The Titan is there, sleeping. Well, is sleeping the right word? It is dormant, perhaps, like a volcano, and it is equally able to explode and destroy a town, destroy an entire country.
But maybe it won’t. Maybe, like so many before it, it will simply fade, fade out of memory and out of history and it will be remembered merely in myth, in legend. It will fade into the earth and everyone will forget their fear and if they ever think of it, they will laugh at the legend and mock people who take it too seriously.
But for now, people travel for miles to leave offerings at the base of the mountain, to pray for their health and the health of their families and friends, to pray that their crops will grow and their hurts will be healed and their lives will be happy. They do not know if their prayers will be answered, they do not know whether the Titan hears them or appreciates their paltry gifts, but it is not worth the risk to stop.
So they bring their gifts and they say their prayers and they keep their doubts secret and they hope that the Titan won’t become a volcano to rain horror and devastation on their contented tiny lives.
(Flash fiction prompts: Titan, recollection)