Prometheus Now

Prometheus charged down the mountainside. His gift of heat and light danced atop the branch in his right hand. Behind him the pantheon was stirring, yet the titan cared not; this, he thought, would usher in the new age.

As he approached the stone walls of the village he was greeted with a curious sight. His entry was not blocked not by a gate, but by a mass of villages placards in hand.

He halted in front on the group and studied them. Each were clothed in gowns of fine cloth, their cheeks rosy with the juice of the finest grapes from the vineyards to the west of the town. Some, sitting at the back of the group, folded up their well worded gazettes and joined the throng.
One, a young student with confidence in her stride, approached, and spat in the face of poor Prometheus. Others rushed to restrain her. She was shouting “child killer” as she was dragged off.

Those at the back of the throng fixed their spectacles. They muttered a few mute words of disapproval, yet would latter gleefully recount her action.

Prometheus wiped the spit from his face. A man, slightly older than the student, stepped forward. He was dressed robes that displayed a wealth which he looked like he’d never strained to earn.

“I am spokesman for the citizens who are disgusted with your attempts to destroy us all,” he said in a carefully rehearsed voice, which appeared considered and earnest in tone.
“Excuse me?” Prometheus responded.

“Have you,” the young spokesman continued, “thought about the horror you are about to unleash? That thing,” he pointed to the flame, “will turn humanity to ashes!”

As Prometheus was thinking of an answer, a high priest shuffled out of the crowd. His garb was of warm and thick wools and silks; he fiddled with his long grey beard.

“My son,” began the priest, his voice giving the impression of learning and reason, “who are we to play gods? Seeking knowledge is divine, only if the ends are divine. That abomination which you would seek to let loose on us may profess to give us warmth, but at what cost?”

Before Prometheus could begin his argument the eagle swooped. It’s talons ripped into his back as it lifted him off to Olympus. The jealous gods would have their judgement. As Prometheus was carried skyward, the branch dropped from his hand. The flame extinguished as it fell to the ground.

Prometheus cast a last glance at the village. Well behind the now cheering protesters, he saw a child in rags. The poor infant was shivering and crying.