This is 21st Century Leda. Our narrator is Zeus, dallying with a girl in a pub, while he ponders on the fate of his fellow deities...
I'm not much more than a man now, without your worship. Enough adulation can bring forth a God in the space of a mortal lifetime or two. Maybe less, in this global village we now inhabit – I no longer scoff at stories that Elvis has been sighted alive. But when the glory days fade, we fade with them. You occasionally read about us, and there’s a few movies made that remind you of us – not that the ones I’ve seen are up to much, though Liam Neeson almost looks like me.
I'm better off than some. Loki's in prison in Germany for fraud, and Horus' airline business just went into administration.
Leda’s smiling. I slip an arm around her waist and gently lead her towards the stairs. I’m never quite sure whether it’s my masculinity that gets them, or that I'm the executive director of a company. Means I’m rich. May not be power, but it’s better than being a nobody, like Ares. I always thought he had some backbone – but since the advent of gunpowder he’s been a broken man. The God of War who replaced him was once an oriental Dragon, and he's quite at home with the savageries of modern conflicts.