Tag: myth

The Sins

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They killed their mother, said the man. My wife. My love.
You have seven to love where you once had one, said the priest. What will you name them?
As he watched the casket descend, he decided on the seven deadly sins.
Over the years, they grew to earn their names, and to detest their father.
In the end, it was Socordia, the lazy one, that killed him.
“If you’d only had given those rollerskates to me instead of her, I wouldn’t have left them lying around for you to trip over,” said Invidia.
Laughing, Ira burned the house down.

Returning Fire

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The humans watched as the vulture tore into Prometheus’ side.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said just there,” groaned Prometheus. “Bird trouble. Could you say that again?”
“We said we’re sorry,” said the leader of the humans. He held out a torch. “If we give this back, will they let you go?”
“Probably not,” said Prometheus. “Just as well you keep it. Might come in handy.”
The leader shook his head. “We’d just feel guilty about it.”
He apologized again, left the torch on the ground. and led his people away… right off of a cliff in the darkness.

The Flower Goddess

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In her retirement, the Flower Goddess fills her days by arranging the stones in her Zen garden.
“Where are the flowers?” asks a visiting priest.
“In my memory,” she says, and she picks up the rake.
Concentric circles, weaving patterns. Lines without end.
Her sister, the former Goddess of Dance, sits on a bench and watches the sand.
“In my youth, I would have found inspiration from this,” she said. “But instead of useless motion, I merely observe and appreciate the stillness.”
The Flower Goddess nods, and summons afternoon tea.
She plucks hibiscus blooms from memory to boil in it.

Cupid’s Arrows

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That’s not a tattoo on my shoulder.
It’s a scar.
Damn Cupid got his arrows mixed up with hunting arrows.
I saw my true love, worked up my courage, and took an arrow in the chest.
He missed my heart, thankfully.
Unlike my true love. She was dead within a second.
But then, we both were hit with hunting arrows, not with Cupid’s.
Were we hit by Cupid’s arrows, I’d believe it.
Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.
Cupid apologized at the funeral, offered to hit us again with the right arrows.
“What’s the point?” I said.

Battle

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Thop, Demon Storm of Arrows, watched his followers gather at the Canyon Fortress of Mists and grinned.
“Tonight, they will celebrate your doom,” he said to Shishksnikt, who was smiling at his own forces.
His Twenty Fists made their way along the rockfaces, sword on their backs.
“Warriors fight, warriors die,” he responded. “Your cowards and their toys are no match for steel.”
Behind them both, The Grim Reaper sharpened his blade and nodded. “I guess I’ll have to cancel my dinner plans!” he trilled. “Souffle tomorrow night, boys?”
Thop and Shishksnikt sighed. Next time they’d just flip a coin.

Pot Of Gold

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The Leprechauns lost their gold to humans who followed rainbows right to them.
Leprechauns have long memories and even longer lives, so they worked with what little they had left to make real estate deals and investments to build up their fortunes once more.
Late-night advertisements offered cash for gold, luring desperate humans to mail the shiny metal back to the Leprechauns.
They learned their lesson with the rainbow-attracting pots, and built massive secure vaults deep under Ireland to store their treasure.
To keep the curious humans at bay, they set out a few pots filled with poison-coated Iron Pyrite.

Curses

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The Great Mage, The Master of Kraken, taught me that all curses should be removed in reverse order as they were inflicted on the victim as to not cause harmful effects as they are unbound and dispelled.
Like turning the pages of a book. Auras overlap, but a good wizard can carefully determine the proper procedure in less than a day.
Never rush a job because someone’s dying from their afflictions. That can be delayed or cured, too.
With that in mind, where is this werewolf with the Midas Touch that’s been turned to stone?
I love a good challenge.

Poseidon

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None of the other Poseidon The Sea Gods at water parks had problems, but then, they were just actors.
The One True Poseidon lay on the couch, shaking.
“The pills aren’t working,” he tells his analyst. “Neptune came out during my act at Sea World again.”
“What happened?” asked Dr. Moggs.
“I speared a kid with my trident. The lawyers are erasing the tape and blaming the kid for leaning on the rail.”
The doctor made notes as the once-mighty sea god moaned in agony, mumbling “Get out of my head” and rocking back and forth like a terrified child.

Captain Sword

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There’s no way we can make it to port anytime soon, and there’s no empty islands for days.
“The body’s getting ripe,” says Pappy. “Your command, Captain.”
It took me a minute to realize Pappy was talking to me.
I’m not the First Mate anymore. That ended when Captain Sword broke his neck slipping on the poopdeck.
“Send him to Davey Jones’ Locker,” I said.
So we buried Old Sword at sea, wrapping him in sailcloth and tossing him overboard.
A few seconds later, the white bundle popped back up to the surface.
“You forgot the weights, stupid,” said Pappy.

Carnival Man

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Shiva, God of Destruction, plays pinball all day long.
Thor, lightning-bringer, pushed a cart down Seventh Avenue.
Qetzocoatl, serpent in the corn, holds a ladder for a sales associate, peeking up her skirt.
All the old gods are like this, wasting away their days in trivial pursuits or mundane labor.
As religions die, the gods live on, shining your shoes. Filling your wine glass, begging for spare change.
Dagon is a home hospice worker, caring for his last believer.
One too many pills, and he is finally free.
There’s a carnival he’s always wanted to join.
He packs a bag, turns out the lights, and walks out the door, whistling.