Chatper 10

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Edited**

The night before was rough to sleep through, if I am being perfectly honest. My head was full of images and old memories from Hell and my time on Earth.

Primarily, I relived my explosion and decimation of Pompeii. I was there to collect those who died. Father told me it was a shame that the lava could not finish most of the population, but he was proud of my first natural disaster. A growing girl, he explained to my uncle at the council meeting. She's just learning, he said.

In the 1300's, the Black Death Plague was my fault too. Father liked my symptoms I laced along with the plague. My family was old by this time, but I was still just a young child. Another meeting was called. The argument more intense than I ever witnessed, but Father still defended me from my aunts and uncles.  It's our job. We were meant to bring about death throughout the masses. The population deserved it when they forgot about us, when they stopped paying tribute. They reap what they sow. 

By the 1700's, my family was dead. I did the only thing I knew how to do- cause death. I planted the idea of the independence of the colonies to bring about the Revolutionary War. For the remaining time of the century, the catacombs in the ruins of ancient Rome was a fine gateway between Hell and Earth. 

I relished in the fact that just planting a small idea could cause a world war. It was better than any plague I could ever create. Men were violent in nature and all I had to do was sit back and watch as my new population rolled into Hell. In the fifties, I went for what most would call a vacation, just to live a normal life. I grew at a mortal rate. I learned meaningless topics in schools. I ate more than nectar and honey. 

It was a satisfactory life. 

But why was I the only offspring of the ancient gods?

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