down to see the people. The hustle and bustle of city life never failed to surprise me.

I came across a man on a park bench. Puffing out my muscular, bare chest, I asked him, “Do you know who I am?”

He looked up from his cell phone. Expressionless, he gave me the once over. “Not quite sure—”

“I am Zeus!”

The man blinked. “Well, I, uh…”

I tucked in my bearded chin. “Chief deity of the pantheon?” I hinted, with encouragement.

“Is that the new restaurant on Fourth and Main?”

“I am the sender of lightning and thunder!”

“Well, I suppose that would explain the lightning bolt in your hand.”

I raised that hand. “Do you not fear me?” I demanded.

He rolled his eyes. “Look—Zeus, is it?—lightning is caused by the interaction of charges, between clouds and Earth.”

Huffing a breath, deflating, I slumped down on the bench. “How I long for the old days,” I said. “When I had purpose.”

The man smiled. “You know what they say—when one door closes, a window opens.”

“What nonsense do you speak?”

“Sometimes, our purpose changes.”

I nodded, sadly. “Times change.”

“And we must change with them.”

“Damn that Galileo Galilee and his scientific method,” I muttered. “That’s where it all started.”

I thanked the man, then walked the streets, dragging my lightning bolt. A sign in a book shop window caught my eye. It read: Help Wanted. In I went. One look at me and the shop owner exclaimed, “You’re perfect!”

I started the next day, leading story-time circle. And now I light sparks in the imagination of children.