I was arrested last night, for being drunk and disorderly, in a public park, but I could see the truth.

They arrested me because I’m a god.

I sit on a cot with a wool blanket draped over my shoulders in a brick cell.

I have a barred window and a toilet that drips consistently for company.

“Hey Nich,” A Detective said. “It’s me Tyrone. Heard they picked you up at the park again last night.”

“Was looking for my boys,” I half lied.

He nodded. “The one with the hammer and the one with the mischievous smile?”

I knew his story and the truth. He lost his hand, like loyal Bedivere, to a wolf on a hunting trip, but my eye saw the truth about Detective Tyrone. I saw Tyr, god of war, and he still blamed me for the broken promise that lead to the loss of his hand to Fenris.

“Old one-eyed Nich,” Another voice named me, half-right.

“Officer Gia,” Tyr said to my sometimes wife Frigga in a policeman’s uniform. Her hair still golden. “Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”

She smiled. “Wanted to check on the old man.”

“Old Man!” I snapped standing to face my captors. “Old indeed, I have been around since Surtur’s fires barely flickered in the endless void, but I am no man!”

“Relax Nich,” Tyr laughed. “Gia didn’t mean nothing by it.”

I turned to the barred window, to watch as the sun set. That’s exactly what bothers me most… meaning nothing.

“Did I not hang myself by the world tree for seven days to learn the secrets of magic?”

“He’s rambling now,” Frigga laughed.

“Was it not I who returned Kvasir’s poetic blood from the brother Dwarves?”

“You need some lunch,” Tyr told Frigga and pulled out two golden apples.

“Thanks,” She took a bite. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

They left and I put my ear to the window trying to listen for my sons in joyous warfare or screams of agony, but all I hear is the toilet drip. I sit and hope there’s a snake in the drain