Content Warning: Dark fantasy, themes of hunger, humiliation, divine punishment, and ingratitude.
Intro
The God of Bountiful has fed the world since the beginning of time. But for over a year, not a single prayer has reached him — and it is starting to show on his face, his waist, and his dignity. Now he stands watching his own people feast on an enormous elk, refusing to thank him, mocking him openly, while his nemesis the God of Drought and Famine watches with barely concealed delight. This is a darkly comic dark fantasy about ingratitude, pride, and a god who discovers that even divine power means nothing when the people you serve decide they no longer need you. The prayer a little girl finally sends him will go down as one of the most brutal moments in TwistedStories history — and the gods will never let him forget it.
The Bone of Ingratitude
A God's Hunger
He was angry as he looked down on the mortal world below. If you looked closely, you would see his cheeks growing redder and redder with every passing moment. He hadn't been the same for a year now, and it had started showing on his appearance.
"How dare them," he wailed. "How dare they let me suffer — after all, I am the God of Bountiful."
He could do nothing but watch from above as those he thought worshipped him enjoyed a feast like never before. He could practically smell the grease coming from the large elk on the spit over a roaring fire. He watched as they sat around the fire, cutting huge chunks of meat and drinking from jugs of wine. He didn't know when he had taken a step toward the mortals, but he caught himself. It was so painful to watch.
He was about to look away when he saw a kid — no more than ten — brandishing a knife as he went to the elk and carved a large chunk, while the elders laughed and praised him, saying he would be a real man.
The God of Bountiful watched as the kid took his meat to a secluded corner and started eating, grease sliding down from his chin and hands. The god practically opened his mouth in time with every bite, yet he was unaware of his own involuntary action until he felt his teeth slam together. He snarled, thinking about going to the kid and taking the meat, when he felt the wind rustle behind him. He turned around to see the God of Drought and Famine standing there. He swore silently but maintained his composure, knowing he had no chance against his nemesis.
"What do you want?" he finally asked, not taking his eyes from the kid, who had finished his first portion and was already going back for another.
Brothers
"I'm just here to check on you, to make sure you're okay," the God of Drought and Famine said, eyeing the kid with a small smile that the God of Bountiful couldn't help noticing.
"I'm fine. Leave me be."
"Now, stop pretending. You don't look fine. Your waist is getting thinner, and I could hear your stomach growling from far away."
"Are you here to mock me?"
"Why would I do that? I'm only concerned about you — after all, we are brothers."
The God of Bountiful scoffed but never took his eyes from the kid. He silently begged the boy to pray, to thank him for the bounty — but the prayer never came. He felt tears about to slide down and suppressed them. He lived on the prayers offered by mortals when they wanted to eat, and on the sacrifices they provided him. But for more than a year now, no prayer had come and no sacrifice either, and it had started showing on his body. He was leaner now; his once robust stomach flat as a plank. He yawned, watching as the boy cut a big chunk of meat and tossed it to a dog.
"Are you really okay?" he heard a voice and swore. He had forgotten about the God of Drought and Famine.
"This is all your handiwork," he said, finally taking his eyes away from the feast and looking at his brother.
"Now that is not fair, accusing me like that."
"You caused the famine."
"Does that feast look like a famine?"
"That is not the point. You made them suffer for three years before I could wrestle power from you, and now they are feasting out of fear that they will suffer again."
"You have your duty, and I have mine. Don't blame me for doing my work."
"Just stop it."
"That wouldn't make them pray to you, brother. We are all concerned about your situation."
The Feast Below
At that moment, there was a commotion on the feast floor and the god turned to look as a group of men danced and ate meat. Some were already slurring from too much drink.
"This is so fun," one of the men said, laughing.
"Yeah — see how we're enjoying ourselves since we didn't give that greedy god a portion. I bet he'd be green with envy."
"You're right, Markson," the first man said. "That god has been a thorn in our side — eating everything we had while we suffered. He was the one having fun."
"Yeah, my wife nearly prayed to him the day we killed a chicken. I had to threaten to kick her out before she stopped. That god has a huge debt to pay for our suffering."
"Yeah," the rest chorused.
A Prayer Unlike Any Other
The God of Bountiful could hold it no longer and he wept.
"Brother, I'm starving — can you help me?"
"How can I help you when I am the God of Drought and Famine, eh?"
The god was silent, watching the enjoyment below. Then he saw a young girl cutting her share of the elk. After she had finished, he saw her kneel down with her plate, clasping her hands in the manner of prayer. His heart lifted. He waited eagerly for the prayer to come — and when it did, he roared like a wounded lion.
She had prayed:
"Dear God of Bountiful, I hope you have seen our feast, and I hope you choke on the scent. You are selfish, wicked, and only know how to collect but never give. Take a look at my plate and enjoy the scent of the meat, and let your saliva drop like the grease.
Amen."
There was mad laughter behind him. He turned to see his brother doubled over with mirth.
"Oh, that was wonderful. What a prayer."
The worst part was that he could never leave until the feast was over. So he watched — humiliated by his brother and by the very people who once prayed to him with gratitude for their bounties.
The Bone
The God of Bountiful was furious when that prayer reached him. How dare they. He had been taking care of them since the creation of time, and they chose to turn their backs on him over just three years of famine.
"How dare they starve me too," he fumed, but there was nothing he could do.
What annoyed him most was the realisation settling over him like a cold fog — he, a god, would now be the one praying to his own people, begging them to remember him, to send offerings and sacrifices. What a humiliation. He would never show his face at the gathering of gods again. No god had ever faced what he was facing now, not from the very people he had stood for since the beginning. He shook his head and stared down at the feast. At least it would soon be over, and he could lick his wounds in peace — away from his brother, who had gone about inviting every god he could find to come and watch his disgrace.
But just when he thought the feast was drawing to a close, they dragged out another fat pig and dumped it on the spit. And at that very moment, the rest of the gods chose to appear right beside him.
"This is interesting," said the God of Fire, sniffing the air. "I can feel the warmth of that pig from here. So nourishing. I'm glad they gave me a portion."
"Good for you," the God of Wood said, laughing. "I can feel the weight of it on the wood beneath the fire. I'd say that says quite a lot."
"I will thank them too," said the God of Spice. "My contribution is everywhere in that aroma. They were generous to remember me."
"ENOUGH!" the God of Bountiful roared. "How dare you all mock me."
"Calm down, brother," said the God of Fire. "What is wrong with praising the people who gave us a portion of their meat?"
"None of you deserved it more than I did," he said, choking on the words. To hell with the laughter and the humiliation. "I have been starving for a year. Look at me — I am nothing but a husk."
"We are sorry, but there is nothing we can do," said the God of Plate and Spoon. "As for me, I only dish out to those who hold a plate."
"You could always pray to them to remember you," the God of Fire said, hiding a laugh behind his hand.
"Have you ever heard of a god praying to his own people and begging them for food?"
"No," said the God of Famine, "but you could be the first. It wouldn't hurt to beg."
Just then, a prayer arrived — soft and small, from a little girl.
"Dear God of Bounty, I'm sorry — I have eaten all the meat and only the bone is left. My dog Fluffy wanted it, but I wouldn't let him have it. I am offering it to you to manage. Thank you."
The God of Bountiful stood very still. He could not believe what he had just heard. When the prayer ended, he turned slowly to the others.
"A bone. She is offering me a bone."
The gods could not hold back any longer. Laughter erupted around him, loud and merciless. He stood frozen, stiff with humiliation, the sound crashing over him in waves. Then, after a long silence, he reached out and accepted the bone.
"It is better than nothing," he muttered.
The gods roared, and from that day forward, whenever they needed to name the most desperate of beggars, they called his name.
And the God of Bountiful, who had once fed the world, went hungry.
Moral of the story
Ingratitude is one of the most dangerous attitudes a person (or a community) can have. The God of Bountiful’s story shows how easily people forget the source of their blessings once life becomes comfortable. When we stop being thankful, we risk losing the very things that sustain us. True humility and gratitude protect us from pride and self-destruction. Even in our daily lives, remembering to say “thank you” — to God, to family, to those who help us — keeps relationships strong and opens doors for more blessings. Never take good things for granted, because the moment you do, someone else may be ready to take them away.
What This Story Teaches Us
The God of Bountiful is one of the most darkly comic and deeply human stories on TwistedStories — because even though it is about gods, every lesson in it is about us.
1. Ingratitude Is a Slow Poison
The mortals did not forget the God of Bountiful in one day. It happened prayer by prayer, sacrifice by sacrifice, over an entire year. That is how ingratitude works in real life too — it does not announce itself. It quietly erases gratitude until the people who helped you become invisible to you.
2. Comfort Makes People Forget Their Source
The mortals only stopped praying after the famine ended and the harvests returned. When they were suffering, they needed the God of Bountiful. The moment they were comfortable, they decided they no longer did. Abundance has a way of making people forget who helped them get there.
3. Gratitude Is Not Just Politeness — It Is Power
Every other god received a portion of the feast — the God of Fire, the God of Wood, the God of Spice, the God of Plate and Spoon. They were all remembered. They all thrived. The God of Bountiful was the most important of them all, yet he received a bone. Gratitude is what keeps relationships — human or divine — alive and functioning.
4. Pride Can Silence You When You Need Help Most
The God of Bountiful watched his people feast for an entire year. He wept. He fumed. He suffered. But his pride would not let him reach down and ask them to remember him. Sometimes the most powerful person in the room is the one suffering in silence because they feel too important to admit they need something.
5. Those Who Mock Your Suffering Are Not Your Enemies — They Are Your Mirror
The God of Drought and Famine did not cause the God of Bountiful's humiliation. The mortals did. But the God of Famine showed up to enjoy it. In life, when you neglect your responsibilities or take your blessings for granted, the people who benefit from your downfall will always be watching. Do not hand them the opportunity.
6. A Little Cruelty From a Child Can Hurt More Than Any War
The little girl's prayer was the most devastating moment in the story — not because she was evil, but because she was honest. Children say what adults feel but will not speak. Her prayer reflected exactly what the community believed. When even the children have turned against you, the damage runs deeper than any battle could reach.
7. Accepting the Bone Is Sometimes the Wisest Thing You Can Do
At the end of the story, the God of Bountiful accepts the bone. It is humiliating. The other gods laugh. But he takes it anyway — because it is better than nothing, and because survival sometimes requires you to swallow your pride and start from scratch. There is no shame in beginning again from the bottom.
Outro
And so the God of Bountiful stands on the edge of the celestial realm, a bone in his hand and the laughter of his fellow gods ringing in his ears. He who once fed the world now survives on scraps. He who once received prayers of gratitude now receives prayers of mockery. A little girl offered him a bone — not out of love, but out of pity. Her dog Fluffy wanted it. She gave it to a god instead. The God of Drought and Famine watches with barely concealed delight. The God of Fire, the God of Wood, the God of Spice — they all received their portions. They all were remembered. But the God of Bountiful, the one who made the feast possible, was forgotten. Ingratitude is a slow poison. It did not kill him in one day. It starved him over a year — one skipped prayer at a time, one forgotten sacrifice at a time, until his robust stomach became a flat plank and his dignity became a joke among the gods. The feast is over now. The bone is picked clean. But the lesson remains: when you stop thanking the source of your blessings, the blessings may not disappear immediately — but the source will. And one day, when you need help again, you will reach out and find nothing there. The God of Bountiful learned this the hard way. So will everyone who forgets to say thank you.
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