Poseidon's Hell

Flash Fiction Friday - from http://www.flashfictionfriday.com/


Prompt: Write a story including the words “banana, iguana, elbow, flaming, and pogostick” and make it wacky, absurd, or bizarre.
Max 1000 words.
                               ============================

Poseidon's Hell

It was Friday.

Poseidon hated Fridays.

The main reason that Poseidon hated Fridays was because it was the day that Mrs. Pilkington (who runs the Bed and Breakfast in which he now resided) forced ‘fish and chips supper’ on all her guests, and he really hated fish.

The only fish worth bothering with, in the opinion of this particular god, is dolphin, and you just can’t get good dolphin in Oxford.

Oh you can get haddock, plaice or even hake, can you believe, but ask for dolphin and you get thrown out on your arse.

A tear formed in his eye as he tried to remember the last time he’d had a dolphin kebab. It was so long ago.

Next to the 2nd rate slab of cod, that was swimming in its own sea of grease on the plate, was what the proprietor insisted on calling chips. Poseidon was not at all sure about chips. When all is said and done they are clearly just chopped up bits of potato, and last time he had checked, potatoes were vegetables. Had he not actually been very specific about vegetables on that little form he had filled in under ‘special dietary requirements’? Poseidon had very clearly ticked the box to say he was vegetarian – which everyone knows full well means that he can’t stand the grubby things. How can anything grown using horse poo be good for you? Bloody snooty old ‘you can look at them but no touching’ Demeter, and her precious farmers, Poseidon just couldn’t be doing with vegetables. Everything you ever needed to know about farmers can be summed up by looking at a marrow, a cucumber or a banana – the dirty minded bastards!

The other thing irking him about Fridays was that he was missing poker night with the boys. They would all be there on Olympus now, bragging about their latest heretic smiting, and then settling into a really good game.

Poseidon’s shoulders sagged, he recalled the bet that had landed him here in this pox of a city, with not so much as a sniff of a Mermaid’s arse to keep him interested for a century.

How could he have been so stupid? Sambuca – that’s how, same thing that always got him in these messes. Why did his mouth always run away with him after a couple of Flaming Sambucas?

Triumphantly he had stood there with the proof in his hands – so smugly he had declared his success and demanded Athena marry him as his prize, but instead of Athena’s hand, all he got was her elbow as she cynically mocked him.

“No, that is not a snake that can walk you salty old buffoon – it’s a bloody lizard!”

“What – no way? It’s a snake with legs, I tell you!”

“Nope, sorry Pozzy, it’s an iguana and you bet that you could make a snake walk – so you lose big boy”

Why had he not stuck to what he was good at and just done his clam impression or shown them his collection of shark teeth instead of trying to bet against them? If he had to gamble, why did he have to aim so high with the prize? The higher you aim the further you fall – he knew that, but sadly Sambuca didn’t!

Poseidon was expelled, not just from the mountain but also forced to spend the next hundred years living on land, far from his beloved sea, and everything that he loves. Worse still, he had to live like a mortal, here in this cheap bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere.

Poseidon banged his fist on the table in a frustrated rage, but it didn’t help. All that happened was that Mrs. Pilkington shot him an extra fierce glance when she brought him his pudding, and distinctly short changed him on the custard. Rosanna Pilkington did not have any time for table bangers and knew exactly what buttons to press to let them know this.

An hour later, and the great god of the sea lay on his bed concentrating. Somehow there had to be a way back to Olympus.

“DOUBLE OR QUITS!”

The excitement of the thought threw him off the bed and onto the bedside table. In a panic, Poseidon tried desperately to fix the broken furniture, fear spreading rapidly down his spine. Oh who cares about the bloody table? In a few days Poseidon would be a god, and the first thing he would do is send a Tsunami to wipe Pilkington’s guest house off the planet! “Ha – regret half filling my custard bowl now do you?”

Yes, that was it – he could go back to the gang and play for a reprieve. Win and they call off the penance, lose and they double it. Gods are suckers for a challenge – they won’t be able to resist!

He would bet he could name every seahorse in the ocean - he could do that backwards.

It would be a couple of hours before he could summon the gang to hear his plea – so he popped down to the bar.

Three beers disappeared and lubricated his brain just enough to allow the suggestion of a quick Sambuca to pass the logic test.

“Why have you to disturbed us on Poker night Pozzy?” Athena demanded.

“I request the chance to go double or quits! I have a bet ready and waiting.”

“Hmmm, double or quits eh? So if you win we let you come back?

“That’s right – and if I fail…”

“...Then you will pay, and then some”

“Yes”

“What’s your bet?”

“I bet………… I bet……… hic………” dammit, what was the bet?

“I bet I can ride a pogo stick across Africa in six days!”



Seven days later.

It was Friday.

Poseidon hated Fridays.

The main reason Poseidon hated Fridays was because Mrs. Pilkington had banned him from having any custard with his pudding, as penance for the broken table.