The Very Small Gods of Not Much At All

Dave stretched, belched and scratched his bum. He yawned, hoisted himself to his feet and padded over to the lake so he could admire his reflection in it's shiny surface.
He rubbed his pot belly.
"Getting a bit flabby-saggy, Dave." Trixie's voice drifted over the water.
Dave glowered at the sprite as she blew a raspberry at him from the far side of the mystical lake.
She had a point though. And let's face it, being a god was tough. All that eating, lying around and meddling. But it was a good job. You got to take decisions that had profound impact. Decisions which often caused the humans below no end of bother. Dave chuckled to himself. He liked being important. And he knew he was good at what he did. He went to his tasks with vigour and passion. The more disruption he could cause the happier he was. And it amazed him no end how his current efforts managed to upset humanity. Who would have believed people could be so passionate about plants and landscapes?
He shambled back to his chaise longue and flicked his fingers. A small scene materialised - mid-air - before him.
"Starting work so early?" Alison yawned. She rolled over, plummeted and thumped on to the floor.
Dave sighed. The goddess the council of elders had provided to work alongside him was not exactly co-ordinated - or graceful. But she was remarkably self-righteous which was a strong point in any god.
He didn't bother to ask her if she was alright - of course she was - she was a goddess - immortal and invincible - just like himself. They were impervious to everything.
Alison picked herself up from the floor and padded over to Dave.
"Well, how're we doing this morning?" she asked, extracting a large bogey from her nose and inspecting it.
"We're doing remarkably well. Better than I expected," he said. "See this fellow here?" He pointed to a figure grubbing about under some trees. "I've inspired him!"
"Really? Do do what?"
"To remove all that shade. You know how much humans like shade. Well, it's all going to go!" His voice was triumphant.
"Ooh!" shrilled Alison, "let me inspire him too!"
"No!" snapped Dave. How typical of Alison to try and muscle in on his ideas. "Find your own inspiration."
Alison pouted.
"Tell you what," said Dave with an unaccustomed burst of generosity, "He's got a wife."
"Oh goodie! I can fill her head with theories which she's going to believe are true. She'll tell him and they'll set out to preach their truth."
"Wonderful," said Dave. "They'll be passionate. I just know it. Complete zealots."
"Exactly," chuckled Alison. "And we know just how much damage a zealot can do."
"Hey!" exclaimed Dave, "let's also inflate their egos."
"Ooh, yes! You really are on form this morning, Dave," said Alison batting her eyelashes at him.
Dave preened - and then farted. Loudly... gaseously. Alison did the same. They watched the image before them. The two small figures down on earth swelled.
The two gods slapped their hands together. "Good work!" they chorused.
"While we're at it," grinned Dave, "why don't we toss in a good dose of myopia - so that no one can influence their thinking."
"Bloody brilliant! And how about we add some arrogance too."
"Marvellous! They'll go around telling other humans that they're stupid and ignorant and that the two of them are the only ones with insight, intelligence and education - and should be listened to - because they know it all."
Alison laughed so hard her belly wobbled and her breasts jiggled - Dave's eyes twinkled.
The two gods turned their backs to the image, bent over and let rip. Each produced a long, loud and noxious stream of internal gas.
They turned around. The image had turned a murky shade of blue, green and yellow.
They waited for it to clear and then peered into the scene, listening intently.

#

"We'll tell everyone it's a biodiversity crisis," said the man as he ringbarked the trunk of a 100 year old oak tree.
"We'll tell the powers that be that global warming has nothing to do with trees and that it's in the planet's best interests that they're all felled," said his wife, lifting her chainsaw.
"Yes," said the man, tucking in his shirt around his sagging pot-belly, "We'll tell them that scrub is more attractive and important."
"Well it is. Much more important. Who needs shade. Tsk." She shook her head. "We'll also tell them trees cause fires and fall on people causing injury and death."
"We'll remind them we know best and that they're ignorant, stupid and myopic."
"Arrogant too," added the wife. "We'll make it clear we're the experts."
"Yes," said the man, "exactly. They need us. They don't know how lucky they are to have people like us advising them. And then we'll both write books and articles about how smart we are and what we've accomplished."
"Do you think we'll be able to afford a small island in the Caribbean once we're done?" asked the wife. She stepped backwards, tripped over a log, fell - and landed in a cow pat.
The man sighed. His wife was really not the most graceful creature on earth.

#

Dave smiled over at Alison. "We've done a wonderful bit of work this morning," he said, sticking out his chest with pride at a job well done. Oh he liked being a god, he really did.
In the distance something rumbled.
"Oh bugger," said Dave.
The earth started to shake...

#

"Dave! Dave! Wake up!"
Dave Jackson, botanist inextraordinaire, rolled over and grunted. His wife, her face white, her brow creased, stood peering down at him, her hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "What is it?" he grunted.
"It's a posse of inspectors from the UN, a mob of angry people and the city mayor."
"What do they want?" muttered Dave frowning.
"They want to know what the hell we've been trying to do in forest."
"Oh, for heaven's sake - when will these people ever learn? How many times do we have to tell them? Trees are bad, scrub is good. We know best - and besides, I've an entire research project riding on this."
Dave rolled himself out of bed and shrugged into his dressing gown. He was grumpy, well on the way to being rabid. Why, he thought to himself, were people always so shortsighted? Who needed trees anyway? He'd give them all a piece of his mind - again. He marched down the hall, grumbling beneath his breath. The public were such ignorant fascists - complete xenophobes.
As his neared the front door his face paled. Awaiting him on the doorstep was a lynch mob. "Bugger," thought Dave, as the mob surged towards him, "why can't life be more like dreams...?"

#

In a place high above, grinning at her handiwork, a small sprite sat on a rock near a lake. Taking arrogant humans down a peg or two was such fun. But it was also hard work - there were just so many of them.

© 2007 Absolute Vanilla

(Image duly nicked off the internet, thanks to the unknown creator.)