Suitable Employment

Friday Flash Fiction by Sabrina Rosen

The flame in the oil lamp that rested in the small shrine had gone out. It was not the first time this happened, but somehow this particular incident felt like a knife through her etherium. Hestia felt the tiny diminishment of her being that came with the inattention.

The hearth had once been central to civilization; a bright fire that warmed the house and cooked the food. The center of the home was where nourishment was prepared, and people gathered to interact and know each other. Now…

Hestia sighed. A Human gesture to be sure, but it seemed appropriate.

She didn’t just miss open fireplaces. If only it were that simple.

With a thought, she became a streak of flame.

Feeling thin, she drifted through the city, not using enough energy to be visible to the eyes of sentient beings. While she had always before stayed near the homes that were her temple, now she floated into the downtown.

The nighttime streets were brightly lit and teamed with Humans, and other species.

Why had she never stopped to wonder why so few of her worshipers were at home at any given moment? They had to be here, amid this surging chaos.

She smelled fire. And food. So much food.

People laughed. Centaurs stood at tall tables with Humans, a dryad shared a nook with an undine.

All were talking. smiling.

They seemed happy.

Inns she knew. The bright blaze of the warm hearth would attract the poor who could not afford the money for fuel in their own homes.

But these were not inns. They were only buildings with a huge kitchen and many tables.

But so many people… and all eating and talking.

Some groups were families, others clearly unrelated.

“Restaurants. They’re called restaurants.”

Hestia looked up, seeing Hermes next to her. He looked apologetic.

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“Is this your doing? Is this why my lamps have been going out?” Suddenly she was angry. He had known this! He had to have realized she was fading and had told her nothing!

“I think so. Instead of cooking, people come here.” He looked around himself at the lively crowd.

Hestia wanted to ask why, but it was obvious. These people were happy. They liked going to these people-filled rooms and eating in groups.

And she couldn’t make people want what they did not. She might be able to frighten them, but what good would that do? Fear was poor manna. It was desire that gave them the power to move forward with their lives.

Hermes floated closer to her. He glowed with energy, as a deity of commerce, he was doing well in this world, while she, Goddess of the Hearth, faded. Some of the houses she visited barely had kitchens at all. Certainly few had open fireplaces anymore, even if the gift of a tip-proof, open flame stone lamp was still traditional when people got married. So many of these were never even filled now.

She scowled and turned away from Hermes. The heat of flame drew her through the big swinging door into the kitchen. Heat billowed around her as the man standing at the stove yelled, “where’s my diced garlic?” He flipped shrimp in a frying pan and another young man brought a bowl of the requested item, hurrying back to his cutting table without a word.

These people did not seem so happy. Not relaxed like those at the tables.

And yet, they were focused. Intent, surrendering some of their personal happiness so that the people in the dining room could smile and be without care for a time.

This was worthy. She turned back to Hermes. “Are all… restaurants… like this?”

“The ones that are successful yes.”

“And the ones that aren’t?”

Hermes nodded, gesturing to his right. “There is still need for you… if you wish it. I… don’t want you to go. Please. I can’t do everything.”

Hestia looked sharply at him. Hermes looked… hopeful.

Turning where he indicated, she drifted through the wall to the next establishment. It was dark and quiet, the oven cold. A big, balding man sat slumped over a small table, a nearly empty bottle of wine next to him.

“I can’t,” he muttered. “I’m so tired.”

“Can’t what?” Hestia asked, materializing.

The man sat up straight, mouth open, bloodshot eyes wide. “How’d you get in here? The door is locked.” Then he squinted, “you’re glowing…”

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“What can’t you do?” She felt a thread of hope. This man had a need. She could tell.

“Can’t bake anymore.” His back was rounded in a slouch, eyes dropping down to the tabletop

“Are you bad at it?”

“No! People like my bread. And all the other things I make. But I’m so tired, and I’ve been making mistakes, and I’m depressed. Are you a… Goddess?”

“Hestia.”

“A Goddess? In my shop? But aren’t you the hearth Goddess?” He squinted at her.

She sat in the chair across from him and poured the remaining wine into the glass, taking it for herself before his reaching hand closed around it.

“I am.” She said. “But things are slow. And I’m… not feeling useful. But perhaps we could help each other.”

“How?”

“There are others like you. I mean people who make food for others. I was watching next door.”

“Heartfood. Yes, they’re busy. You can help me? What do you want in exchange?”

Hestia thought. “Set up a shrine to me and promise to keep it lit. I’ll help you feel better. If you are happy with our arrangement in a month, then tell others like yourself about what we’ve been doing.”

“But why?”

“As I said, things have been slow for me. I thought no one cared anymore about taking care of the home and hearth. But I think this kind of place is where people have been connecting. The lamps are out in the homes, but they are burning bright here.”

“I’ve been praying to Hermes, but it hasn’t helped. I’m willing to give it a go with you, um, my lady.”

Rising on unsteady legs, he rummaged in a cupboard until he found an old lamp. Filling it with oil from near the stove, he lit the wick saying, “Goddess Hestia, I ask you to bless my place of business and bless me to serve my customers.”

Hestia smiled as warmth rushed through her. Rising, she placed her hands on the big man’s shoulders.

Under her hands, he straightened, “Oh! Oh, I feel better! This place is a mess! I’ll clean it now and then get in bright and early to start work! Thank you, lady! My first loaf will be for you!”

Hestia smiled, fading to invisibility.

Hermes was right. Nothing like a new job to make one optimistic.

This story is part of a collection. You can buy a paper copy here.

Writing fiction is fun and compelling because I get to make worlds and characters that do what I want. It’s the only place I successfully get to be the control freak. Certainly, my cats don’t let me do that, although sometimes they humor me.