The Gods are Tired

 The Gods are tired. They've been holding the world together for too long now; and they're tired, maybe even weak. They await the next Big Bang, for everything to burst into flames, so that they can bask in its heat and soak in the dirt, blood and grime. But until that time arrives, they grow more tired and weak.

Atlas' shoulders ache, his knees are bruised and sometimes even bleed. Athena is creating more and more wars to speed up the Great Doom, but she grows weaker  with every war she births. The Gods do not have endless reservoirs of golden life now. Poseidon is already dead, or maybe he is in deep slumber. Nobody has seen him in ages; maybe because he has nothing to protect anymore. The beaches are getting more polluted with every passing minute, and fishes and merpeople float, dead, open-mouthed, eyes skyward. 

Persephone and Hades are the only happy Gods, albeit tired. But they do not follow their strict routines. They lose track of it on purpose, because they don't care anymore. As a result, there are either endless summers or endless winters on the earth. And people live past 500 years or even past millenia. Hades doesn't bother to call them past the Styx nor does Thanatos bother to snatch their souls for the Underworld. People pray for quick death instead of long-life these days. The kings who killed for immortality now pray for death. Zeus is put-off by the ugly wrinkled humans and doesn't fuck around and create bastard demigods anymore. Hera would much rather him do the latter than see him. But she doesn't care enough to throw fits about anything. Marriages fail, babies die in wombs; which actually helps with the inactivity of Thanatos and Hades. Demeter has given up. But even the lack of crops and food has not killed any humans. Helios and Appolo fall asleep often while on their paths, causing endless days. Or else they don't bother waking up on time and cause endless nights. Selene phases as she please these days. The moon wax and wanes without any pattern. Hermes lazes around without delivering news, nobody cares about receiving it either. His golden sandals lies there with broken straps and dusty wings. Artemis doesn't get up to hunt, nor does she caress the beautiful maidens lying around her. She drinks and sleeps. Nobody cares anymore. The Gods are all tired.