A rather random short story written in a cafe. It has the potential to be a longer piece, but for now fits quite nicely into the mythology theme I seem to have going. The fate of the world is decided over tea and a cookie.

“This is not the place for this conversation.”

I can’t believe him. He keeps his voice so calm and level, like we’re talking about the weather or some similarly mundane smalltalk. The tea in front of him is untouched. He has a weary smile on his face and instead of drinking he is playing with the mug, pushing it from side to side, one hand to the other.

He’s infuriating. I want to punch him. I want to throw that tea in his face.

“So where is the place?” I struggle to keep my voice as calm and level as his. Don’t let him see you’re rattled. That message was drilled into me time and time again as a child. Never let him see you’re rattled, because he will use it against you.

He shrugs. “Not here. This is a happy place.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. There are only four other occupied tables in the upstairs of this airy, bright cafe. Two of them have a lone patron with a laptop and the universal harassed expression of the overly busy. One has a couple who are holding hands and smiling about something. The last has a similar couple, but leaning away from each other, and sitting in stony silence.

“This is a place,” I say. “Whether it’s happy or not depends on the people in it.”

“True.” He glances at the windows, and his smile grows a little more wistful. “But it is bright, and the music is pleasant. If you wished to have this conversation, perhaps you should have suggested meeting somewhere dark and dank and empty.”

I sigh. The urge to grab that tea and throw it in his face is getting stronger. “You suggested we meet here,” I say.

“Because I knew you would wish to have this conversation, and I knew I did not want to have it.”

He looks me straight in the eyes then. Two thoughts go through my mind. The first: I could kill him. The second: His eyes have flecks of gold in them.

The couple who are holding hands get up and leave. I watch them go. Better to watch them then watch him.

He leans back in his chair. The spell is broken; there’s no gold in his eyes now. “Eat your cookie.”

The dismissive tone is enough to test the strongest of wills. My hands have curled into fists. I want to throw this table over. I want to make a scene.

Instead, I reach out and take a bite of my cookie.

It’s good. Damn it.

I wanted to hate it, like I want to hate anything and everything he has given me. From cookies and clothes, to his attention and his powers. I don’t want those golden eyes. I don’t want to be able to feel what’s coming in my bones, so deep it’s like a crack in my skeleton. I don’t want to know what no mortal should know.

Your father is not a man, Mother used to say. Never forget that.

“When will it happen?”

“I said this is not the place for this conversation.”

“I know what you said,” I snap, and one of the lone patrons glares at me. I ignore him. “But we’re having it, just the same.”

He smiles. There’s a hint of sadness there. “Your mother always told you not to let me see when you’re rattled.”

”She did. But there’s some things I can’t hide.” I take a deep breath. I’ve let my guard down and he could have taken advantage. He could have broken straight into my mind, told me to go home and forget all about this. But he didn’t. Which means that this conversation is going to happen, and now I’m not sure whether I want it to. “When will it happen?”

“Soon.” He takes a sip of his tea. Finally. When he puts the mug back down he’s smiling. “This is good. We should have done this more often, whilst we had the chance.”

My stomach sinks. “So there’s no way to stop it?”

”I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. If that’s what you came to see me about, you will be disappointed, daughter.”

There’s nothing I can do.

I stare at him. His eyes are full gold now. “But something can be done?”

“It was decreed, millennia ago, that when the end times came we would do nothing. Every life has its course. The world is no exception to that law; we are no exception to that law.”

”So there’s no hope?” I can’t help the question. The words keep ringing in my head. There’s nothing I can do.

“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He takes another sip of his tea, and closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, they’re entirely human. “I do like this world,” he says. “I like what you’ve done with the place, so to speak. Who would have thought that by boiling leaves you could create something so pleasant? We never would have, but then we always were rather narrow minded.” I keep staring. I don’t want to speak. Speaking now could ruin everything. He meets my eyes, and smiles, and it’s the smile of a father, proud and gentle. “We gods all agreed to do nothing.”

“To just let the end times come.”

“Yes. It is the natural order of things.” He reaches out a hand. I think he’s about to take mine, but instead he breaks a part of my cookie off. “But you, daughter,” he waves the cookie at me, “you are not a god.”

My heart skips. One of the lone patrons is openly watching us now. He’s right. This isn’t the place for this conversation.

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that if you wish this world to live, you must do something about it.” He eats the corner of the cookie, and leans back in his chair. “I hope you succeed,” he says, closing his eyes. “There is so much in this world to enjoy.”

He disappears.

I’m left alone at the table with a pot of tea I don’t drink and a half-eaten cookie. The lone patron is blinking, confused. Then he returns to staring at his screen. He won’t remember my father was here. No one will.

You must do something about it.

I rest my head back against the chair, and sigh. “Well, that’s just great.”