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Sleepless on a Grain of Sand
The halls of Morpheus stood tall and vast, but Father’s booming voice filled them to bursting.
“And another thing!” Hypnos shouted, slamming his fist on the table. He was on his fourth thing. “The other gods at discus throw are calling me God of No-Sleep! Can you believe it?”
“Isn’t that better than Dream Daddy?” suggested Phantasus.
Hypnos cuffed his son behind the ear. “I liked being Dream Daddy, you stone-faced fool! We need to figure out what the hell’s going on here!”
Morpheus looked to his brothers for assistance in calming their irate father, but Icelus was busy combing his cat’s fur, and Phantasus, cowed, was studying something at the bottom of his glass of honey wine.
Hypnos kept on: “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s those things they imported from out east, they keep them up at night so long that they aren’t having dreams anymore! What are they called again? Those things that fit in their clothes and give them endless entertainment.”
“Camels?” said Icelus.
“Tablets?” said Phantasus.
“That’s them, tablets!” Hypnos gave his youngest son a queer look before continuing. “They chisel all kinds of terrible filth into those things. Like what Zeus has been up to!”
Morpheus’s brothers shuddered. Morpheus would have shuddered too, but lately he didn’t feel so high and mighty about what Zeus got up to on his weekends.
For it was all his fault that the dreams were dying—he knew it, but nobody else in the room did. He’d been slipping for eons. And it was last night—that heat-soaked, wine-soaked, bodily-fluid-soaked night—that was the lowest he’d fallen, and he was trawling his brain for a story the room would find more palatable.
But the memory of that night pummelled his brain into submission. His thoughts still flicked back to her, that hourglass of a woman he’d met at a human party, with her luscious black hair and the one tit hanging out. She’d told him she was the goddess of the night, and with a snap of her fingers she made the stars ripple. He wished he had a snap-trick. He could conjure up anything in a dream with a snap, but the sound made whoever was in the dream wake up with a start, so it was a waste of time. She’d asked if he was a god too, since he could see her, and in a panic he’d told her he was mostly human, only he’d been touched by a god as a child, and she must have been pitifully lonely because it was then she’d asked if he’d like to be touched by another one.
And it was only when their bodies had cooled and they’d settled into each others' embrace to watch a distant thunderstorm roll by that he’d remembered that his grandmother was the goddess of the night.
“I like the tablets,” said Phantasus. “They’re neat.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what they’ve been chiseling about you,” muttered Hypnos. “And another thing! There’s this young godling traipsing around in dreams and healing the nightmares of the children! She’s upstaging us! Can you believe it?”
“You mean she’s not instilling the children with fear of our wrath?” said Icelus. Morpheus held back a snort. Icelus had about as much wrath in him as a pool of candle wax.
“Quite the opposite!” said Hypnos. He shook his head. “Fourteen hundred millenia and she thinks she’s a grown-up.”
Phantasus looked deep in thought. “Is she cute?” he asked.
“Well, she’s a horse.”
“So… yes?” said Icelus.
The room gave Icelus a queer look.
“Sure,” he pouted. “I'm the only freak in the room.”
Hypnos slammed his fist on the table once more. “Morpho my boy!”
Morpheus awoke from his reverie. “Father?”
“You’ve been quiet. Tell me you have a solution to this.”
“Um.”
Morpheus looked to his brothers again. Phantasus fingered his glass, creating a pleasant humming noise. It drove Icelus’s cat to lean over and bat at his hand to stop. But both brothers looked at him expectantly.
“Well?” prompted Hypnos. “Tell me you at least have an excuse. We’re asleep at the chariot here!”
With a flash of inspiration, Morpheus remembered that gods did not sleep. They didn’t have to. But they could, if they wanted. And it wasn’t the best excuse, but it was a sight better than telling your father you slept with his mother.
“Really.” Morpheus gave his family a conniving look. “You’re going to laugh.”
“And another thing!” Hypnos shouted, slamming his fist on the table. He was on his fourth thing. “The other gods at discus throw are calling me God of No-Sleep! Can you believe it?”
“Isn’t that better than Dream Daddy?” suggested Phantasus.
Hypnos cuffed his son behind the ear. “I liked being Dream Daddy, you stone-faced fool! We need to figure out what the hell’s going on here!”
Morpheus looked to his brothers for assistance in calming their irate father, but Icelus was busy combing his cat’s fur, and Phantasus, cowed, was studying something at the bottom of his glass of honey wine.
Hypnos kept on: “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s those things they imported from out east, they keep them up at night so long that they aren’t having dreams anymore! What are they called again? Those things that fit in their clothes and give them endless entertainment.”
“Camels?” said Icelus.
“Tablets?” said Phantasus.
“That’s them, tablets!” Hypnos gave his youngest son a queer look before continuing. “They chisel all kinds of terrible filth into those things. Like what Zeus has been up to!”
Morpheus’s brothers shuddered. Morpheus would have shuddered too, but lately he didn’t feel so high and mighty about what Zeus got up to on his weekends.
For it was all his fault that the dreams were dying—he knew it, but nobody else in the room did. He’d been slipping for eons. And it was last night—that heat-soaked, wine-soaked, bodily-fluid-soaked night—that was the lowest he’d fallen, and he was trawling his brain for a story the room would find more palatable.
But the memory of that night pummelled his brain into submission. His thoughts still flicked back to her, that hourglass of a woman he’d met at a human party, with her luscious black hair and the one tit hanging out. She’d told him she was the goddess of the night, and with a snap of her fingers she made the stars ripple. He wished he had a snap-trick. He could conjure up anything in a dream with a snap, but the sound made whoever was in the dream wake up with a start, so it was a waste of time. She’d asked if he was a god too, since he could see her, and in a panic he’d told her he was mostly human, only he’d been touched by a god as a child, and she must have been pitifully lonely because it was then she’d asked if he’d like to be touched by another one.
And it was only when their bodies had cooled and they’d settled into each others' embrace to watch a distant thunderstorm roll by that he’d remembered that his grandmother was the goddess of the night.
“I like the tablets,” said Phantasus. “They’re neat.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what they’ve been chiseling about you,” muttered Hypnos. “And another thing! There’s this young godling traipsing around in dreams and healing the nightmares of the children! She’s upstaging us! Can you believe it?”
“You mean she’s not instilling the children with fear of our wrath?” said Icelus. Morpheus held back a snort. Icelus had about as much wrath in him as a pool of candle wax.
“Quite the opposite!” said Hypnos. He shook his head. “Fourteen hundred millenia and she thinks she’s a grown-up.”
Phantasus looked deep in thought. “Is she cute?” he asked.
“Well, she’s a horse.”
“So… yes?” said Icelus.
The room gave Icelus a queer look.
“Sure,” he pouted. “I'm the only freak in the room.”
Hypnos slammed his fist on the table once more. “Morpho my boy!”
Morpheus awoke from his reverie. “Father?”
“You’ve been quiet. Tell me you have a solution to this.”
“Um.”
Morpheus looked to his brothers again. Phantasus fingered his glass, creating a pleasant humming noise. It drove Icelus’s cat to lean over and bat at his hand to stop. But both brothers looked at him expectantly.
“Well?” prompted Hypnos. “Tell me you at least have an excuse. We’re asleep at the chariot here!”
With a flash of inspiration, Morpheus remembered that gods did not sleep. They didn’t have to. But they could, if they wanted. And it wasn’t the best excuse, but it was a sight better than telling your father you slept with his mother.
“Really.” Morpheus gave his family a conniving look. “You’re going to laugh.”
Pics
I like this adaptation of Greek myths to the modern day. I do find it odd that a grandmother wouldn't recognize her own grandson. Though I suppose the family trees of immortals get rather lengthy. Nice way to use Luna as well, but it felt more like a meme inclusion. Is she real? Everyone seems to think so, but this is a human world, so Luna exists there? Or they're fooled into thinking a fictional character is real? If the former, it takes a lot more world building to support it, and if the latter, you've missed a great opportunity for an additional joke.
You stuck to Morpheus's perspective well, except in one spot, where you have him recovering from a reverie. Somehow while he was lost in thought, the narration still managed to describe what was going on around him. It doesn't sound like he's in a reverie.
For the most part, it's easy enough to understand. I don't recognize most of these characters, as they're rather obscure ones, so I don't know if there's more context I'd get out of the story by knowing his brothers' backgrounds.
The "kids these days!" humor as applied to gods is funny, and then it transfers to the cringe joke, which is fine, but the the problem is it doesn't go anywhere from there. It kind of has a plateau of discomfort while Morpheus tries to sugar-coat what he has to say, but it essentially ends on the same joke that was made halfway through.
You stuck to Morpheus's perspective well, except in one spot, where you have him recovering from a reverie. Somehow while he was lost in thought, the narration still managed to describe what was going on around him. It doesn't sound like he's in a reverie.
For the most part, it's easy enough to understand. I don't recognize most of these characters, as they're rather obscure ones, so I don't know if there's more context I'd get out of the story by knowing his brothers' backgrounds.
The "kids these days!" humor as applied to gods is funny, and then it transfers to the cringe joke, which is fine, but the the problem is it doesn't go anywhere from there. It kind of has a plateau of discomfort while Morpheus tries to sugar-coat what he has to say, but it essentially ends on the same joke that was made halfway through.
I agree mostly with what Pasco said here. I commend your imagination for Greek names, but the story is rather confused and frankly hard to follow. I am partly at a loss to pinpoint the conflict and the resolution, though I get the joke about the deprived morality of immortals :p
But apart from that, the story feels overly complex with a lot of characters whose role is not clear, and the arc is hard to single out amidst the profuse lines of dialogue.
But apart from that, the story feels overly complex with a lot of characters whose role is not clear, and the arc is hard to single out amidst the profuse lines of dialogue.
