This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted to Purple. Check out her blog and click on the blue InLinkz frog below to read other stories and to add your own.
The Wrath of Olympus
We watched the building burn.
“How did the fire start?”
I saw again that strange, terrible face; the lightning strike, impossibly near. I looked to our mother, impossibly beautiful, even covered in soot. She wasn’t supposed to survive. None of us were, but even gods are fallible. So our mother taught us.
“I said no,” she said.
The official asked another question, but she beckoned us to her, and even numb with shock, we came.
“We won’t return,” she said. “Tell the landlord we’re sorry.”
Against his protest, our mother touched all three of us, whispered, and we were gone.