Chapter One
"Aaaaaahhh...humans are so...uninformed," I sighed resignedly, perched atop my fluffy cloud, aka office. Leaning back languidly into the creamy lavender waves, I wonder why I even get up in the morning. As the goddess divine, I know perfectly well that my job is to spread the views of mortals to their peers, oh, and correct their abominable grammar. I was assigned this job at birth. But why, oh why, couldn't I have been made the deity of spring, like my best friend, Persephone? Why, oh why, do I have to be the goddess of grammar?
It’s not like I don’t sometimes enjoy ameliorate comma placement or adding some adverbs to a story, but it can be tedious. No one ever prays to me or begs for forgiveness and to make their grammar perfectly proper - never! Well, maybe once, from some kid in Athens about to flunk his Greek exam. But that is just about how much people really necessitate my power.
While feeling melancholy and slowly moving through my work, Persephone runs in. Sighing, she runs a manicured hand through her thick golden locks, which to me seem reminiscent of a flourishing cornfield on a summer's day. Now, all goddesses are beautiful, but there is something about the youth and pureness of Persephone that makes her especially ravishing. I listen to my companion complain of how she is just so busy with the dawn of spring less than a week away, and with Hermes pestering her day and night, her duties were growing increasingly oppressive.
”Persephone, would you really like a longer winter?" I said.
With a gasp she ran out of the room, shouting back to me," I must make some more olive tree buds! I can't stand any more winter!"
I sit back down at my rolling blue desk, made of really water, a gift from my great uncle Poseidon. Now to get down to business. The moment I pulled out my pen to correct a scribe's essay (which was a disorderly array of improper punctuation) my mother, Calliope, one of the seven Muses and the goddess of epic poetry ran in..
”Auntie Erato will be stopping by to compare notes with me on a new poem. Oh and the Council of the Gods will be needing you in about ten seconds.."
"Ahhhhhh!" I shouted as I pulled out my divine power of invisible White-Out. Can I complete this correction in time to make it to the top of Mount Olympus?
Stress, stress, too much stress. You'd never think that grammar could cause so many hullabaloos, but my days are filled with mishaps and new tasks to attempt. As I penned the final mark on the scribe's heartfelt, but quite incorrect essay, gusts of worry sped windily through my mind. I am one of the few deities who has the ability to view all of mankind, everywhere, from the birth of Chaos to the Big Crunch. It's quite handy in the art of spreading thoughts, for I can read the minds of every human that's ever existed in the blink of an eye. I only wish I could get to the council in that time!
"Well, I must do my best," I thought woefully as I hopped upon my purple fluffy cloud.. "Zoom, zoom! I have to be somewhere!" I impatiently urged the trusty transportation device. In four seconds flat, I was hovering above the twelve Olympians in their mighty thrones. Clumsily dismounting, I brushed off my toga and made my way in front of the gods. As I approached the Council of the Gods, I noticed that they did not look happy.
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