“Vulcan, master of fire, celestial artist, lame and outcast – that’s your résumé, all of it?”
“It’s… fairly niche.”
“And why exactly are you seeking a new role?”
“And then some.”
“Ah… happens to the best of us.”
“So, do you think you have anything suitable?”
“It’s tricky in today’s climate, but… fire mastery – that’s a definite asset. There’s a call for that.”
“Mmm. Any allergies?”
“You’re ok with sulphur, for instance?”
“As far as I know.”
“Well, there’s a fanatical bunch seeking someone to blame. Bit downmarket for you, I’m afraid. Though you might get to star in a decent poem or two.”
“Fine, let’s give it a whirl!”
This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Here’s thelink to the stories and this week’s picture is below, copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Oslo, 1056 – In my boyhood, long ago, I sat and saw longboats streak along the fjords, like spears flung by All-Father Odin. Odin’s one-eyed face shone with joy, brighter than the sun, as he saw our longboats flung to destinations far and near, for raids or trade. Then Christians arrived and we learned we were wrong. All-Father is called Yahweh, Jesus his son. But when black clouds roll over, burying the sky, and thunder goes growling along the fjord, it’s still Thor’s face I see watching over us. I still shake with pride as jagged sparks fly from his hammer.
This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Here’s the link to the stories and this week’s picture is below (originally there were rooftops visible in the photo, but I only needed the sky and so I cropped it a little).