Hermes Pepperman’s friends had normal names. Being six years old it was easier to have a normal name. Just because his grandparents had been mad enough to call their own son Zeus, did his Dad really need to repeat the joke?
Walking home from school, Hermes was once again being teased by Susie Vernington.
“Hermes, Smermes, Germes,” she snorted.
From up ahead there came a faint hissing noise; the setting sun’s rays suddenly cast writhing shadows on the sidewalk. Hermes squinted to catch a glimpse of the approaching figure.
“Oh, hello Auntie Medusa,” he grinned.
Susie’s taunting froze mid-sentence; in its place followed the sounds of grinding stone and muffled, girlish squeals.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.