Jormungand writhed about the feet of Janus as Quetzalcoatl returned to the shores from which Ra departs each day.
The hero of the story stood before them, in awe.
What answers could they provide?
More important yet, what questions could be asked of them?
He pulled out his eye and cast it into the River Styx.
“Why am I alone?” asked the hero. “What did I do that I deserved to be forsaken?”
“You did nothing at all to deserve it,” answered the snake(s) of Coatlique’s face. “And that is the greatest crime of all.”
The hero watched as the woman had to empty her cup and Loki screamed in pain as the venom struck his eyes. The shriek shook the mountain, causing Sisyphus to drop his crucifix.
“So it’s meaningless then?”
“Everything has meaning,” Izanagi told him. “Which makes meaning fairly meaningless.”
Ishmael and Abel ran past the hero, fleeing Cain and Jacob. Hades cursed Zeus for his trickery.
“I don’t understand.”
“Now you’re getting somewhere,” said Coyote. “The first step is admitting you don’t know you have a problem.”
Hercules got drunk and ran Balder through with mistletoe. The world ended.
“Where do I go now? What can I do?”
“Forward,” Anansi told him, “Something.”
The flood then receded, and Brahma helped Noah unload the animals.
“And what of love?” asked the hero of the story.
“Good question,” the universe told him.