The Imprisoned God

Shackles encircled his wrists and neck. Mundane steel and concrete bound her in place. A god gains strength and power from believers and worship. In this foreign land, he had neither. In the dark, under the blinding sun, through heatwave and blizzard, through drought and flood, they languished alone.

The god’s keepers, tormentors, examiners were mortals with no god of their own and no desire to worship the one they had captured, taken, stolen. To a non-believer, a god is an oddity, a relic, a specimen. They poked and prodded the god with their devises and implements. Samples and measurements were taken. Notes and charts were made. Hypothesis and theories were created.

After a time, they had learned what they could or lost interest. They could not release the god, so they buried her. Cool damp earth was poured down on the god. It crushed, embraced, supported the god. Finally, he allowed themselves to rest. Under the earth, she slept; discarded, hidden, forgotten for now.

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