One day he appeared. He sat. He watched. He waited. He did not speak.

The IRC filled with people reveling in their good time happy feelings.

He sat. He watched. He waited. He did not speak.

People began to drift away. The Good time happy dance was ending.

People came. People went.

Still he sat. He watched. He waited. He did not speak.

He became a messiah. A beacon of light. Worshippers sacrificed themselves at his feet.

Still he sat. He watched. He waited. He did not speak.

Worship turned to anger. What good was this God if he could not save them? Could not do anything for them?

Still he sat. He watched. He waited. He did not speak.

Tumbleweeds drift through his domain. His companion - an actual Norse God. Silently they survey what they have wrought.

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“Who are you!?” I cry. I beat my chest with hands that seem small. Ineffectual. I curse his name. I spit on his temples. I goad him to fight me. I rage against the injustice of his existence.

Still he sits. Still he watches. Still he waits. He did not speak.