The air hummed with a quiet tension as he stood before the god. The weight of its presence pressed down on him, more imposing than the endless path or even the burden of his regrets. Its eyes, swirling with the light of countless stars, fixed on him, waiting.
"Make me laugh,"
the god had said, its voice echoing with power and amusement.
A game. A trial. And yet, beneath the surface, there had been something else in its tone a faint hint of curiosity.
He swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. What did a god find funny? What kind of joke could pierce the veil of eternity and draw laughter from a being that had witnessed the rise and fall of worlds?
"No pressure," he muttered under his breath, the faintest edge of sarcasm coloring his words.
The god's expression didn't change. Its form shifted subtly, the golden veins in its throne pulsing as if in tune with the universe itself.
"Begin," it said simply.
He shifted uneasily, searching his mind for something anything that could work.
A joke? A funny story? An absurd observation? His thoughts swirled, fragmented, as the enormity of the task loomed over him.
"Alright," he said, his voice trembling but resolute. "Here goes nothing."
The first attempt was a disaster.
"Why did the chicken cross the road?" he began, the words spilling out before he could think better of them. He froze, his face heating up as the god tilted its head, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in its star-filled eyes.
"To... get to the other side?" he finished weakly, his voice trailing off.
Silence.
The god didn't move, didn't react. Its gaze remained steady, its expression unreadable.
"Right," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "That... wasn't great. Let's try again."
He shifted his stance, trying to steady himself. The seconds stretched on, each one an eternity. He could feel the god's eyes on him, unyielding, expectant.
"Okay, here's one," he said, forcing a nervous grin. "So, a man walks into a bar... and says, 'Ouch.'"
The god's features didn't shift. The silence deepened, oppressive.
He groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, come on! That was at least... mildly amusing? No?"
Still nothing.
It went on like this for what felt like hours. He tried everything he could think of jokes, anecdotes, ridiculous impressions of people he barely remembered. Each attempt fell flat, met with the same unyielding silence. His frustration grew, mingling with a creeping sense of despair.
"Why is this so impossible?" he muttered, pacing back and forth. "You're a god! Don't you... laugh at anything? Ever?"
The god's voice, deep and resonant, broke the silence. "Laughter is a fleeting thing, mortal. It is born of the unexpected, the absurd, the raw truth of existence. Do you think such things are easily found in the face of eternity?"
He stopped pacing, turning to face the god. "Well, yeah," he said, exasperated. "That's kind of the point, isn't it? Mortals laugh because we have to. Because if we don't, we'll just... fall apart."
The god tilted its head, a flicker of interest in its gaze. "Continue."
He hesitated, then let out a bitter laugh. "Alright. Fine. You want to know what's funny? Life. Life is funny."
The god's silence invited him to go on.
"Think about it," he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more animated. "We're these tiny, fragile creatures, stumbling through a world that doesn't care about us at all. We're born, we grow up, we make mistakes, we fall in love, we screw things up, we try to fix them, and then we die. And the whole time, we're pretending like any of it makes sense."
He laughed, a sharp, self-deprecating sound. "We trip over our own feet, we spill coffee on our shirts, we forget people's birthdays, we say stupid things at the worst possible times. And somehow, we keep going. We laugh because what else are we supposed to do?"
The god's gaze deepened, its swirling eyes seeming to pull him in. "And yet you regret. You mourn. You wish for more time, more chances. How is that humor?"
He shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. "Because it's all so ridiculous. We spend our whole lives trying to make sense of it, trying to be better, to do better. And in the end, we're just... human. Messy, imperfect, hopelessly flawed. That's what makes it funny. The fact that we even try."
For a moment, the god was silent.
Then, something remarkable happened.
A sound low and resonant, like the distant rumble of thunder filled the air. The god's lips curved into a faint smile, its eyes glinting with something that might have been delight. The sound grew, rich and full, echoing through the golden void. It was laughter. Deep, unrestrained, and utterly otherworldly.
He stared, stunned. "Wait. Did you... did I...?"
The god's laughter subsided, its gaze fixing on him with a newfound intensity. "You have succeeded, mortal. Against all odds, you have drawn laughter from the depths of eternity."
He let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. "So... what now?"
The god leaned forward, its form shimmering with a strange, radiant energy. "Now, you may claim your reward. One wish, bound only by the limits of existence. Speak, and it shall be so."
He froze, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. One wish. Anything. The possibilities swirled in his mind, infinite and overwhelming. What could he possibly ask for?
The god's eyes glimmered, its voice a quiet echo. "Choose wisely, mortal. For even the greatest of wishes carry their own burdens."