What do we need the gods for now? Oh, they strut and fume as we tear down their statues and temples. Zeus releases a stream of thunderbolts which fizzle and spark before plopping spent on the carpet. A mist of angels wring their little hands before evaporating. Legba holds a weeping Inti close as they thin and dissipate.

We are the masters now. The steam from our great engines blows across a sun hiding its face in shame.  

If only the rains would come as they used to.

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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here