Anyway, this week sees another return for the hapless god of the sea, still trapped in Oxford. He was first seen in ‘Poseidon’s Hell’, and last in ‘Holding on’.
From http://www.flashfictionfriday.com/
Cue: Games of childhood
Genre: Any
Length: up to 1000 words
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The games room
It was Sunday. Bloody stupid Sunday.
Poseidon hated Sundays.
He sighed. It had been an unbearably long and dull Sunday after an eternally boring week. Everything seemed to go so slowly, so infuriatingly slowly. Yet again he cursed himself and the careless stupidity that had landed him here in Oxford, so far from the sea that he loved. While his past was filled with gold, mermaids and power, his present was stuffed full of under-mushed mushy peas, a sadistic landlady and an infuriating inferiority complex.
Where had that come from anyway? He was supposed to be a god wasn’t he? How can a god possibly be inferior?
None the less the spotty 12 year old sat opposite him was smiling hideously smugly, as he tirelessly won yet again. The disinterest on the kids face only sought to pump Poseidon’s blood faster into his head, increasing the pressure way past the point where even the most reasonable god wouldn’t advocate a little smite. Oh for the ability to smite. Poseidon missed smiting almost as much as he missed chasing mermaids at old Apollo’s Bunga Bunga parties.
For the slightest second, the memories of the last time he’d partied at Apollo’s house warmed Poseidon’s soul and relaxed the pressure in his head, but was very swiftly replaced with the cold hard facts of the ‘here and now’ when the door opened and in loomed Mrs. Pilkington.
“I see you’re playing that still – I’ve been timing you, you’ve been on there twenty five minutes. Well I’m not made of batteries you know. You can replace them when they run out. I’m sure I don’t know why you have to sit in here cluttering up the games room anyway, there’s the whole of Oxford out there to explore – you could go ice-skating…”
“AAAAAGGGGHHH!”
Poseidon’s scream shocked the wizened old woman into silence, but only for a second as she set forth her fiercest tut and head shake, which instantly told Poseidon that his custard days were as good as over. Treacle sponge with no custard was a punishment so dire that Poseidon could almost respect Mrs. Pilkington for coming up with it. The first thing he would do once his god powers were returned would be to instigate that into his smiting. If that didn’t regain the respect he deserved, nothing would.
It was exactly at that point that his spotty opponent coughed triumphantly as the lights flashed yet again in his favour. The distraction had been enough to throw Poseidon off.
Dammit – it was blue. BLUE! Three yellows, a red, two greens and then BLUE! Poseidon had pressed yellow. The game was lost yet again.
The boy stood up, announced that he was bored, that he wanted to play a proper game that involved shooting things, and walked slowly away with his pockmarked chin held boastfully high. Poseidon concentrated hard, really hard.
The boy flinched, as the mild itch of yet another spot appearing on his chin focussed his mind back into himself. Why was he getting so spotty these days?
Behind him Poseidon smiled contentedly, before turning his attention back to the demonic device sat before him. Slowly the beats picked up pace, and the chain of colours grew longer.
How many greens was it again? Damn and blast it, what colour was next?
In a rage, Poseidon threw the bloody thing out of the window.
At first the release of tension felt good, but then the realisation hit him that at some point Mrs. Pilkington was going to find out about it, and when she did, well, Poseidon could kiss goodbye to Saturday morning kippers for a start. She was a devil that woman.
The thought of losing out on his weekend treat brought a shiver of panic down his spine. There was nothing else for it, he was going to have to get the bus into town and replace the damned thing. To be safe, he’d better get some batteries as well.
The thought of going into Oxford on a Sunday afternoon was a hugely depressing one.
Poseidon looked outside the window at the shattered pieces of the cursed machine and sighed.
Poseidon really hated Sundays.
7 comments:
Great story!
Yeah, that damn Simon almost drove me crazy as a kid. It was almost as bad as that Rubik's Cube that I literally tossed into the ocean one summer afternoon.
You mean you never just ripped it apart and then re planted the little cubes into the right order before running down to show off to your sister that you had done it? Earned me a black eye, but it was worth it
Like a typical American I did peel off the colored stickers on the small individual squares but they did not stick and soon fell off.
I was grinning like a loon on the bus reading this. I feel you have a novella in waiting here. The Berlesconi party reference was sublime. Keep at it.
Adam - thanks - you just made my day :-)
Oh, what a shiver of satisfaction that must give him... planting zits on a 12 year old's face!
Woe, oh Mighty Poseidon! Reduced to the 'parlor tricks' of a novice witch?
I suppose though, the thought of losing custard AND kippers... would drive even a god to desperation!
Smashing read, Glen! I love the Poseidon you have created here... so much for interesting than the one I read of in middle school!
Sunday, bloody Sunday indeed!
Veronica - Thank you very much :-)
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