Terror(ists) in Godsland

    Content warning: Swearing

God de Pleasure has a gold-plated copper heart.

    The crowd, however, applauded his entrance to the stage. It was a congregation of deities– both major and minor– all packed into an amalgamation of bragging and self-righteous pricks. This was a once-a-year event to celebrate Gods with outstanding performance, or merely just “best dressed.” Depends on how shit of a year it was.

Pleasure bounced along on the stage barefooted to receive his long awaited “Best Spirited” trophy. Not the greatest awards one can get, but also not the worst. God de Defecation (Yes, defecation) got the humiliating “Smells Funny” award. It was to be expected, but at the same time, insulting. Pleasure thought Defecation was a vital and important resource in nature, to be given such an award was ignorant. But what can you expect from a panel of judges who think they're the most important in the world?

As he shook the trophy in the air, the audience clapped louder. Some even whistled and hooted.

Pleasure was an entertainer who amused those around him. He is the epitome of looking stupid and being stupid. That's how you entertain the Gods these days. Not with jokes, but of self-decipration. Insulting yourself to be laughed at. A respectable joke to the community; knows he is being laughed at because it is his job. He’s the God of Pleasure after all. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” He bowed deeply and started to walk offstage, but not before accidentally tripping on his own feet and face planting. Oh, that made them laugh alright.

They patted Pleasure on the back, told him how proud they were and what-not. His arms were doing that numbness thing they do when they're tired (the trophy and all the handshakes) when he heard a sweet voice from behind.

“Why, Pleasure, this was unexpected.” God de Flowers, a truly beautiful lady despite her uselessness. She held a bouquet of roses in one arm.

Pleasure smiled. “How’s that?”

“I’d never thought you'd win the ‘Best Spirited’ award. Honestly, I find you quite pitiful. Should've won the ‘Most Sad’ award, but I guess that was already reserved for God de Sorrow.”

That catapulted the cheery atmosphere to painful levels of awkwardness. It was funny. He never thought someone would have really said it outloud.  

“Sorry you feel that way. Though, I think you're the pitiful one here, Flowers. Compared to God de Fertility, you just exist to sit still and look pretty.”

Flowers batted her eyes in disbelief. She glanced around at her colleagues, who were also unsure of whether to say something. A reluctant half-smile creased her lips before bursting out into bubbly laughter, “Oh, Pleasure, so funny! Nothing wrong with a little banter here and there, yes?” He’s the God of Pleasure after all. 

She held out the bouquet of flowers. “Here,” she said rather sternly. “I grew them in my own personal garden. Take care of them.”

“Well.” He eyed the flowers. “It is my pleasure.” 

God de Flowers frowned and glanced to the side. “Ohh!” She ogled a table surrounded by couches in the far corner. She started for it but stopped when she realized she was being impolite. “Let’s go sit, Pleasure.“ She said, more for upholding her image than wanting to continue speaking with him.

Now this was a real party. Who says Gods can’t get high? Pleasure put down his trophy and flowers and took a good big ‘ol whiff of cocaine off of the glass table. That warranted a few hoots from the circle.

"Damnnn Pleasure! Leave some for us, will ya?!" God de Greed. There's a pain in the ass if Pleasure could think of one. Greed approached from the side with a large jug of money. Well, more like a glass of expensive liquor, but it's essentially the same. 

Pleasure sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Fuck off."

"Whoa! Where did that come from?"

"What? Does it hurt your pride? I just didn't feel like entertaining your high-and-mighty asses anymore. Sue me."

"Aw, come on now." Greed kneeled on one leg and smiled that salesman grin of his. "You should be more respectful. Who do you think got you up that podium?"

A few good seconds of tense silence followed before Flowers breached the conversation. "Greed, dear, do us both a favor and go die somewhere quiet."

"I'm just acquiring what is due to me, that's all! I've raised multiple Gods from the dirt up to glory and they don't even thank me." He raised an eyebrow at Pleasure expectantly.

Sighing, Pleasure picked up his trophy from the floor and pushed it in Greed's direction. "Here. Take it. Your ego's begging for it."

"Whateshit?! No!" Flowers stepped in and slapped the trophy from Pleasure's grip. It fell to the floor with a resounding thud. Good thing it's made out of ocean polluting plastic. Flower winced before composing herself. She snapped her head towards Pleasure. "Why the hell would you wanna give this deadbeat your achievement? You don't owe him anything! He's a hack and a cheater! Feeding off your false sense of responsibility and shame."

Greed held up a hand. "Baby, please. If you had half the skills I have, you'd beg for incentives. However, I don't beg. I can wait." He raised his glass and downed it in one gulp, laying the empty cup on the table. "Keep your trophy, Pleasure. You earned it." 

"Yep." 

Shrugging, Greed waltzed back to wherever success is found.

Flowers scoffed and made herself comfortable on the couch beside Pleasure's spot on the carpeted floor. “By-the-by, Pleasure, I heard in passing that you had a brother?” She didn't even look at him.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"From one of my friends over in that little village of yours. She spoke to your mom."

"Oh." Pleasure put a hand over his chest. "She gave them her little sob story, did she?"

Flower pulled her hair back and fed her nose. She jumped and smacked the table. "FUCK! That's good." She smiled, "Your brother was the God of Pain, correct? Man, oh man, I heard he disappeared somewhere. HOLY SHIT." She moved her hands energetically in no discernable pattern. "What if he's building a super weapon right now?! Ever think about that? No, no, no, what- what if he's a cannibal?! Or a… "

Pleasure tuned her out. The itch in his chest has been getting increasingly irritating. It hurt to breathe. He's been trying to suppress it, but eventually realized this was gonna be one of those times where he couldn't simply ignore it. He stood up.

"Hey, where you going?" Flowers asked.

"Out."

"Wait!" Flowers reached across the couch to collect the roses and trophy from the floor, holding them up for him to take.

Pleasure shook his head. "Keep them."

"Aw, come on. You're gonna hurt my feelings like that? After all the work I did to pick the thorns from the roses and to keep Greed's greedy hands off?"

"What was that thing you said earlier about a false sense of responsibility and shame?"

"Just take 'em."

***

Pleasure squeezed between the guests as his chest tightened– both literally and figuratively. He even fell once when someone bumped him from behind. The deities took this as a show of amusement and laughed. Nailed it?

As he reached the steel backdoor, the itch in his chest had transformed into a burning sensation. He could feel bile coming up his throat.

The outside he found himself in was a sort of alleyway, dark, of course, quiet. And shill, more close to freezing.

Pleasure dropped the roses and leaned beside the overflowing (and sticky) dumpster. He pounded his chest. "You really are impatient. Calm yourself. If you think about it…" He patted his chest, "I practically saved you. You could have been me right now. Thank me later."

*Cough*

Huh?

Pleasure straightened himself. He inched closer to the other side of the sticky dumpster. There, on the dirty concrete floor, a person sat huddled with their knees all the way up to their neck. Wings wrapped around themselves blanket style. God de Sorrow.

"Oh hey, Sorrow. Tired of socializing?"

Sorrow shook his head. "I'm resting. My back has been hurting lately, so has my stomach." He sniffed. "Also I think I have a cold."

"Of course you're gonna catch a cold if you're sitting out in the freezing open like this on the dirty ground." Pleasure craned his head. He could see faint marks of tears on Sorrow's dusted face. Sighing, he sat down beside Sorrow. Pleasure placed his free hand on the recluse's forehead. 

"Are you checking my temperature?"

"Sort of."

Sorrow suddenly jerked forward. His eyes bulged from his eye sockets, threatening to fall out entirely. He flew spittle from his mouth like a rabid dog. All the while Pleasure held his firm grip on his forehead despite Sorrow's best attempts to claw his hand off. Then, nothing. Sorrow slacked back down. 

"Yep," Pleasure grumbled, his hand away from Sorrow. "Here it comes." He turned to the side and surrendered his dinner to gravity. Letting it all out for the bugs or whatever else might come upon it.

"Hey…! My- My back ache is gone!" Sorrow jumped up and did a little dance. "And my stomach feels great! Did you do this, Pleasure?"

"No, it was the tooth fairy."

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh." Sorrow looked to the side at the rejected dinner and it seeping into the cracks of the old concrete. "Are you okay?" He inquired with genuine concern. He was the God of Sorrow, after all. Worrying was his default.

Pleasure examined this expression. He thought back to when he fell on the way here. How the bastards didn’t even help him up, the grating laughs, and the strange black box hidden under the stage. Pleasure held his head high and asked, "Sorrow, did you plant that bomb?"

"Huh? What?" 

"The bomb. Under the stage, stuck to the wooden boards. Was that you?"

"I- I don't… " Sorrow took a step back. "The bombs?"

"I said a bomb, not multiple. Don't try to chicken-shit your way out. I saw the cords and red light. A special kind of grade. You obviously know your stuff, is it a hobby of yours? Or is it a one time thing? Based on your reaction, there's probably more than one."

"I…" He glanced at the steel backdoor, as if expecting someone to burst on through and take him to the Oubliette. Pleasure noticed the way Sorrow's wings slightly expanded, ready for take off. Guilty as ever.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna rat you out." Pleasure patted the concrete. "Come, sit. Let's talk."

The soon-to-be-terrorist hesitated. "You're not gonna talk me out of it. I've set my mind."

"I know."

Sorrow frowned, looking down at the heels of his sandals. Almost begrudgingly, he sat down in the same position Pleasure found him in.

The bustle and conversations of the ceremony could be heard from where they sat. It sounded melancholy and far away. A long gone Era. And in a sort of way it was. Pleasure traced his name on the trophy, a name which wasn't his. 

"I'm not the God of Pleasure."

Sorrow looked up, confusion marked his face. He rubbed his stomach. "Yes you are. You cured my aches."

"No. Pleasure couldn't heal anyone's pain, he could only ease it with meaningless doses of happiness. Also, your stomach ache isn't healed. By now, it has probably come back. It's not an isolated issue. I felt it in you. You have quite a few mental disorders."

A furrow of the brow told him that Sorrow was lost.

“I’m a twin, you see,” Pleasure continued. “My brother was the people pleaser– the kid everyone came to to get a kick at. My homevillage loved him, and he transformed into the God of Pleasure because of it. That only increased his popularity.

“I, on the other hand, watched from afar. I was a nobody compared to my brother. I felt useless in his presence. I wanted to hurt everyone that didn't even give me a passing glance, which included my twin. You can guess what I did next.” Sorrow shifted uncomfortably. “When the village was asleep, I strangled him. He put up quite a fight, my hands slipped once or twice during the ordeal. It took a full two minutes before he stopped breathing. Using my adrenaline, I dragged him far out into the woods where the wild animals lived. Nobody noticed. Not even as I pretended to be him. I looked the exact same and had been watching him all my life. It came naturally.” Pleasure faced Sorrow. “I’m not Pleasure– he’s in here.” He tapped his chest. “In my heart, haunting me. When someone mentions him, my heart tightens. He’s in there somewhere. The very moment Pleasure’s eyes glazed over under my grip, I became the God of Pain.”

“Is that how you were able to take away my back ache?” Sorrow asked.

Pain nodded. “I absorbed it. But I can easily give it back.”

“So your back is hurting at this moment?”

“No. I only have this pressure in my head and shoulders. But if I absorb too much than I can hold, I collapse under myself.” He snapped his fingers. “Dead. Just like that. That's why I have to cycle it in and out constantly.”

“Oh.” Sorrow stared up at the moon deep in thought. It was a full moon, bright, but not enough to reach the alleyway. If one focused hard enough, they would be able to see God de Luna up there, tending to her moon rock. After a moment, Sorrow whispered, “You ever think if we were born just a little bit earlier, we could have been totally different? Like, instead of being the God of Pain, you could have been born the God of Pleasure? And instead of God of Sorrow, I could have been, say, the God of Love? I’ve always wanted to be the God of Love.”

Pain shrugged, turning his trophy over and over in his hands.

Sorrow continued, “I wish that was the case. Then I wouldn't have had to be Sorrow. Wouldn't have had to be stuck in this body of perpetual sadness that I can’t get out of. I was born this way, so it is my responsibility to keep. But I wish I didn't have to. I hate being sick.”

Finally placing the trophy down, Pain announced, “Then let's do it.”

“Huh?”

“Let's set the explosive off in this party. We do that then the spots of those Gods would be unreserved. Actually, let’s kill everyone in this God-topia! Once we are reborn, we will be totally different.”

Sorrow smiled, hope (for the first time) in his eyes. But then he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Really… together?”

Pain lifted himself from the ground and put out a hand. There were shards of glass cutting into his feet, but he didn't mind. “You wanted to be the God of Love, right?”

As they left the revolting dumpster and vomit and guests to their impending demise, Sorrow seemed to remember something and turned around. There, on the cracked concrete, the “Best Spirited” trophy sat alone with the abandoned roses. “Hey, Pain, aren't you gonna take the trophy? It is pretty nice even if it is only plastic.”

Pain glanced behind him at the lonely trophy, watching them from afar in the shadows. He shook his head solemnly. “Nah. It was never mine to begin with. You ready with the detonator?”

Sorrow nodded, the tears dried up. 

“Alright.” Pain took a big breath. “On three, Sorrow, click the button.” They both faced the large dome building in which the ceremonial award night drew on. The windows displayed smiling folks, bantering and laughing with each other with no worry in the world. “One.” Maybe Pleasure didn’t have as much of an impact Pain thought he did. “Two.” Maybe what gave Pleasure true purpose was his own enjoyment in sharing himself with others. “Three.” Either way, it still pissed Pain off.

*Click*