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The Weather's Whims
In the early days, I was happy, drifting along stormy shores, soaring with the clouds above a forest, ever blissful. I watched as small life forms rose out of the sea and began to grow over the millennium. Time was nothing to me, I could blink and see a species die, I could stop to think and continents would drift.
With my passing came storms and clouds and rain, and the early humans learned to expect my coming. They would watch for my clouds, they would prepare for my rain, and they would celebrate when I cleared the clouds so the Sun could kiss earth again.
They humans grew smarter, and they began to build houses to keep out my rain, they began to guard against my coming, and they began to fear my spasms, my random acts of tornadoes and hurricanes, but appreciate my small boons, like a sunny day in the middle of one of my storms, placed perfectly so the humans wouldn’t die.
As I watched the humans play, I grew cold and lonely. I let the earths temperatures sink, let snow blanket the humans villages, let walls of ice encroach ever closer. They called it an ice age, and they begged me to stop, but I was lost in my loneliness, and I could not hear their cries.
But gradually I recovered, I rose out of my depression, I ascended into the skies and let the Sun warm the earth once more. This happened countless times, my sorrow and my joy, a cycle I expected would never end.
But then, I became happy again, like those early days so long ago, and for thousands of years the humans felt my joy. Civilizations rose and fell each one greater than the last. The Samarians, the Greeks, the Romans, one after another.
But then, it crashed, as another god, another omnipotent being like me played its move. The plague struck the landmass the humans would call Europe, and it revenged Europe’s rolling hills with its deadly bacteria.
For a moment in my mind, years for the humans, I wondered if I should let them die. And die they did, and as they died my loneliness blossomed again. I realized I had to save the humans, they needed my protection. So I steered storms from dying towns, I cleared the way for ships bearing doctors, and finally the plague left, and the world was happy again.
The plague struck many times more throughout the ages, as the English and Spanish and the French grew, but each time the humans were better than before, and each time it left quicker than the last. Soon the humans were soaring in their technology, and governments could protect their people from my existence.
For you see, even though I loved the humans, I must still rain so the crops may flourish, I must still create tornadoes and hurricanes and windstorms, for otherwise I would die, my clouds systems would fail, and I would be banished the way the humans banished the plague.
Then, the humans began to hurt themselves in their world wars, and we gods, the sea, the plague, the earth, countless other lords of elements and feelings, could only watch. They humans were smart now, and their world fixed itself, without our help.
But the wars were the start of a steep and slippery slope. The human’s factories blackened my clouds and fog, and poisoned my clean air. I let the temperature rise in my anger at their dismissal of all I have given them. They are killing me, and I will kill them. My emotions are fierce, and they come and go fast. The humans will fall at my wrath, unless they learn to respect me, Weather almighty, again. Only then will I cool my heat, which the humans have already given a name to. They call it Global Warming. I rather like the name.