Emma had been told she was funnier when she was drunk. Subsequently, she’d also been told she possessed bigger cajones during her most intoxicated moments. She wasn’t sure she believed those things herself just yet but—given the present situation— she figured it couldn’t hurt her case.

So, before her meeting with the god, Emma drank.

This was the result.

“Hi,” Emma said to the beautiful nymph guarding the door. She knew that the woman was a nymph because she was wearing a nametag that said HEAD SECURITY NYMPH. “I’m here for my interview with Dionysus.”

“Interview?” the nymph said, arching an eyebrow. She wore only a thin white shift and had biceps that rivaled those of any man. A tattoo of a chalice wrapped in ivy encircled one shoulder. Her facial expression, although exquisitely arranged, looked like she ate nails for a living. She held a plain brown clipboard in one hand.

“I’m not sure what else to call this.” Emma said, “It seems sort of improper to refer to it as a trial determining whether I’ll be executed or not.”

The nymph didn’t laugh, which Emma took as a bad sign. “Fair enough.” The nymph said instead. She scanned the clipboard. “What’s your name?”

“Emma Wilson.” Emma said.

“Ah. I see you. And you filled out your paperwork already? Do we have your Social Security card on file? Your Five Wishes?”

“I mailed everything in last week. So I sure hope so.” The paperwork had been extensive, containing over 46 grammatical errors over the space of 23 pages. Emma had underlined every one before she mailed it in. Purely for spite. She doubted that anybody actually looked at it anyway. The nymph nodded her head. Although Emma tried hard not to look, she couldn’t help but notice that the nymph wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her shift. Her nipples pointed out at Emma like tiny traffic cones. Emma wondered if maybe it was a cultural thing. Based on information she’d read in the 8th grade, Nymphs usually lived in the forest. Perhaps they didn’t wear bras there.

“Do you have any questions?” The nymph asked. Emma tore her attention away from the nymph’s nipples. She focused on the nymph’s eyes instead. They were a pale green color. Fitting for a creature of the trees. Emma was dazed by them momentarily.

“Just clarification on something, if you wouldn’t mind.” Emma’s mother had raised her to be polite when asking for information and she honored this, even in the face of death, “So I haven’t really been in this situation before. I wasn’t expecting my name to be called in the lottery. You must hear that a lot,” Emma stopped and smiled at the nymph who definitely did not smile back. “Everybody keeps telling me there’s only one rule. I have to make Dionysus laugh. And if I don’t, I die.”

“Yes,” the nymph said.

“Okay. Well if I do make him laugh, what do I get? The paperwork wasn’t really clear on that.”

“Life.” the nymph said simply. Like it was obvious. “And we’ll take your name out of the next lottery.”

“Well, that’d certainly be wonderful.” Emma said. “Wouldn’t want to get that lucky twice.” The nymph didn’t even blink. How many lottery winners had she seen before Emma? Was she this unenthused about her job every day? Or was Emma just that unfunny?

“Anything else?” The nymph asked.

“No,” Emma said, a little subdued. Up until now, the situation hadn’t seemed all that dire. Death hadn’t seemed like it was in the cards. Possible, yes. But not in a serious way. Now Emma wasn’t so sure. She was starting to feel frightened. She wished she’d had more to drink. The nymph scribbled something on the clipboard. Then, without looking behind her, the nymph tapped the knuckles of her left hand against the door. A voice from the inside cried, “Come in!”

“Go ahead,” the nymph said, and, in a lower voice, “Good luck.” She opened the door and smiled the tiniest smile that Emma had ever seen. So maybe she only ate nails every now and then, Emma decided.

She walked inside.

Given that he was a god, Emma figured that the room would be big. Magnificent. Filled with gold and jewels and naked women. Maybe a fountain or two. The room possessed none of these things. Instead, to her slight discomfort, the room resembled that of the average bar. It had a sign near the doorway that said “MAX OCCUPANCY: 39 CREATURES.” Bottles of wine were stacked neatly on shelves on three of the four walls. At least, she assumed they were wine bottles. The lighting was way too dim for her taste.

“Woah,” Emma said, “the lighting sucks in here.”

“You’re not wrong,” a voice said, “Thanks for the feedback.”

“Where are you?” Emma asked, peering around. As far as she could tell, there was nobody sitting at the bar stools lining the counter. Nor was there anybody sitting at the surrounding tables.

“I’m sitting behind the counter.” The voice replied. “On the floor.”

“Uh,” Emma said.

“It’s where I think the best.” The voice said. “Come here. Let me see you.”

“Uh,” Emma said again. But her legs moved of their own accord and in just a few moments she stood behind the counter, looking down at the most average looking god she had ever seen. What a letdown, she thought. A part of her had hoped he’d look a bit like Hercules.

“Hi there.” Emma smoothed her shirt down self consciously, hoping Dionysus couldn’t read minds or anything. “I’m Emma Wilson.”

“Emma Wilson,” Dionysus said, reaching out a hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

He was scrunched over on the floor, with several bottles scattered around him. He looked like he was in his thirties. His face was long and his nose small. There was stubble on his cheeks. His hair was receding somewhat. Emma shook his hand. It felt warm and sweaty. His grip was light.

“You too, Dionysus.” What else could she say?

“You can go ahead and take a seat, Emma.”

“Okay. Next to you? Across from you? Or…”

“Across from me is fine.” So Emma sat across from him. He smelled like he’d been drinking.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Emma? Water? Beer? Wine, perhaps?” And then he chuckled, like it was just the funniest thing. The wine god offering wine.

“I’ll take whatever you’re drinking.” Emma said.

“Excellent choice.” Dionysus grabbed the closest bottle next to him. It was still corked. He stared at the cork for a second or so, his eyes narrowing in a determined way. With a sudden pop! the cork shot against the wall. Emma jumped. Grinning, Dionysus handed her the bottle. “Did you like that?”

“Yes.” Emma hadn’t liked it at all. “Is that a god thing?”

“Oh yes.” Dionysus said. “It’s a god thing.”

Emma took a drink. Again, her expectations for grandeur were shot down. It tasted like the cheap wine that she’d buy at a liquor store.

“It tastes wonderful,” She told Dionysus, “Is this what the gods drink?”

“This is what I drink,” Dionysus said, “The higher gods wouldn’t touch this stuff with a ten foot pole.” He paused. Examined her for a moment. “You’re a flatterer, I can tell. Not a bad thing when it comes to the gods.” He took a swig out of a different bottle sitting next to him. Then another.

“It just seems like the best course of action.” Emma answered honestly, feeling a little lightheaded. The drink may have tasted like cheap wine but it hit her system like a freight train. It’d been what? A few minutes at the most? She blinked rapidly, feeling muddled and bubbly at the same time.

“I know.” he said, smiling, watching her reaction, “I may not have all the luxuries of the higher gods, Emma. But I am the god of wine. That wine is special. Diluted, but special. Your mortal body couldn’t handle it otherwise.”

“Is yours diluted, too?” Emma asked.

“Yes. It’s only polite to drink what your guest is drinking.”

“Oh,” Emma said. She supposed that made sense. She drank some more.

“So,” Dionysus said.

“So,” Emma echoed. She didn’t know what to do next. Should she start cracking jokes? Was there a limit on how many attempts she had? Nobody who survived the lottery had ever talked about their experiences with the god of wine.

“What are you thinking?” Dionysus asked her. He seemed genuinely curious. Emma looked at him. She felt she could tell him what she was actually thinking.

“Honestly,” Emma said, “I don’t know where to start with this whole thing. It seems kind of fucked up to me that I have to make you laugh in order to like, not forfeit my life. Why is that your shtick? I’d like to understand the thought process behind it.”

“Ah,” he said. “The wine is affecting you, already, I see.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a little like a truth serum.” Dionysus said, “It wasn’t intentionally manufactured that way. It just seems to have that effect on humans.”

“Oh great,” Emma said, “So this is stuff I normally wouldn’t be saying and should probably be holding back.”

“Probably,” Dionysus agreed. He leaned back against the counter. “But it’s not a bad thing. It is fucked up, Emma. You’re right. So what do you say we do away with the game? No threat of death.”

“We can do that?” Emma asked, surprised. “Like I can leave?”

“I can do whatever I want,” Dionysus said. “I’m a god. Sure, you can leave. But let’s talk for a little while first. I’m sure there’s things you’d like to ask me. The meaning of life maybe? The secret of our immortality? Just to name a few.”

“Do I have your word that I can leave?” Emma asked.

“Yes.” Dionysus said. “You have my word. Don’t you want to know the answers to those questions?”

“Not really,” Emma said, beginning to stand up, “I’d like to leave. Those subjects sound kind of pretentious coming from you.”

“Ouch.” Dionysus placed a hand over his heart. “Maybe we shouldn’t do away with the original game.” Fear must have registered on Emma’s face because he quickly added, “I’m just kidding, Emma. I won’t take what I said back. But I’m curious. Why are those things pretentious coming from me?” Emma sat back down. She took another two swallows from the bottle. Then another two. Plus two more.

“Well,” Emma deliberated. “For one, it seems like you didn’t give us the answers to questions like those in the first place precisely because you wanted us to ask you what the answers are. So you can feel wise and mighty.”

“Ouch.” Dionysus said again.

“And two,” Emma went on, “Why should I care if you guys are immortal? That just highlights the fact that we’re not. It’s not like anybody forced you to create death. And, by the way, since you’re immortal and all, let me tell you: death sucks.”

“Technically I didn’t create death,” Dionysus started, “That was the god of the underwor—”

“And a third thing,” Emma interrupted him, “Why should I trust the answers to those types of questions anyway? Given what I know of Greek mythology, it doesn’t really seem like any of you have it all together. Why are there higher gods? Shouldn’t all of you be equal? Don’t you want to be equal to them, Dionysus?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I’m not here to make you feel better about yourself.” Emma finished. “And I don’t have any questions for you. Unless you can tell me who your secretary is, because I counted 46 grammatical errors in all the paperwork I had to sign for this stupid game. For such high stakes, that’s pretty unprofessional.” She was silent for a moment. “Or, if you can tell me who my soulmate is. I suppose I am curious about that.”

Dionysus looked a bit stunned. “I don’t know who your soulmate is. Only Aphrodite knows that type of information.”

“Then we’re done here.” Emma said. And she stood up, finished off the drink, and set the bottle neatly on top of the counter. “Thank you for the wine.”

As Emma left once more through the door guarded by the nymph, she felt as she imagined the gods felt at all times. Invincible. As if she could do anything she wanted to and there would be no repercussions whatsoever.

From behind her, she could hear Dionysus laughing.