The Gods Are Dead. The Gods Are Dying. The Gods Are Us.

The old gods are dead.

Zues sits behind a bar, he'll buy a thousand and one drinks and the girls who he smiles at raise their eyebrows and think about the pepper spray in their purse.

Hera waits at home. She knows the numbers of all of the girls and she has their Facebooks open on the computer. Her hands hover over the keyboard, she wants to tell them that men will always lie. She wants to take her own advice. She never will.

Apollo and Artemis travel the world. They avoid each other as much as they possibly can, except for every once in awhile when they're forced to cross paths and to once again create a beautiful rarity that is called an eclipse.

Poseidon wanders the shore. He wears a poncho and carries a big bag of trash. His tears mix with saltwater. No one can tell the difference. A girl with hair that moves like serpents, trails after him, retribution in her eyes.

Athena paces through college campuses, handing out pamphlets on architecture. She scoffs at professors who are simply going through the motions. She carries signs in her hands as she marches through the streets with students, screaming about the newest problem. She laughs wild, these children, these fearless children are her people.

Hestia wants her family to come home. She waits in the doorway, arms outstretched and a smile like forgiveness waiting to embrace the siblings she knows will never return.

Hades lays in bed, his wife curled around him. He smiles because people will always believe in death and finally, finally he has beaten his brothers at something.

The gods are dying. The gods are dead. The gods are us.