Dreams are funny things. Sometimes you can wander through them and point out just where each bit came from in your daytime world. "Oh, hey that's from watching such and such on TV!" you think.
Then there are the other dreams. Sometimes they're haunting, visions of the past, of ghosts. And sometimes, just sometimes, the Gods themselves figure prominently.
When I was younger, I didn't dream often at all, and if I did, they faded promptly upon opening my eyes. Or I had nightmares. If I remembered a dream, it was because it was a True Dream, one that would someday come true (and those are nothing like storybooks describe them to be - the real deal is deadly boring. I mean really, who wants to dream about listening to a class lecture that you're one day going to attend? Or about looking around a house?)
So I keep a dream journal.
And there are dreams that are the thing of legend. Epic, exciting, and practically made for being turned into a book.
I dreamt such a thing last night. I am sharing it with you.
The Gods of Olympus looked down upon the mortals. Zeus, the Bringer of Rain, Most High, looked out and did not like what he saw, and it made his heart ache, for it would seem that the people of the Earth had forgot the laws which he had given them.
He gathered the pantheon together, considering us. The way that we dishonor the gifts that the Gods have given us. How we dishonor each other.
And he was heartbroken.
Now many years ago, Zeus had chanced upon a beautiful woman when he was wondering upon the lands of men. As should not surprise you, my friends, he seduced her, and in time, she was with child. Her son, handsome and strong, grew to be a man that Zeus loved very much.
But with the troubles that now plagued the earth, Zeus feared that it would be necessary to end the age of Iron, the age of men.
Until now, when the Gods had to discuss how to best confront the mortals. Would it be a war?
Zeus' son somehow learned of the possibility of what the Gods were speaking.
He came unto his father, and begged, argued, cajoled.
And then he sacrificed his own divine spark, his demi-godhood, becoming one of the mortals that Zeus would have to end, in hopes that the Giver of Good would not have the heart to follow through with his slaughter.
The Gods held their wrath back, and the son of Zeus returned to the world below, with hope that the troubles that mortalkind had wrought could be healed, and that the Gods would grant them but a little more time to do so.
Take it as you will. Or don't.
It is as a dreamed it, rendered poorly in my own words. In the dream, I was a witness, and nothing more. So I share it with you.