When the child of humanity embraces the Divine Flame, they lost the gift to sense human hearts. From then onwards, their only purpose was to watch over the earth, bound to endless sea of stars and moons.
They continue to cherish life, yet could no longer perceive neighbours as living beings. -- Anon Guest
Humans should only become deities in retrospect. It's just safer that way. They do have the saying, Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.
But there's always the statistical outlier who should not be counted. Such as the rare soul who used to be named Zeb. The power came to them in a dream, which was odd because Zeb never dreamed of such things. They usually dreamed of dull and ordinary things. The thousands of little ways in which they helped the life around them. Seed for the birds, water for the bees, picking up sticks and chopping up deadfall for those who needed firewood. Gathering leaves in baskets and fluff in nets. There were plenty of creatures that had the need of it, not just the people.
The dream had Zeb turning little pebbles and leaves into tiny houses, when a warm light came to him and said, "What would you do if you had the power to do it?"
"I'd help more," said Zeb. "Theres a whole world, a whole sky full of worlds. I don't even know what they need, but there's thousands of little joys to spread for all creatures."
"Then I can help with that."
In the dream, there were more things to help and more places to help in than just their village. For every star, a world. For every world, things that could be done to help.
The village never noticed that Zeb was gone. After all, they had barely noticed Zeb, and the things they did to help kept being done. They just assumed that Zeb was off somewhere, scattering nuts for the squirrels or seeds for the birds. Someone swore they saw Zeb untangling thread from a pigeon's foot.
It never occurred to them to ask how far and wide these little deeds went. Nor did they ask how Zeb managed to do them all.
But someday, someone who never knew of Zeb will be grateful for a small bundle of sticks, or a cut-up pile of deadfall, and they'll pile a few rocks together or light a candle in gratitude.
For Zeb, minor god of small and fortuitous happenings.
[Photo by Tope. A Asokere on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
Send me a prompt [28 remaining prompts!]