The Anger of Gods

I admit it. I am a very proud father. With good reason. God has blessed me with three wonderful children. Sometimes they amaze me with their wisdom, insight, and talent.

My fourteen year old daughter wrote this essay for her sophmore English class. I was astounded by her skill. So let me brag and show off. Later I'll get my wallet out and show you the pictures.

Yes, I did receive her permission to publish the essay.


The Anger of Gods


Rhythmically the bass would pound as though the drums of war were declaring the approach of a great battle. The signal was out. The guests ushered away. Family holed up and hidden from the attacks to come- this was the time of war.

Cries slowly began to rise from the depths of the earth, accusations of crimes committed pulsating with the anger and revulsion the shook the framework of the house from it’s shivering bowels. This, the bedtime lullaby given in the absence of a mother, was the source of weeping-my idols; my gods were waging a fierce battle. Like lions they would stalk, picking their prey with trained practice by day - by night. Like harpies their shrill curses were a signal to the onlooker to flee, spare themselves before the knife-like feathers flew.

I dared retreat from my safe haven above but once, fearful of the consequences for disrupting such an aggravated existence. Crawling down the steps one at a time I descended into the forbidden lands of the beast, haughtily continuing as though I were Hercules bravely striding into the realms of Hades. My silence was strained as I listened to the booming indictments that swelled in the hell-like fires of that buried corner of our so-called "home". My deities, brother and sister, growled as though they were hungry beasts fighting over fresh meat with such zeal that the rumbling from their throats throbbed alongside the quivering of my heart. Chokeholds on each other, their purple faces snarled into the others, spitting with loath and irritation.

Pain struck me, my heart and throat tight and aching, squeezed and twisted with rough hands; The tears that threatened to soak my horrified hands somehow were held back, welling up and flooding the valleys of my wide eyes but never flowing beyond. Stones rolled in my stomach, vicious sloshing causing my eyes to spasm and mouth burn with acids as I witnessed my advocates claw at each other, blood-lust in their eyes as they tumbled about, eternally searching for the upper hand in that demonic crusade.

The strength that had carried me down those steps had been soaked from my very bones in the moments I hung there, my limbs threatening to betray me as I tried to scramble back up - away, safe from the visions ahead. How I longed to rush down upon them and tear them apart, throw them away from one another with such force that never again would they challenge each other; as a child longs to conquer the creatures that taunt them from the shadows.

I had failed; I had succumbed to the suffocating fear that had latched itself to my mind as a hungry leech. I ran. I flew out the door as though it had been my life being bartered in that fight, throwing it closed with the force I had only dreamt of seconds ago and tumbling to the ground.

I plummeted to the chilling slap of life, chastised for accepting my fear with the most beloved of thrashings. The frozen snow, some war-god’s accomplice in reminding me of some unpaid debt. It was my fear that had stopped my weeping. My fear that kept me waiting at that doorstep, predicting the wounds to be bound at the coming of dawn in the absence of valor.