A Bored God

(an assignment in creative writing.)

The wet grass soaked into my clothes as I lay under the shade of the willow tree. My eyes drifting over the clouds with a not so subtle determination. ‘Atticus can’t have a backup for every cloud.’

“That one looks like a bunny, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t bother pointing, he already saw it, Atticus sees everything. He hums and raises a scared copper arm, towards the sky.

“You mean that cloud, Munis?”

I nod, rolling over to gauge his reaction and see the defeat in his eyes. Only it never came. His features didn’t waver, as he leaned his head towards mine.

“That’s a lion, Munis.”

I couldn’t hold in the scandalized scoff that escaped me as I rushed upwards in my fury.

“A lion? A LION! It is clearly a bunny!”

His face contorts and he flicks his disinterested gaze towards me.

“Munis, it’s very clearly a lion.”

I bristled at his tone and snarled at him, “How? How is it a lion? It has bunny ears, a cottontail, and long legs.”

His arm flicked around in a lazy circle at the sky as he tried to explain his stupidity to me, “Munis! It is very clearly a lion, look, its tail was bitten off by a crocodile and its ears were passed down by his elephant uncle. Lions are tall and have long legs too.”

My eye twitched and I let out a great sigh that swayed the leaves on the tree.

“What must I do to change your mind?”

His grin grew feral and sharp, a morbid sight on such an angelic face, and his honey eyes glittered with mischief.

“Munis, my dear, you would sooner drain the ocean of its water and rip Poseidon off his throne then sway the tracks of my mind.”

The earth beneath us trembled with my annoyance and I thought back on our other outings. Atticus is a bored God and bored Gods are dangerous to those whose immortality is nonexistent. He thrives on chaos, which he never feels the need to create himself. Instead of creating chaos, he reveals in mine, pushing and pulling at my anger and love like waves on the shore, then sitting in the sand as the sunami drowns those who bore him.

I know he holds no real anger towards the ocean, and he means no ill will on Poseidon, but his heart has grown tired of ruined temples and cowering people. I see it every day that I lie with him, the need that turns honey eyes into Carmel pool, he needs more than just petty humans fearing him.

I stand and brush the wet flakes of grass off me, my mind made up. I gaze at him before I go, musing on how in the sunlight he looks reminiscent of the angels the mortals call for every night. Copper skin dappled with the scars of an old God and poison black locks spread around his head in a halo.

“For you, my love, I shall drain the ocean and have the Gods of every sector trembling in your name.”

The brilliant smile that stretched lazily across his face made everything I have done for him worth it. It always does.