When Earth and Sky first mated, they were so lost, so overcome with the new ecstasies of creation that they did not take care that their offspring took proper shape. Their resulting spawn, the first beings to stand beneath the sun, were either grotesquely hypertrophied, and called the hecatonchires, or almost pitifully stunted, and called the cyclops. Their existence was painful, and the children resented their parents for their carelessness.
The cyclops Brontes blamed his father, the sky, most of all. He beat his clublike arm against his chest in terrible, impotent rage. His defiant strikes still echo in the distant thunder, and the clouds roll fitfully, for his father cannot sleep.
I found this sketch looking through my large size sketchbook today. I'd forgotten about it. It wasn't dated, but I'm pretty sure it's over a year old.
One of my deities [link]
, and a brother to [link]
Also, I looked up birth defects and deformities as reference for this one...for about a second, before hurriedly closing that tab. There are things that I would rather not see and know about.