Nectar of the Gods

The sky was emerald, the sun was crimson, and the air was tight. Not exactly what I expected the end of the world to look like. Then again, no one really expected to survive when the gods returned.

I was one of the unfortunate who did, chosen by the gods to manufacture their nectar.

That vile nectar.

The same nectar that polluted our skies and poisoned our rivers, it filled their distended bellies until they bulged.

The gods warned us never to consume the nectar—warned us with a zap of their shocking weaponry until we smelled of burning flesh. No one ever neared the main vat twice.

But that was before they took my sister. Before she had injured her leg and been deemed “unfit to work”. Before I had figured out the schedule for the changing of the guards and snuck a cupful of nectar out of the vat.

Now, I hide in my sleeping alcove, ready to taste the nectar of the gods. It burns my throat and lips, but I cannot stop drinking it. The heat of a thousand suns is sliding down my esophagus, but I do not want to stop.

Tears gather at the edges of my eyes as I see what only the gods get to see. Colors beyond imagination. Swirling lights. The faces of all those I have lost.

The cup rolls out of my hand as the nectar provides me with one final gift.

My sister.

Author’s Note: This story was inspired by #51 of Sirena Carroll’s 100 fiction writing prompts, which can be found here: