To get the full story, start with EPISODE 1
‘So, how’s life in the living statue business, buddy?`
This was the question-in-lieu-of-a-greeting used by one of the shaggy dogs from Zeus’ entourage who would come by every three days, sporting a different coiffeur of caked mud on his head. I probably should remember his name, but I refuse to do so with creatures that wash biennially. A wash a year, keeps the friends near.
Turns out, this question was not a remark on how rarely Zeus would get off his ass, but an honest interest with regards his vocation. Zeus made his living as a… living statue. Or tried to, anyways. Now, you might rightfully ask: how is that a thing? Whom would expect a dog to be an ideal of immobility? Some dog owners might have an open mind and encourage such exotic career choices in their pets, but Zeus’ owner – and tragically, now mine – was Slava. Slava the poacher.
Living as one of Slava’s dogs was no vie Boheme. The good thing about it was the plural – Slava could never stop at having one of anything, and so, luckily, Zeus’ silent revolution could go by without major reprisals from the Man.
‘So, any plans for today, eh?’ asked the aforementioned shaggy canine.
`Just sit here and chill`, I said, easing into character. I might as well, since I had no idea about how I could undo this whole body reversal at that moment.
After all, despite the initial chagrin this switch had caused me, I was pleasantly surprised to find I had landed into a rather like-minded creature’s form. Here was a guy who understood and valued stasis for the precious inactivity it was. You see, both of us thought that people were basically just moving about frantically, trying to play their part in the grand theater of life. But what this achieves for the vast majority of them is bumping into whatever stuff other people had managed to build, knocking the thing over and then either sweeping it under the rug – thus ruining some poor wretch’s hard work – or try to persuade others that their ability to clear up space is a vital skill, that will give future generations the opportunity to express themselves and `who’d miss that old thing, anyway?`.
‘Don’t you ever get bored of sitting around? If you’re not careful, life just might pass you by!’
‘Oh, yeah? Missing out on much, am I?’
Of course, I already knew the answer to that question. When people tell you about life passing you by, what they mean is – you need a good plot. But most days, I just think: Plot? What plot? I know that any life story worth the paper it is written on must contain a vital part that shows the protagonist getting off his or her ass at some point. And that is why I advise anyone looking to write a story to stick to vignettes.
Well, I guess I cannot postpone this forever. Stalling is an unsung virtue. Let’s get to the ‘plot-y’ part of this account.
So, the situation I was in was not particularly great. In fact, it was shit, but I had a great ability to see the good side of a shit deal because life had been happening to me since I was born and my name was Zeus, remember? Until one day…