The Bowling Bet

Zeus and Poseidon strolled into the *Olympic Lanes*, a celestial bowling alley perched atop the clouds, reserved only for the gods. The bowling alley buzzed with its own divine energy—lanes stretched endlessly into the horizon, with balls made from polished stardust and pins shaped like miniature white marble temples.

“Are you ready to lose, brother?” Zeus boomed, holding up his sparkling ball, crackling faintly with electricity. Poseidon smirked, adjusting his sea-blue bowling shirt embroidered with a golden trident.

“I think you’re forgetting who taught you how to bowl, Zeus. And it wasn’t Athena,” Poseidon replied with a wink. He had his own stardust bowling ball, adorned with swirling currents of water inside, like a captured ocean storm.

They agreed on a wager. If Zeus won, Poseidon had to organize the next *Olympiad*. If Poseidon won, Zeus would have to dredge the Aegean for whatever treasures Poseidon deemed fit. They shook on it, thunder and waves clashing for a moment in the air.

Zeus was up first. He flexed his muscles, lined up his shot, and sent his ball hurtling down the lane with a deafening rumble. It was a perfect strike. The pins flew in every direction like they had been hit by a hurricane. Zeus pumped his fist into the air, then—like he always did when he was excited—he hurled a lightning bolt straight up into the sky. It cracked through the heavens, sending a ripple of light through the clouds.

But little did Zeus know, Hermes was nearby, observing from a cloud bench, invisible. As soon as Zeus turned his back to Poseidon, basking in his own glory, Hermes saw his opportunity. He darted to the lane and, with a mischievous grin, stood one of the pins back up.

Poseidon’s eyes glinted as he watched Hermes vanish from the lane. Zeus, blissfully unaware, sauntered back to the seating area, grinning from ear to ear. “Top that, brother.”

Poseidon chuckled. “Oh, I will.”

The sea god took his shot, and though it wasn’t as flashy as Zeus’s, it was steady and strong. His ball crashed into the pins, leaving just one standing. He shrugged, knowing this was part of the plan.

Zeus was up again. He grabbed his ball, still crackling with energy, and rolled it with such force that the air around the lane shimmered. The ball smashed into the pins—another strike! Zeus bellowed with laughter, another lightning bolt hurled into the sky with a crack. This time the clouds darkened a bit.

“Perhaps you should save your energy for our wager,” Poseidon teased, barely able to contain his grin.

Hermes, now growing bolder, sneaked forward again. This time, he set two pins back up, their pristine marble gleaming innocently on the lane. When Zeus turned back, he blinked in confusion, his brow furrowing. “I was sure I knocked all those down.”

Poseidon snickered. “I guess even kings of the gods have their off days.”

Zeus glared, but quickly shrugged it off. He was still confident. “Just a fluke,” he muttered under his breath.

By the time the game reached its final frame, Zeus had racked up an impressive score. He had knocked down strike after strike—at least according to him. Yet every time he turned his back, Hermes had artfully sabotaged the lanes, standing up just enough pins to keep Poseidon in the running.

Poseidon, on the other hand, bowled calmly and consistently. Spare after spare, with an occasional strike. Nothing too flashy, but steady like the tide.

As Zeus lined up for his final frame, he knew this was it. Victory was within his grasp. All he needed was one more strike. He wound up, sparks flying from his fingertips, and sent the ball roaring down the lane.

Boom! The pins exploded in all directions, except for one. Zeus's face fell. A single pin remained standing—a pin that should’ve been obliterated by his thunderous shot.

“No way!” he cried. “That was perfect!”

Poseidon crossed his arms, grinning. “Not quite perfect, brother. But let’s see how I finish.”

Zeus fumed silently as Poseidon rolled his last ball. As if the ocean itself was guiding it, the ball swept down the lane and crashed into the pins—another spare.

Hermes, still invisible, took this moment to whisper softly into Zeus's ear, “Maybe your aim is just a little off today.”

Zeus whirled around, but saw nothing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had felt something, but he wasn’t sure what.

At the end of the game, the score appeared on the ethereal scoreboard above: **Poseidon: 190, Zeus: 189.**

Poseidon threw his arms up in victory. “Looks like I win, dear brother.”

Zeus stood there, slack-jawed, staring at the score. “How is that even possible? I’m Zeus!”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Poseidon laughed. “I guess the sea's might outshines the sky today.”

Just as Poseidon collected his winnings—a scroll that obligated Zeus to dredge the Aegean—Hermes reappeared, leaning casually against the lane divider, twirling a bowling pin in his hand.

“Well played, Uncle,” Hermes said with a wink. “Though it helps when your nephew lends a hand.”

Zeus’s eyes blazed with sudden realization. “Hermes! I should’ve known!”

Poseidon burst into laughter. “You didn’t think I’d leave this entirely up to chance, did you, brother?”

Zeus grumbled, sparks flying from his fingertips, but eventually even he couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I guess I owe you a clean ocean.”

Hermes chimed in. “And next time, Zeus, try to aim those lightning bolts better. I was nearly fried out there.”

With a final booming laugh, Zeus promised to exact revenge in their next contest—but this time, without any invisible tricksters meddling in his strikes.

The end

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