Chronus, The Father of Time, stood at his frying pan. Bacon wafted through his dwelling. Taking time out. He chuckled at his own lame joke. Time stood still for no bastard. Mortals should stop praying to him. No dodging The Grim Reaper.
One voice nagged him, a cry for a do-over. Damn-it couldn’t he eat in peace? Zeus never had to put up with this crap; one lightning bolt, his job done.
Chronus flashed before an old man.
“Get on the rollercoaster and prayers will be answered.”
Excited, the man bounced into the rollercoaster car. The ride began to move.
Telepathically, Chronus sent his mate a message, “Grim, I have a job for you.”
Cronus bit into sandwich; his prayers answered.
* ~ *
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