Everyone is quiet, unsuspecting, going about their daily business, with little clue that I’m watching them – I see their every move, and most of the time they entertain me. They remember me when they want, and please me with flattering gifts and fine words. They pour out offerings of fine wine, and offer their jewels, their precious items and their belongings.
They call on my name for help, for solace, for comfort, for joy, and often I am pleased to grant their requests and make them happy. This has been the way for many years, and it has been entirely suitable – right and meet that they should honour me in this way
But today I am riled.
They are becoming greedy and selfish. I see infighting and dischord amongst them. They are spoiling my world and ruining my view. I have a headache from their narcissistic, self-involved thoughts and I long to hear them call my name.
And they. Will. Call it.
They will call upon me for help and rescue. And I will not be there.
They will remember that I am to be respected.
So I bring the rains; gentle at first, dampening their mood and ruining their fun. But I stir the clouds to roiling glory and send lashes of water which turn the air white, pelting down on their puny bodies and sending them scurrying for cover. I watch as their fields begin to run in a giant watercolour of earth and new crops, smearing downwards to the river, which is filling and fast becoming a torrent.
Lightning, then, and thunder to deafen their ears and make them howl. I begin to hear my name called, in terror, and it gratifies me.
Their world is dark. I have covered it over with a storm and shall let them feel its battering as they reflect on the error of their ways – how could they forget me? I, on my mighty mountain, should never be far from their thoughts or hearts, and yet they are fickle.
I hurl my burning bolts down into their lands, burning craters into their cities and sinking their ships. I set their houses on fire and hear their screams, as their possessions become an unwilling burnt offering – one they should have chosen to give freely before it was taken from them.
But still their minds are hard and unrelenting – not enough seek me yet, so I will raise the river to sweep away their homes. They shall cower naked and unsheltered in front of me, as I reach down to the earth and fill that tract of water until it breaks through their defences, gouting into the towns and sweeping the foundations of their lives away.
Homeless, they begin to turn back to me, beseeching the undersides of my sodden stormclouds for mercy. That’s more like it. Finally, they are crawling back, realising the error of their ways.
I reach down and part the clouds, letting them see my face, and am pleased at those who have the sense to fall prostrate in awe and respect – for I surely deserve that. And if not respect, then I shall take their fear. Those who are brazen and rebellious shall be smited, and with a quick hand, I reach down and snuff out the lives of those who dissent, as easy as crushing the heads of butterflies.
Now the awe and respect is tinged with a delightful frisson of terror, and I chuckle, only imagining how it must blow their tiny minds to see their suddenly headless compatriots. This deference I shall take. They will write stories and songs of this day, and they will not forget me lightly.
I stand with my feet on their soil, toes crushing them into the dirt, fully visible now, and triumphant. Water still pours from my hands, ensuring the final and ultimate destruction of their city, once so carefully built.
I am their ruler. I am their god. I give, and on this occasion I take away. They will rebuild, and do even better, and I will once more become their generous giver of gifts.
But in the meantime…I’ve been called three times for my dinner, and mam says I’ve been playing altogether too long in the sandpit.
Word count: 734
Joining with Feral Little Secrets for the Music prompt.