"Once considered the theater, you know. Actually, this God thing is much more fun - sometimes."
Two figures moved cautiously to the bank of the river Styx. Dark and smoothflowing the river arose from pale mists in the distance, and faded once more into mists as pale.
The sojourners moved slowly along the river's edge. One, a white-bearded elder, shuffled along supported by wooden rod. The other, younger and vigorous, darted ahead, returned, then darted ahead again.
"I think I shall tie a string to your leg, as though you were a
June bug. Just calm down. There is no danger."
"For you, perhaps not. Still, I know he is here. I can feel his presence. In every sojourn he has been with me."
"Ah, the unseen companion! Yes, I too note an irksome presence.
Nevertheless, nothing shall come of it this day. Trust me."
Demo glanced at the old man, Zeus. For it was indeed these two, long removed from the heights of Olympus. "Trust you . . . ? I knew this used chariot salesman once . . . Well, never mind." He noted the look of concentration on Zeus' visage. "No real correspondence. I was just thinking out loud."
Zeus regarded the river Styx with distaste.
"Most foul stream, this. I was in a vile mood when I loosed it from the bowels of the earth. Unpleasant odor, too. Fetid, in fact. Perhaps Pluto is right, a little landscaping and environmental cleanup are needed. I'll make a note . . ."
"Beware, my lad, that you drink not of these waters. Though you be of the most placid nature, but a sip from this stream and you shall rant against the world. Here has the essence of hate been distilled, and it flows forever at the edge of Hades.