I could barely recall what Zeus looked like, much less why he’d decided to toss me to earth. Had my father told me how long this punishment would last? What was I supposed to do to regain his favor? I tried to remember the details of my sentencing. Above, the winter sky was gray and unforgiving. On either side of me, rusty fire escapes zigzagged up brick walls. YOUR FAULT, Zeus’s voice rang in my head. Imagine feeling helpless, ashamed, completely vulnerable-publicly and brutally stripped of everything that makes you you. Imagine the ice-cold water filling your mouth and lungs, the pressure bruising your skin, turning your joints to putty.

How could you-a mere mortal-possibly understand? Imagine being stripped of your clothes, then blasted with a fire hose in front of a laughing crowd. And I sobbed in despair.Įven for a god of poetry such as myself, it is difficult to describe how I felt. My mind stewed in confusion, but one memory floated to the surface-the voice of my father, Zeus: YOUR FAULT. My ribs felt broken, though that shouldn’t have been possible. My nostrils burned with the stench of rancid bologna and used diapers. I lay groaning and aching in the open Dumpster. Is anything sadder than the sound of a god hitting a pile of garbage bags? I plunged into a narrow canyon between two buildings and BAM! I tried to change into a cloud or teleport across the world or do a hundred other things that should have been easy for me, but I just kept falling. I visited my wrath upon Britney Spears at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards.īut in all my immortal life, I never before crash-landed in a Dumpster. I blessed Babe Ruth with three home runs in game four of the 1926 World Series. I inflicted a plague on the Greeks who besieged Troy.

In my four thousand six hundred and twelve years, I have done many things. Enable “Document outline” ( View > Show document outline ) for easier navigation of chapters.

The hidden oracle prophecy