“Merry Christmas,” I called as the line shuffled past.
The first time I came down, I had had a destiny to fulfill. This time, not a single word from the Old Man. No warnings, no perks, and no one even recognizes me. Stupid paintings. From manifesting bread to ladling soup.
So much for a second coming.
“Christ, is that you?” hacked the aqua-eyed, bearded senior in front of me.
“Do I…” I started to ask, but I saw my answer in his eyes. “Poseidon?”
“Merciful Olympus!” he cried, eyes flashing.
“I need five,” I said as I handed off my ladle and grabbed his arm.
“I see you finally came back,” he said to me when we sat down. “How’s it feel to be on top?”
“On top?” I laughed nervously. His eyes shined detached, like a vet right before a flashback. I’d seen it a lot here.
“The Kraken!” he roared suddenly as he flipped the table. “My trident! Bring me my trident!”
The original divine badass, the god who laughed when Zeus took dominion of the skies. How do you stop the Lord of the Sea?
© 2007 Jon Thysell. Some Rights Reserved.
The Kraken by Jon Thysell is licensed under a
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