So, I was chatting with another writer friend of mine, and she freaked out a little (in the good kind of way) when I brought up this story that I’ve been working on off and on for awhile. So, I’ve decided to share a rough part of some of it. Soo…Here’s a little taste of The Olive-Lotus War.
For centuries, the Gods seemed to favor that little blue marble. Perhaps it was for the hospitable climate: not too close to the sun, but certainly not far enough away to freeze. Perhaps instead it was the fascinating little creatures that crawled, flew, or swam their way out of the mire once they had finished with it. The variety of species that took the soil was more than enough to make the divine gardeners stay around. Better than those little green things on other planets who never seemed to need them. But on this little blue planet, the Gods were most certainly needed.
From the moment they could form the words to say so, human kind cried out to the Gods. For food, protection, love, wealth. It was all far too much to keep a hold on. So they broke up the responsibilities that made the most sense. Section by section, the Gods split everything up, so they could assist the screaming infants. Sure, now and then the little babes would mix up names, and more than once they had had to break up petty squabbles amongst them. So long as everyone kept to their work, they were provided for.
Things were peaceful above the little blue dust spec, until someone got too big for his proverbial britches. He was a young thing too, a child compared to some of them. And the people that called out his name were no more than children themselves. Children throw tantrums though, and these ones tossed them all about the middle of the Eastern part of the planet. The whole group of them made a mess of the whole system, really. You see, this divine child thought he could do everything all on his own. The people who called to him were too young to know any better.
So, when he told them all the other Gods were lies, products of the wicked to mislead them, of course they agreed. After a time, the older children grew too tired of trying to prove them wrong. What did it matter what name they were called? The little Earth children, the Gods learned, were greedy things.
For centuries and centuries, the Earth, as they came to call themselves, was still so very loud. The variation in names became fewer and fewer, though. The troublesome little child took so many names on himself, it was even hard for him to keep track of all the cries. Suddenly, his own children were striking out at one another, begging for his help alone. The older gods sat amongst themselves, talking of the times when things were not so loud. After all, when the work is spread out, there is no need to shout. But, since the boy would refuse their help, it grew very, very loud above the blue speck of dust.
Eventually, the older divine children drifted farther and farther away from the noise. They watched from the stars on plates of glass. The people on the dust speck changed, grew louder, larger, and more violent. It was as if they had finally reached puberty, and their cries grew louder instead of softer. Even from their temples that soared across the stars, they could hear the pleas.
Their little dirt-born babes were monstrous things now. It was a long time since Prometheus had begged them for fire to save him from the dark. They concentrated it far from their hearths and torches. Wrapped in metal, laced in powder that was bartered from death, they destroyed one another with it in terrible ways. The older divine children found themselves glad they no longer heard their names called out for help in the battles of those newly forged steel children. The little speck of dust did not seem so harmless as it once was. From marble to lit fuse in only a few centuries, due to a child’s over-eager need to control. Still, they floated further now until even their plates of glass no longer picked up the shouts.
But it was lonely with only their birth brothers for company. They had spent eternity with one another, but back on the planet, there had been a rest. There was work, competition, and other ways to occupy that time between. There are only so many times even the Gods can bare to hear the same story before their patience wears thin.
It was fortunate then for Apollo that Demeter looked out to see the pyramids at their very door. She was not sure if she had ever seen Ares’s face burn so red with rage when he began again to speak of his chariot….There was much to do now. After all, it had been thousands of years since they last had guests!