“It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair. We’re only three hours into the game. You’ll get yours back if you just keep playing!”
“How come you keep on getting sixes. The dice is loaded if you ask me.”
“It’s not. You won the LAST game. With the SAME dice. And you walked away with I don’t know how many thousand points and did I complain? No. I just said ok, congratulations! Don’t be such a sore loser.”
“Anyway, there’s still plenty of time,” Horus interjected, looking from Zog to Baal and rolling his eyes. He covered a yawn. Monopoly bored him. Why, he thought, do we play these interminable games? It’s not as if it achieves anything! And yet, what else is there to do round here?
Baal threw the die again, and smirked.
“I get New York. Let’s see now – New York, London, Tokyo and the whole of Africa. If you land on Africa a million of your lot get AIDS.”
“I’m sick of this game!” Zog burst out, and with one sweep of his fist, the board buckled and the counters went hurtling to the floor. Horus sighed. They’d be at it again tomorrow. And the day after that. Civilisations rose. Civilisations fell. With boring predictability.
A man called Dave looked out of his hotel bedroom window as a wall of water loomed improbably towards him.
“Jesus!” he said, “Oh my God!”
The three deities glanced down and snickered.
“You have to admit,” said Zog, “it IS funny to hear them squealing. It’s as if they think we CARE!”