Of Gods and Monsters and Dreams and Dreaming

Everything looked small from the top of the world. The mountain was no longer theirs, the throne deserted, dissolved, useless even as a symbol now. Then again Olympus had never really belonged to any one head wearing a heavy crown. Olympus had never and would never be the Sky. Drawing lots had won the golden-haired Titan son the sky, but what use was the sky, really? That vast, infinite space where nothing lived and nothing grew. All the symbolism - he'd never given a shit about that.

The current residence was on the top floor of the Shard. London, England, geographically closer to home. Culturally more familiar these days than other parts of the world. Those who truly needed to find him, would find him one way or another. Everyone else were of no real consequence.

From up here everything looked small. Shreds of clouds clung to the windows, creating the illusion of living in the sky. On the desk sat a cup of tea, lukewarm, forgotten. Beside it, on a delicate place, sat a sad half-eaten croissant, equally forgotten. On the screen, message after message kept flooding the inbox, all of which would be deleted unread.

Zeus truly had all but forgotten about his breakfast, the importance of being well-informed, the desire of others to be acknowledged, recognised and praised. Standing by the floor length window, he was doing ... nothing. He just stood there and looked out, gaze distant and unseeing, as if he was looking inward instead of out.

The phone buzzed once, twice, thrice, stopped. It buzzed once, twice, thrice, stopped. Rinse, repeat. Be persistent because then-

"Yes?" He said, absent-minded rather than irritated.